From the author who brought you A Thousand Boy Kisses comes the new emotional novel, A Wish For Us. A story of music. A story of healing. A story of love conquering all. Nineteen-year-old Cromwell Dean is the rising star of electronic dance music. Thousands of people adore him. But no one knows him. No one sees the color of his heart. Until the girl in the purple dress. She sees through the walls he has built to the empty darkness within. When Cromwell leaves behind the gray skies of England to study music in the South Carolina heat, the last thing he expects is to see her again. And he certainly doesn’t expect that she’ll stay in his head like a song on repeat. Bonnie Farraday lives for music. She lets every note into her heart, and she doesn’t understand how someone as talented as Cromwell can avoid doing the same. He’s hiding from his past, and she knows it. She tries to stay away from him, but something keeps calling her back. Bonnie is the burst of color in Cromwell’s darkness. He’s the beat that makes her heart skip. But when a shadow falls over Bonnie, it’s up to Cromwell to be her light, in the only way he knows how. He must help her find the lost song in her fragile heart. He must keep her strong with a symphony only he can compose. A symphony of hope. A symphony of love. A symphony of them. 
I let the rush of nicotine fill my lungs and closed my eyes. As my eyelids shut, I heard quiet music playing somewhere nearby. Classical. Mozart. My drunken mind immediately drifted off to when I was a little kid . . . “What do you hear, Cromwell?” my father asked. I closed my eyes and listened to the piece of music. Colors danced before my eyes. “Piano. Violins. Cellos . . .” I took a deep breath. “I can hear reds and greens and pinks.” I opened my eyes and looked up at my father as he sat on my bed. He was staring down at me. There was a funny expression on his face. “You hear colors?” he said. But he didn’t sound surprised. My face set on fire. I ducked my head under my duvet. My father pulled it down from my eyes. He stroked my hair. “That’s good,” he said, his voice kind of deep. “That’s very good . . .” My eyes snapped open. My hand started to ache. I looked at the bottle in my hand; my fingers were white as they gripped the neck. I sat up, my head spinning from the mass of whiskey in my body. My temples throbbed. I realized it wasn’t from the Jack, but from the music coming from further down the beach. I pushed my hair back from my face then looked to my right. Someone was only a few feet away. I squinted into the lightening night, summer’s early rising sun making it possible to make out the features of whoever the hell it was. It was a girl. A girl wrapped in a blanket. Her phone sat beside her, a Mozart piano concerto drifting quietly from the speaker. She must have felt me looking at her, because she turned her head. I frowned, wondering why I knew her face, but then—“You’re the DJ,” she said. Recognition dawned. It was the girl in the purple dress. She clutched her blanket closer around her as I replayed her accent in my head. American. Bible Belt was my guess, by her thick twang. She sounded like my mum. A smile tugged at her lips as I stayed mute. I wasn’t much of a talker. Especially when my gut was full of Jack and I had zero interest in making small talk with some girl I didn’t know at four in the morning on a cold beach in Brighton. “I’d heard of you,” she said. I stared back out over the sea. Ships sailed in the distance, their lights like tiny fireflies, bobbing up and down. I huffed a humorless laugh. Great. Another girl who wanted to screw the DJ. “Good for you,” I muttered and took a drink of my Jack, feeling the addictive burn slide down my throat. I hoped she’d piss off, or at least stop trying to talk to me. My head couldn’t take any more noise. “Not really,” she shot back. I looked over at her, eyebrows pulled down in confusion. She was looking out over the sea, her chin resting on her folded arms that lay over her bent knees. The blanket had fallen off her shoulders, revealing the purple dress I’d noticed from the podium. She turned to face me, cheek now on her arms. Heat zipped through me. She was pretty. “I’ve heard of you, Cromwell Dean.” She shrugged. “Decided to get a ticket to see you before I left for home tomorrow.” I lit up another cigarette. Her nose wrinkled. She clearly didn’t like the smell. Tough luck. She could move. Last time I checked, England was a free country. She went quiet. I caught her looking at me. Her brown eyes were narrowed, like she was scrutinizing me. Reading something in me that I didn’t want anyone to see. No one ever looked at me closely. I never gave them the chance. I thrived on the podium at clubs because it kept everyone far away, down on the dancefloor where no one ever saw the real me. The way she was looking at me now made nervous shivers break out over my skin. I didn’t need this kind of crap. “Already had my dick sucked tonight, love. Not looking for a second round.” She blinked, and even in the rising sun, I could see her cheeks redden. “Your music has no soul,” she blurted. My cigarette paused halfway to my mouth. Something managed to stab through my stomach at her words. I shoved it back down until I felt my usual sensation of numbness. I sucked on my cigarette. “Yeah? Well, them’s the breaks.” “I’d heard you were some messiah or something on that podium. But all your music comprised was synthetic beats and forced repetitive bursts of unoriginal tempo.” I laughed and shook my head. The girl met my eyes head-on. “It’s called electronic dance music. Not a fifty-piece orchestra.” I held out my arms. “You’ve heard of me. Said so yourself. You know what tunes I spin. What were you expecting? Mozart?” I glared at her phone, which was still playing that damn concerto. I sat back, surprised at myself. I hadn’t talked that much to anyone in . . . I didn’t know how long. I took in a drag, breathing out the smoke that was trapped in my chest. “And turn that thing off, will you? Who the hell goes to hear a dance DJ spin, then comes to a beach to listen to classical music?” The girl frowned but turned off the music. I lay back on the cold sand, closing my eyes. I heard the soft waves lapping the shore. My head filled with pale green. I heard the girl moving. I prayed she was leaving. But I felt her drop beside me. My world darkened as the whiskey and the usual lack of sleep started to pull me under. “What do you feel when you mix your music?” she asked. How the hell she thought her little interview was a good idea right now was beyond me. Yet, surprisingly, I found myself answering her question. “I don’t feel.” I cracked one eye open when she didn’t say anything. She was looking down at me. She had the biggest brown eyes I’d ever seen. Dark hair pulled off her face in a ponytail. Full lips and smooth skin. “Then that’s the problem.” She smiled, but the smile looked nothing but sad. Pitying. “The best music must be felt. By the creator. By the listener. Every part of it from creation to ear must be wrapped in nothing but feelings.” Some weird expression crossed over her face, but hell if I knew what it meant. Her words were a blade to my chest. I hadn’t expected her harsh comment. And I hadn’t expected the blunt trauma that she seemed to deliver right to my heart. Like she’d taken a butcher’s knife and sliced her way through my soul. My body itched to get up and run. To pluck out her assessment of my music from my memory. But instead I forced a laugh, and spat, “Go back home, little Dorothy. Back to where music means something. Where it’s felt.” “Dorothy was from Kansas.” She glanced away. “I’m not.” “Then go back to wherever the hell you’re from,” I snapped. Crossing my arms over my chest, I hunkered down into the sand and shut my eyes, trying to block out the cold wind that was picking up and slapping my skin, and her words that were still stabbing at my heart. I never let anything get to me like this. Not anymore. I just needed some sleep. I didn’t want to go back to my mum’s house here in Brighton, and my flat in London was too far away. So hopefully the cops wouldn’t find me here and kick me off the beach. With my eyes closed, I said, “Thanks for the midnight critique, but as the fastest-rising DJ in Europe, with the best clubs in the world begging for me to spin at their decks—all at nineteen—I think I’ll ignore your extensive notes and just keep on living my sweet as fuck life.” 
Tillie Cole hails from a small town in the North-East of England. She grew up on a farm with her English mother, Scottish father and older sister and a multitude of rescue animals. As soon as she could, Tillie left her rural roots for the bright lights of the big city. After graduating from Newcastle University with a BA Hons in Religious Studies, Tillie followed her Professional Rugby player husband around the world for a decade, becoming a teacher in between and thoroughly enjoyed teaching High School students Social Studies before putting pen to paper, and finishing her first novel. Tillie has now settled in Austin, Texas, where she is finally able to sit down and write, throwing herself into fantasy worlds and the fabulous minds of her characters. Tillie is both an independent and traditionally published author, and writes many genres including: Contemporary Romance, Dark Romance, Young Adult and New Adult novels. When she is not writing, Tillie enjoys nothing more than curling up on her couch watching movies, drinking far too much coffee, while convincing herself that she really doesn’t need that extra square of chocolate.
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Michelle's review
 A Wish for Us by Tillie ColeMy rating: 5 of 5 stars When I first saw the cover for this book, I sat and just looked at it for a while. Now don’t get me wrong I liked it but was left wondering why the author chose it. After reading it I totally get it and it’s absolutely perfect and beautiful. A Wish For Us is one of those books that you wish you could give a million stars to. When I finished it I could do anything but sit and try to regain myself, you know after I picked up the thousand of snot rags, yes snot rags. That I had thrown around. This isn’t a tear jerker. Oh no. This is a ugly, bawling cry. And it’s absolutely wonderful! It’s beautiful, emotional and wonderfully heartbreaking. It’s a truly inspirational read that has you so totally invested in these characters that you feel them. I am in awe of this author and her words. This is definitely a must read for everyone and I highly recommend it. View all my reviews
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ONLY BOUNDLESS LOVE CAN SILENCE THE WHISPERS OF THE PAST . . . A broken woman. A damaged man. A free spirit intent on saving them both. Elysia ‘Sia’ Willis lives a solitary life. The only person in it is her big brother, Ky, vice-president of the infamous Hades Hangmen. She loves him, but she has absolutely no love for the outlaw MC he belongs to. Raised in secret by her mother, Sia grew up separated from her brother and distant father. No one knew she even existed. After the tragic murder of her mother, Sia spiraled into a rebellion against the rules of the Hangmen. A rebellion with dire consequences that now, years later, she still can’t escape. As she lives once again in secret, happy on her own at her secluded ranch, a devil from her past comes calling. A devil who wants to possess her once again and take her from the simple life she never wants to lose. And he will stop at nothing to collect what he believes is his: her. Valan ‘Hush’ Durand and Aubin ‘Cowboy’ Breaux have finally found a home in the mother chapter of the Hangmen. The notoriously private Cajun twosome have, for now, put aside what chased them from their beloved Louisiana. But as threats toward the club build, Hush and Cowboy are given a task—protect Elysia Willis at all costs. Cowboy welcomes the job of watching over the blond-haired, blue-eyed beauty. Hush fights against it. Scarred by events from his past and a secret that plagues his everyday life, Hush refuses to let anyone else get close. Only Cowboy knows the real him. Until a certain sister of the club’s VP begins to slowly knock down his defenses, shattering the heavily built walls that guard his damaged soul . . . with his best friend leading the charge. As lost and open hearts begin to meld, taking each other from indescribable pain to the never-before felt relief of peace, the newly-mended threesome must first endure one more rocky path. Only then will they finally shake free of the shackles of their pasts. Only then will they shed the bonds that have for too long held their happiness captive. And there is only one way to survive that path . . . together. Dark Contemporary MFM Romance. Contains scenes of violence and explicit sexual situations. Over 18’s only. 
I glanced over at Hush sitting beside me in the truck, staring out of the window. I tightened my grip on the wheel and shook my head. I’d known the fucker for years, and I still couldn’t believe how he refused to let anyone in but me. Since Ky had told us we were assigned to watch his baby sister, Hush had closed in on himself, as always. Fucking locked himself inside the head that was a damn fortress to breach. And I knew why, but the stubborn asshole was too proud to admit the truth. I sighed, turning up the radio. But it took about two seconds for me to get bored. I was a loudmouth, I knew it, and the fucking deathly silence from my best friend was killing me. “You get the stuff I left out for you this morning?” I asked. I knew he had. I watched him pack it, just to be sure. I just wanted to fucking talk. Wanted my friend back to the way he was. Hush’s shoulders tensed, but then he muttered, “Yeah.” I sighed in defeat, laying my head back on the headrest. We were about five miles out from where Sia lived: a little ranch, in the middle of fucking nowhere. It reminded me of my childhood home. More rustic and less refined, but a ranch was a ranch. “At least there’s a gas station close in case I need hard liquor during all this, hey, mon frère?” Hush grunted, but he kept his head away from me. My fucking chest squeezed when I thought of his face this morning. My brother was dog tired. And I knew that shit wasn’t good for him. His face looked paler than normal, and his blue eyes were dull as fuck. Set off a shit-ton of warning bells inside my head. He was thinking too much. It was Sia. All of this, the moping, the silence, was because of the beautiful bitch driving alone in the truck up ahead. Fuck, I could barely think of her without wanting to wrap my hand in her long hair and pull her to my fucking mouth. Tasting her tongue, her tits pressed up against my chest. I looked at Hush from the side of my eye and knew the brother did too. Since we’d met her at Ky’s wedding, I knew on the spot I liked the bitch. Her damn sassy mouth, the confidence that oozed from her every move. Her ass wasn’t too bad either. My lip flicked up in amusement as I thought back to yesterday and the VP’s little “talk” he had with me and Hush . . . “Shut the fucking door behind you.” Ky stood at the front of church, arms folded. Styx stood on his right, his face like thunder too. Hush was tense as he trailed behind. He shut the door. I slumped down to my seat and threw my hands up behind my head. I made myself real fucking comfortable. Hush pulled his chair out. I smirked at his ramrod back as he stared at Ky, waiting for our VP to speak. I brought my lazy gaze back to Ky and had to fight back a grin at how his eyes narrowed on me. “VP,” I said. “You wanted to talk to us?” “Damn fucking right I did.” Ky leaned his hands on the tabletop, palms flat. “Neither of you are gonna go near Sia except to protect her.” Ky got straight to the point. I felt Hush grow more tense. I didn’t lower my hands from my head. I’d known this was coming. “You watch her ranch. Take shifts in looking out for any trouble. Not an hour goes by when one of you ain’t looking for that cunt, Garcia. Got it?” “Got it,” I confirmed, just before Hush said, “Yeah.” Ky’s eyes locked on me. “She is my fucking sister. Not one of you two assholes touches her in any way, got it?” He quickly sobered, and then said, “She’s been through enough shit at the hands of a man. I ain’t gonna tell you the fucking minute details, but she was fucking ruined by that bastard. Ain’t even had a date since. She’s better on her own.” The cocky smirk I was wearing fell away at that bit of intel. Ky leaned further forward until he was almost at my face. “I will fucking kill anyone who hurts her again. And that ain’t a threat.” His eyebrows drew together. “And it sure as shit ain’t gonna be any of my club brothers. Especially the two sweet-talking Cajuns that have slut pussy creaming over their fucking accents on the daily.” “Okay, VP,” I said in my thickest Cajun French. Just to see if I could turn Ky’s red face up a few shades more. I saw the guy’s hands roll into fists, but before he could start throwing them my way, Hush put his hand on my arm to tell me to shut the fuck up. “Ain’t gotta worry about that, mon frère,” he said. “We ain’t going after your sister. We get it. She’s off-limits.” Ky glared at us. As did Styx. Before Ky left church, he pointed in my face. “You better be listening to your best friend out there, Cowboy. You don’t wanna face me again if I hear you’ve been sniffing around my sister.” I laughed to myself as I thought of the VP’s veins throbbing in his neck, as if he could read my thoughts about his sister on my face. Hush turned around, his brows pulled down. It was a permanent damn feature these days. “Turn that frown upside down, mon frère,” I instructed and pushed my fingers against his lined forehead. Hush batted my hand away. “What the fuck are you laughing at?” “Ky. Yesterday. His fucking tirade. The gris-gris he tried to put on our asses.” Hush shook his head, exasperated. “We got it good here at the club. Don’t go fucking it up for a piece of pussy.” I choked on a laugh. “A piece of pussy?” I winked. “Think I’ll tell Sia you said that when we pull up. Sure she wants to hear it.” Hush’s nostrils flared, and his hand went to his thigh and squeezed. It was how he calmed himself down. How I did if I saw it happening before he realized he was losing his shit. Especially in public. I quickly lost my smile, and I blew out a long breath. “That’s it though, hey Val? She ain’t just any pussy, is she?” Hush turned to look out of the window again. “She is, Aub. That’s what you can’t seem to get through your fucking thick skull.” He shook his head. “You just won’t let it fucking drop. All the winks and raised eyebrows, the damn tapping of your motherfucking Stetson anytime she’s mentioned or speaks to us. I told you before, and I’ll tell you again: I ain’t interested. Just end your fucking games.” His shoulders tensed. “You want her that bad? Fuck her. You want my written permission or some shit?” “Fuck you, Hush.” I was a pretty laid-back guy, but him speaking like that raised my forever-dormant rage from a one to a good solid three out of ten. “You want me flying solo on this one, mon frère? It can be arranged.” He sat there, seething. I just let him. Fucking prick was as stubborn as an ox. First thing I ever noticed about him at sixteen years old. 
Tillie Cole hails from a small town in the North-East of England. She grew up on a farm with her English mother, Scottish father and older sister and a multitude of rescue animals. As soon as she could, Tillie left her rural roots for the bright lights of the big city. After graduating from Newcastle University with a BA Hons in Religious Studies, Tillie followed her Professional Rugby player husband around the world for a decade, becoming a teacher in between and thoroughly enjoyed teaching High School students Social Studies before putting pen to paper, and finishing her first novel. Tillie has now settled in Austin, Texas, where she is finally able to sit down and write, throwing herself into fantasy worlds and the fabulous minds of her characters. Tillie is both an independent and traditionally published author, and writes many genres including: Contemporary Romance, Dark Romance, Young Adult and New Adult novels. When she is not writing, Tillie enjoys nothing more than curling up on her couch watching movies, drinking far too much coffee, while convincing herself that she really doesn’t need that extra square of chocolate.
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EVEN THE BROKEN, THROUGH LOVE, CAN FIND GRACE... Secrets never stay hidden. The burden of guilt never lifts from the heart. Born and raised in The Order of David, Sister Phebe knows nothing but cult life. Head of the Sacred Sisters of New Zion, Phebe was groomed from childhood for one purpose: to seduce. Prized as a harlot, as a New Zion whore, Phebe is taken from the doomed cult by Meister, the notorious leader of the Aryan Brotherhood. Taken as his possession. Taken to be the woman who will obey his every sexual demand. Under his heavy hand, Phebe finds herself in a place much worse than she could ever have imagined... with absolutely no one to help. And no glimpse of hope. Xavier ‘AK’ Deyes is content with his life as Sergeant-At-Arms of the Hades Hangmen. Leader of the infamous ‘Psycho Trio’ and ex-special ops sniper, AK knows how to fight. Experienced in warfare and schooled in military operations, AK is vital to the Hangmen. When his Vice President needs help retrieving his missing sister-in-law, Phebe, from a Klan-funded trafficking ring, AK volunteers to go in. AK remembers the redhead from New Zion. Remembers everything about her from the single time they met—her red hair, blue eyes and freckled face. But when he finds her, heavily drugged and under Meister’s control, her sorry condition causes him to remember more than the beautiful woman he once tied to a tree. Saving Phebe forces hidden demons from his past to return. A past he can never move on from, no matter how hard he tries. As AK fights to help Phebe, and in turn she strives to help him, they realize their secret sins will never leave them alone. Kindred broken souls, they realize the only way they can be rid of their ghosts is to face them together and try to find peace. Despair soon turns to hope, and damaged hearts soon start to heal. But when their deep, painful scars resurface, becoming too much to bear, the time comes when they must make a heavy choice: stay forever damned; or together, find grace. Dark Contemporary Romance. Contains explicit sexual situations, violence, disturbingly sensitive and taboo subjects, offensive language and very mature topics. Recommended for age 18 and over. 
“Well?” Ky asked. Tanner ran his hand over his head. The brother hadn’t attended one of our cookouts or slutfests in weeks. Not that he ever entertained himself with sluts—still too hard for his piece of pussy down in Mexico. He’d been busy trying to track down Meister. Unlike most of the white-power shit Tanner and Tank grew up with, this Meister was untraceable and off the grid. As much of a computer whizz kid as Tanner was, Meister was proving to be one slippery fucking snake to pin down. “Gotta be honest, I didn’t think I was anywhere close to finding anything on this prick.” Tanner nodded toward Tank. “We knew of him, of course. I knew he had dealings with my father and uncle, just never met him myself. He’s Aryan Brotherhood, but works closely with the Klan. And there’s nothing on him. No email traces, no invoices, no texts. Nothing.” I gritted my teeth and glanced at Styx, who was listening closely. Ky wasn’t originally gonna tell the prez about the plan to get Phebe, because of his fucking wedding, but that didn’t last long. Styx knew something was up with his VP. He read him like I read Flame and Vike. So Ky fessed up, and Styx was all for the plan. He’d had to push his wedding back by a month anyhow to get the pastor Mae wanted to conduct the ceremony, so he had time to kill. “But you found something?” Ky translated as Styx signed. Tanner sighed, the black circles around his eyes showing how hard the brother had been working. “I got something.” He shook his head, and my blood ran cold. I knew whatever he had found wasn’t good. Tanner opened the file in front of him and threw a photograph toward the prez. Styx looked at it, then gave it to Ky. “Some middle-of-nowhere ghost town?” Ky passed the picture around. Vike handed it to me, and I studied it. It was an aerial shot, and the picture was grainy, but from what I could make out, it was just a huge piece of land scattered with decrepit old buildings. I passed the picture along. “Fucker owns this?” Tanner faced me. “Yeah, or at least his father did. He’s dead now, but the deeds are still in his father’s name. Been in the family for decades. Took me a while to trace it.” He shook his head. “Meister is notorious among the Klan. Right, Tank?” “Yeah,” Tank agreed. “Never met him either, but we’d all heard of him. Prick has been mobilizing for years for the race war they think is coming. Real serious, Oklahoma-City-bomb shit. From what we’ve heard, the guy has a one-track mind when it comes to advancing the white race. You think Hitler was fucked up? Well, imagine if he had a kid who was one built motherfucker, with a fucking carbon copy of his psycho mind; and you’ve got Meister. Fucker ain’t even German. Just wishes he was, spouting German phrases around like he’s born and bred Berlin. Delusional asshole.” “This ain’t gonna be easy,” Tanner finished, looking at me, Vike, Flame, Hush and Cowboy. It was the five of us who had agreed to go looking for Phebe. Hush and Cowboy nodded at me to let me know they were still in. “So he’s in this ghost town?” Ky asked, translating Styx’s sign language again. “If so, we’ll all just go in and get him, make the fucker talk and tell us where he’s got Phebe.” Tanner sat forward. “He ain’t just living in the ghost town or hiding out. That’s where he has his enterprise.” “Enterprise?” Ky echoed. It was his own question this time. Tanner nodded. “From what I can tell, it’s a fucking brothel. Members of the Aryan Brotherhood, Klan, or Klan sympathizers, can go there for a night or a few days at a time.” Tank shifted uncomfortably next to him. “Ain’t sure, but I’m thinking it ain’t just getting your dick sucked and fucked. It’ll be real fucked-up shit. If Meister’s reputation is anything to go by, we would be walking into an organized, armed hellhole.” Tanner’s eyes darkened. “I get the Klan has a reputation for being full of backward rednecks. I ain’t gonna lie—growing up, most of my father’s cronies were that way. Thick as fuck and couldn’t do shit without screwing it up. Skinheads, lower-ranked soldiers, you know?” “But there were some members that weren’t,” Tank continued. He cast an embarrassed glance at Tanner. “We weren’t, for starters.” Tanner nodded. “It’s not the norm, but some of us were good. Smart, strong fighters, or just outright fucking psychos. The skinheads and rednecks are the foot soldiers. The likes of us, the likes of Meister, are the fucking SS. The planners, leaders, the generals—the ones who believe in the cause so much that they’re fucking lethal with what they’ll do, what they’re capable of. Meister is true Aryan Brotherhood; he’s preparing for war. He’s the real fucking deal.” “And now he’s in our neck of the woods to stir up shit?” I asked. Tanner nodded. “Comes from northern Texas. Never moved our way before. But the Klan are building day by day, joining forces with other white supremacist gangs—like the Brotherhood—and with the shit that’s on the news twenty-four-seven, blacks and whites at each others throats, he’s moved to the headquarters.” The brother’s jaw clenched. “To my father and uncle, who’ll be protecting him from being found out by the feds.” He sighed and ran his hand down his face. “From what I can figure out, this ghost-town brothel of his has only existed in the last year or so. He’s looking to fund something.” “They ain’t dealing guns?” Cowboy drawled. “I thought that’s what Rider said the contract with the cult was for?” “Rider was sure it was guns. At least it was when he was dealing with the Klan—it was all about arms. The Klan was selling them on and taking a cut.” “His fucking twin,” Hush spat. “He changed the arrangement, didn’t he? When Rider was locked up in cult prison?” “Think so,” Tanner said after a few seconds of silence. “Then what the fuck are they dealing? What was Judah giving them if not Israeli guns?” “Women.” 
Tillie Cole hails from a small town in the North-East of England. She grew up on a farm with her English mother, Scottish father and older sister and a multitude of rescue animals. As soon as she could, Tillie left her rural roots for the bright lights of the big city. After graduating from Newcastle University with a BA Hons in Religious Studies, Tillie followed her Professional Rugby player husband around the world for a decade, becoming a teacher in between and thoroughly enjoyed teaching High School students Social Studies before putting pen to paper, and finishing her first novel. Tillie has now settled in Austin, Texas, where she is finally able to sit down and write, throwing herself into fantasy worlds and the fabulous minds of her characters. Tillie is both an independent and traditionally published author, and writes many genres including: Contemporary Romance, Dark Romance, Young Adult and New Adult novels. When she is not writing, Tillie enjoys nothing more than curling up on her couch watching movies, drinking far too much coffee, while convincing herself that she really doesn’t need that extra square of chocolate.
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 Damnable Grace by Tillie ColeMy rating: 5 of 5 stars Best Hades Hangman book to date!! I absolutely love this series and I can honestly say that Damnable Grace is by far my favorite. These characters AK and Phebe have taken my heart and filled it with so much love for them. They both are damaged and have both lived through their own hell but together they are free. Their story is gritty, emotional and everything you are looking for in a Tillie Cole book. I love that we get to visit with the other Hangmen also. These guys that we have grown to love never cease to amaze me with their brotherhood and devotion to each other. I absolutely can not wait for the next book. If you haven't met and fell in love with this series you are truly missing out! 
Stolen by the Arziani Georgian crime mob as a child, 152 was raised and conditioned to be a Mona—the most subservient of the Arziani Blood Pit slaves. Gorgeous and kind, she has been and under the imprisoning influence of the Type B drug and under the command of the Blood Pit Master’s sister, Mistress Arziani, for most of her life, until the Master calls her back home to Georgia. He wants her under his total control, and Master always gets what he wants. But when 152 is gifted to the Blood Pit’s fearsome champion death match fighter as a prize, 152 suddenly finds out that the men who appear most brutal, may just own the kindest hearts. And love may be found, even when living in hell. Freedom, family, love, 152 will have to fight for what she wants and ultimately make an impossible choice. 
152
He nuzzled his cheek against mine and said, “He wants you.” He stilled. In a flash, the cruel soul from last night possessed his being. Snapping his head up, lips curling, he hissed, “My High Mona. My pretty delicate petal. I don’t want to let you go, but it will serve a higher purpose.” His cheeks flushed with excitement. “Then I can own you completely. When my empire is secure, I can have you all day and all night. I will possess you in every pos- sible way.” My blood turned cold at his words. Feeling a wetness on my wrist, I glanced over and saw blood trickling downward. Master saw it too and clicked his fingers at Maya, who was hovering like a shadow in the corner. “Clean it, chiri,” he snarled. Maya rushed to the water and wet a cloth, immediately cleaning my wrist. I tried to meet her eyes, but she kept her head down. When my wrist was clean, I stared at the silver bracelet and im- mediately knew it was the drugs. Instead of a single injection, this would give me regular, automatic doses. The male in the white coat quickly moved around the table, unshackling me from the bed. Master helped me stand. When he did, he stepped back and ranged his gaze all over me. “Perfection,” he whispered. I could see genuine pride in his ex- pression. Reaching down to his crotch, Master palmed his harden- ing length. “So fucking perfect,” he murmured. No sooner had his words left his mouth and he withdrew his hand than the ruthless Master of the Blood Pit suddenly reappeared. With a surreal blankness now on his face, he walked out the door and called for a guard. When a Wraith arrived, Master in- structed, “Take her to him. Lock her in his cell.” He smiled that sadistic smile and added, “Don’t let him out until he fucks her.” I heard Maya’s almost inaudible gasp beside me. But I raised my head and prayed that my fear wasn’t showing. Master pointed to the guard. “Follow him.” I walked forward. Just before I reached the guard, Master gripped my arm and slammed my back against the wall. Before I could catch my breath, he smashed his lips to mine, ravishing my mouth with his. Master abruptly pulled back, then stormed toward Maya. I didn’t understand what he was about to do, until he gripped her by the back of her neck and slammed her small body against the wall. I stood, motionless, as Master lifted his hand and sliced it across her face. He was taking everything out on her. She was too young to take such a cruel hand! Desperate, my eyes drifted to Maya’s, and my heart cracked when I saw in her eyes that she was no longer in the room. Merci- fully, she had taken herself elsewhere. By her reaction, I realized this wasn’t something new. Master had done this to the young girl before. Beat her. Hurt her, as though she was nothing . . . not even a human at all. I felt sick to my stomach. “Move!” The guard beside me ordered, as I stared helplessly at Maya hurting on the floor. The male who had attached the bracelet worked on something at the back of the room, offering Maya no help. A surge of anger burned within me. “I said move!” the guard snapped. I forced myself to follow him out of the room, ignoring the young boys in the cages, and into the hallway. When we reached the forked section, this time we went down the right hallway and descended. Unlike the left hallway, where it grew lighter the farther we walked, this hallway grew darker and danker. My fear grew with every step we took. Then we reached a nar- row hallway. There was a wider hallway to the left. I started when, from that direction, I heard the loud sound of males shouting. I swallowed back my nerves when the guard walked straight ahead. The noise faded the farther we traveled, until we arrived at a small section housing only a few cells. It was much quieter here. I tried to understand where we were. The guard walked past the cells. I tried to peer in, but unlike others I had seen, these had some semblance of privacy. I heard soft moans coming from one. Instinc- tively, I knew that a female was being pleasured. The guard stopped and reached for the door before us. When the door opened, the guard looked at me and snapped, “Get in.” I hesitated when I looked inside. I couldn’t see anyone in there, the room was so dark. When I didn’t move, the guard gripped my arm and hauled me forward. He pushed me inside. I stumbled, landing on the hard ground of the cell. My heart beat hard as I lifted my head. When I did, pure terror seized me. Sitting on a mattress before me was him. The Blood Pit Cham- pion. The Arziani Pit Bull. Master’s greatest warrior. Warrior 901. And he was glaring at me. Unmoving. Hatred spewed from his hard gaze. I drew in a short breath, but it was cut off when 901 rolled to his feet. He stepped forward, his huge body towering above me. I choked back a scream. He was the most intimidating male I had ever encountered. And I was trapped in his cell. Completely alone. In the unwelcome company of a killer. And there was absolutely nothing I could do. 
Tillie Cole hails from a small town in the North-East of England. She grew up on a farm with her English mother, Scottish father and older sister and a multitude of rescue animals. As soon as she could, Tillie left her rural roots for the bright lights of the big city. After graduating from Newcastle University with a BA Hons in Religious Studies, Tillie followed her Professional Rugby player husband around the world for a decade, becoming a teacher in between and thoroughly enjoyed teaching High School students Social Studies before putting pen to paper, and finishing her first novel. Tillie has now settled in Austin, Texas, where she is finally able to sit down and write, throwing herself into fantasy worlds and the fabulous minds of her characters. Tillie is both an independent and traditionally published author, and writes many genres including: Contemporary Romance, Dark Romance, Young Adult and New Adult novels. When she is not writing, Tillie enjoys nothing more than curling up on her couch watching movies, drinking far too much coffee, while convincing herself that she really doesn’t need that extra square of chocolate.
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To most people, princes, princesses, counts and dukes are found only in the pages of the most famous of fairytales. Crowns, priceless jewels and gilded thrones belong only in childhood dreams.
But for some, these frivolous fancies are truth. For some, they are real life. On Manhattan’s Upper East Side, people have always treated me as someone special. All because of my ancestral name and legacy. All because of a connection I share to our home country’s most important family of all. I am Caresa Acardi, the Duchessa di Parma. A blue blood of Italy. I was born to marry well. And now the marriage date is set. I am to marry into House Savona. The family that would have been the royals had Italy not abolished the monarchy in 1946. But to the aristocrats of my home, the abolition means nothing at all. The Savonas still hold power where it counts most. In our tight-knit world of money, status and masked balls, they are everything and more. And I am soon to become one of them. I am soon to become Prince Zeno Savona’s wife… … or at least I was, until I met Achille. And everything changed. 
Caresa
As my papa’s G5 began its descent, I looked out of the window beside me and waited for the plane to break through the clouds. I held my breath, body tense, then suddenly the burnt-orange remnants of daylight flooded the plane, bathing the interior with a soft, golden glow. I inhaled deeply. Italia. Fields and fields of green and yellow created a patchwork quilt below, rolling hills and crystal-blue lakes stretching as far the eye could see. I smiled as a sense of warmth ran through me. It was the most beautiful place on earth. Sitting back in my wide cream leather chair, I closed my eyes and tried to prepare myself for what was coming. I was flying to Florence airport, from where I would be swiftly taken to the Palazzo Savona estate just outside of the city. I would meet Prince Zeno. I had met him twice before—once when I was four, of which I had no memory, and again when I was ten. The interaction we’d had as children had been brief. If I was being honest, I had found Zeno to be arrogant and rude. He had been thirteen at the time and not at all interested in meeting a ten-year-old girl from America. Neither of us had known at the time that that our betrothal had been agreed upon two years prior. It turned out that the trip my papa had taken to Umbria when I was eight was to secure a forever-bond between the Savonas and the Acardis. King Santo and my father had planned for their only children to marry. They were already joined in business; Zeno’s arranged marriage to me would also strengthen both families’ place in society. I thought back on my New York farewell of nine hours ago and sighed. My parents had driven me to the private hangar and said their goodbyes. My mama cried—her only child was leaving her for a new life. My papa, although sad to see me go, beamed at me with the utmost pride. He had held me close and whispered, “I have never been more proud of you than I am right now, Caresa. Savona Wines’ stock has plummeted since Santo’s death. This union will reassure all the shareholders that our business is still strong. That we are still a stable company with Zeno at the helm.” I had given him a tight smile and boarded the plane with a promise that they would see me before the wedding. And that had been that. I was to marry Zeno, and I hadn’t protested even once. I imagined to most modern-day women living in New York, the process of arranged marriages sounded positively medieval, even barbaric. For a blue blood, it was simply a part of life. King Santo Savona died two months ago. The shareholders of his many Italian vineyards, the stakeholders in Savona Wines, had expected his son, Zeno, to immediately step up and take charge. Instead, Zeno had plunged himself into the party scene even harder than before—and that was quite a feat. Within weeks my papa had flown out to Umbria to see what could be done. The answer: our imminent union. 
One winner gets a Signed Copy of A Veil of Vines + Limited-Edition The Future Mrs. Marchesi T-Shirt
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Tillie Cole hails from a small town in the North-East of England. She grew up on a farm with her English mother, Scottish father and older sister and a multitude of rescue animals. As soon as she could, Tillie left her rural roots for the bright lights of the big city.
After graduating from Newcastle University with a BA Hons in Religious Studies, Tillie followed her Professional Rugby player husband around the world for a decade, becoming a teacher in between and thoroughly enjoyed teaching High School students Social Studies before putting pen to paper, and finishing her first novel. Tillie has now settled in Austin, Texas, where she is finally able to sit down and write, throwing herself into fantasy worlds and the fabulous minds of her characters. Tillie is both an independent and traditionally published author, and writes many genres including: Contemporary Romance, Dark Romance, Young Adult and New Adult novels. When she is not writing, Tillie enjoys nothing more than curling up on her couch watching movies, drinking far too much coffee, while convincing herself that she really doesn’t need that extra square of chocolate. 
 A Veil of Vines by Tillie ColeMy rating: 5 of 5 stars Beautifully Written Five stars isn't enough for this wonderful, beautiful book. A Veil of Vines is a true love story. One that you feel deep inside. One that the characters love each other so deeply that you can feel it deep inside yourself. It's the kind of love that growing up you read in fairy tales and pray that you will find a love like it. Tillie has absolutely out done herself with this book and I am truly in love with it. Her writing is breathtaking and the characters are fast to become favorites of mine. I'm in awe of this book and totally in love with it. It's a truly wonderful book. |
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