Wednesday, September 28, 2016

Excerpt & Giveaway: Jackson Stiles: Road to Redemption by Jo Richardson


A lost soul and a seeker of truth travel down the road to redemption 
and discover more than they bargained for.


JACKSON STILES: ROAD TO REDEMPTION
Road to Redemption #1
Jo Richardson
Released Sept 21st, 2016


Jackson Stiles is used to having bad days, but they’ve been especially bad since a certain tabloid reporter seems to have it out for him.

Emma Green doesn’t mean any harm. She simply sees it as her duty to report the misdeeds of certain Private Detectives who charge too much in a society where people need more superheroes and less villains; something even Jackson has convinced himself he deserves to be called, deep in his gut.

When the two of them realize they’re investigating the same suspicious circumstances, Emma makes Jackson an offer he only wishes he could refuse. But can the man who trusts no one allow the one woman he can’t stand help him get to the bottom of a murder he feels responsible for?

Exposed and unsure, these two unexpected allies come together to unmask the mysteries cloaked in plain sight while uncovering secrets within each other. A lost soul and a seeker of truth travel down the road to redemption and discover more than they bargained for.

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Excerpt
“Morning, Stiles.” The five-and-a-half-foot brunette that likes to make my life miserable is easily five-eight, maybe even five-nine, in the heels she’s got on today. Combined with the dark blue power suit she’s wearing, she comes off as all business despite the fact that she doesn’t make eye contact with me. She’s too busy scrolling through a bunch of bullshit on her smartphone.
I growl a response so it comes out as more of a warning than a greeting. Is it a bit much for this time of day? Maybe. Considering our history, I’m not exactly worried about her impression of me, though.
Emma Green is the latest and greatest “crime” reporter for our friendly neighborhood tabloid. And I use the term “reporter” loosely, by the way. Very loosely.
Doesn’t care about getting the story right in certain cases, if ya know what I mean, loosely.
Her name’s been on nearly every article the Redemption Chronicle has put out since she arrived from somewhere down in Florida. She shows up at most crime scenes, from burglaries to homicides, and has very much become a royal pain in my...
“You’re late, by the way. They were just talking about you.” She mutters and points, blindly, down the hall as she steps into the elevator. Which is my cue to get the fuck out.
My one and only cigarette calls to me from the front pocket of my button down. Thank God I remembered it. But quite frankly, I don’t have the energy to pull it out. Not that I wouldn’t get arrested if I did, but . . .
“And you look like hell.” She’s full of compliments today, I see.
“Fuck you very much, Green.” Not that I’m complaining. It makes it easy to respond to her in like fashion. And bonus: I’m feeling pretty good about getting the last word in on this battle of the banter, as the doors close but then they open again.
“Maybe you shouldn’t stay up so late playing around with your buddies over at the police department.” I look back to see her foot blocking the sensors that would normally allow the doors to close. She still can’t be bothered to look up. She’s too busy burying her nose into the iPhone.
Let’s be real here. Flirting is not her forte.
“I appreciate that enlightening bit of useless advice, Green.” Despite my attempt to be nice sarcasm spills out of every word. It’s only when she pulls her foot all the way in and the doors are halfway shut that I ask myself─ how did she know I was downtown last night?
Emerald eyes peer up at me as the question enters my mind. And I swear, she’s fucking smirking.
Between the pleasant smile and the way her expression lights up like she’s about to pounce, I’m not sure what the hell to think. I haven’t seen her smile like that since the day I briefly met her on the scene of a break-in I was hired to investigate. First thing I noticed was her smile. She seemed...new.
The next thing I noticed was her eyes.
Deep green. The grab-a-hold-of-you-and-don’t-let-go kind that make you wanna know everything that’s going on behind them.
And don’t even get me started on her ass. It begs for mercy because she, no doubt, runs it every day, then follows up with a pint of fat free yogurt and a jug of water.
Not that I’ve thought about it.
But I digress.
She was polite enough. Or so I thought. Asked me if I had any insider’s information on what had gone down that day. It’s not like I was rude or anything. All I did was tell her I wasn’t doing her fucking job for her.
I paid the price for that comment in the article she ran the next day. The headline read, “Local P.I. steals more from family than burglar.” I won’t bother you with the details, but let’s just say, the article was less about the break-in and more about what an asshole I am.
I mean, what the fuck?
I can assure anyone who has the balls to ask, I charge less than ninety percent of the dicks working the tri-state area. Just ask the bill collectors.
The asshole thing is still up for debate...in most circles.
Lesson learned here? Never trust a woman with eyes that stunning or an ass that tight.
Basically, I fucking hate her.


A movie fanatic, a writer of stories, a lover of life.

I grew up in Maryland with four siblings, three parents and an endless number of cousins within the vicinity – but it was too cold up North for this thin blooded girl. So today, I live in Florida with my two girls and a husband that shares my same sense of humor and basic take on life as we know it.
Life is too short to put dreams on the back burner.

I write both contemporary and paranormal stories that include mystery, suspense, humor, action, romance, and anything else I can think up.




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COVER REVEAL : Plunge by Carian Cole w/a Tavi Grace




Title: Plunge
Series: Solivagant #1
Author: Carian Cole writing as Tavi Grace
Genre: Dark Romance
Cover Design: Kari Ayasha, Cover to Cover Designs
Release Date: 2016



Blurb

I tried to killed myself.

And much like everything else in my life, it went wrong.
Terribly wrong.

I woke up dead and broken. But not dead at all.
And not alone.

I want to go back. To the life that no longer seems as hopeless or as horrible as I thought it was. Even back to the man who wasn’t nearly as frightening as the one who’s now slowly inching his way across the room.
Closer to me.

But I can’t go back. The door has been closed. The lock has turned. The key thrown away.

Now there’s just the dark. And the quiet. And the fear. And those eyes.
And that touch.

He made me his angel. He became my God.

And I don’t know if this is heaven or hell.




Author Bio

Tavi Grace is the alter ego of author Carian Cole who wanted to write words that Carian didn’t want to write.

Ms. Grace writes stories about sexy, damaged, and slightly evil men and the women that will inevitably fall under their spell even though they damn well know they shouldn’t. These books will most likely have a few WTF moments and may or may not have a happy ending depending on how much sleep Tavi has gotten.

Tavi is almost half a hundred years old and lives in a house in the woods with a hot guy and a bunch of fuzzy pets that shed non-stop. She has an unhealthy addiction to toasted marshmallow flavored lattes, listens to the TV instead of watches it, and suffers from chronic wordlust.



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AUDIOBOOK RELEASE & Giveaway: Web Master Trilogy by Normandie Alleman



Web Master Trilogy
Author: Normandie Alleman
Genre: Contemporary Romance



An online connection.
Masked by anonymity.
No cameras. No pictures.
Curiosity ignited to intrigue.

I thought I knew what I was getting into, but had no idea how far we would go...

My intention was to test the waters, dip my toe in the wading pool. Instead I surrendered to the world of seduction and submission as he submerged me--body, mind, and soul--into an ocean of eroticism.

Emails, texts, and hidden identities, were one thing. But now, coming face-to-face with the mystery man, the star of my fantasies, both terrifies and completely thrills me. If all goes according to plan, he will intensify the exquisite bond we share by transporting me to that glorious intersection between agony and ecstasy. If not, everything we've built will come crashing down around us, destroying my dreams in the process.

Either way, there is no going back. Because I want more. Much more.
He always says, "For every ounce of pleasure, a price must be paid."

And I am going to pay ...







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He's my addiction, my love—my life.
He's my Dominant—my everything.
He's changed me, and I never want to go back.


But now, he's asking for too much.
Going too far.
It's out of my comfort zone--not who I am.

I'll swallow my pride and face my fears
But something tells me he has ulterior motives for this extreme request,
and I will get to the bottom of it.

That is, if I can pass his test.








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She's my addiction, my love--my life.
She's changed me, and I never want to go back.


I tried to protect her.
Hell, I tried to protect myself,
but I fucked it all up.

I may be a sick bastard, but I would lay down my life for her.
And I’ll do whatever it takes to make every inch of her mine again.

I always tell her for every ounce of pleasure a price must be paid.
She’s already paid more than she ever owed.

Now it’s my turn to pay.








Purchase Links

Free in Kindle Unlimited

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AMAZON US / UK
AUDIOBOOK



Audio Sample



Excerpt

This would be the first meeting where I would see my lover face-to-face.

He’d left strict instructions for me to sit at the table he reserved for us. He requested I sit with my back to the entrance. This tricky move on his part allowed no way for me to see him as he entered. If his intention was to control and torture me, it was working. A loose strand of hair tickled my cheek, so I tucked it behind my ear.

I watched for the waiter, again wanting that drink, but as much as I hated being outside my comfort zone, I loved the naughty, decadent feeling I got from doing something simply because my Master told me to. When I submitted to his demands, I stepped outside my safe little world, the one where my ex-husband ignored me for years, where I felt inconsequential. With him I wasn’t invisible. He relied on me.

Sure, it was for things of a sexual nature, but to me, that was something, and I felt fulfilled for the first time in ages.

A few months ago, when I’d been supremely pissed at my cheating husband, I went online. I admit it, I’d been looking for trouble, which was mind-numbingly easy to find. I hadn’t intended to find a darker side of myself with needs that shocked me. I’d never meant to find someone. I’d merely been looking, searching—for what, I wasn’t sure.

What I did find was a whole new world of dominance and submission, self-inflicted pain as well as pleasure, and sexual satisfaction with a stranger. A man who reached out and touched me in corners of my soul I hadn’t known existed. We spoke every day, I performed sex acts upon myself at his command, and sent him reports on the intimate and sometimes humiliating tasks he gave me.

I was his submissive, and he was my Master, and every aspect of our relationship took place over the internet. I addressed him as “Sir,” but in our chats he went by the moniker, “MC.” We communicated via Skype, email, chats, and the occasional phone call, never seeing one another. That is, until today.

I had insisted we not use cameras, even though he implored me to do webcam “sessions.” My privacy was of the utmost importance to me, so I always refused. I’m a kindergarten teacher and couldn’t take the risk of being videotaped. So the only notion I have of what my Master looks like is a product of my imagination.

But today he flew to Houston to meet me in person. To have a real “play date.” In the flesh. A chill ran across my skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

Today I would finally meet the man who dominated me for the past few months. My stomach roiled with anticipation. What would he look like? Would it matter? Of course whatever he looked like, he wouldn’t be the “Master” I’d daydreamed about.

Things never worked that way. It would be like conjuring an image for the hero in a book. When a movie is made, the actor never matches the character in your head. It was always a disappointment.

I’d tried to prepare myself for that from the beginning. I never pictured MC to be a handsome movie star. Instead, I envisioned him as rather average, with salt-and-pepper hair and kind features. For some reason I pictured him wearing glasses, and possibly a beard.

In any case, it wasn’t his physical appearance that captivated me. MC awakened a primal response in me. He exposed my mind to a world in which I could be open about my sexual desires. A world where the wanton girl inside me was encouraged to come out and play, rather than squelched and pushed into a back closet where she had always lived. He controlled my sexuality, sensing my deepest, darkest needs. And it didn’t hurt that he made me feel cared for and cherished at a time when I desperately needed that.

My phone showed it was 5:12. Any minute now… The wait had been both excruciating and delicious at the same time—a perfect reflection of our relationship, a testimony to both pain and pleasure.

“Close your eyes, my pet.” The familiar voice was a sound I’d come to crave, and hearing it sent shivers of anticipation dancing down my spine. Suddenly, I wanted to freeze that moment in time, to stop while things were still beautiful between us, before reality could mar the fantasy…



 Author Bio


A former psychologist, Normandie has always been fascinated by human behavior. She loves writing quirky characters that are all too human. Fiber arts, baking, and Pinterest are a few of her favorite pastimes. A shamelessly proud basketball mom, Normandie lives on a farm with a passel of kids, an adorable husband, and a pet pig who’s crazy for Red Bull. If you’d like up to the minute new release info on Normandie’s books text RACYREADS to 24587 (Use all CAPS).



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Giveaway

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SALE BLITZ & Giveaway: The Fun and Game Series by Clare James



Clare James makes a splash with these “intense, romantic, unputdownable" books in her newly complete Fun and Games series with bonus material!

THE RULES, Book #1, is now FREE on all sales channels!!!


The Fun and Games Series
(previously titled the Quick and Dirty series)
Author: Clare James
Genre: Steamy Romantic Comedy
Cover Design: Perfect Pear
Release Date: 2016



Blurb

5 Stars! “Amusing, sensual, and highly entertaining.” – Books and Bindings

Are you ready for some Fun and Games?

Then prepare yourself for a hot and hilarious romp through Chicago’s underground world of pleasure. This erotic tale features the combustible mix of a dirty-talking entrepreneur and a very curious city girl.

Discover why thousands of readers have fallen in love with these magnetic characters and their very unusual romance.

Each book in the Fun and Games series is a self-contained story and does NOT end on a cliffhanger.

#1 The Rules, Free!
#2 The List, available now
#3 The Game, available now
#4 The Deal, available now






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FREE

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AMAZON US / UK



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Available at other retailers soon



Author Bio


Clare James writes steamy contemporary romance and new adult stories, penning more than a dozen novels. Her Entangled Brazen debut, CAUGHT, was a #1 Amazon Best-Selling Romance Series, and the touching family drama, WEDNESDAY, also hit #1 as a category bestseller on Amazon.

Clare is fan of spunky women, gorgeous guys, and super-hot romance, and spends most of her time lost in books. When she's not reading, you can find her locked away writing. Clare is also a former dancer and still loves to get her groove on - mostly to work off her beloved cupcakes and red wine. She lives in Minneapolis with her two leading men - her husband and young son - and is always on social media chatting with readers.



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RELEASE BLITZ & Giveaway: Dirty Neighbor by Cassie-Ann L. Miller




Title: Dirty Neighbor
Series: The Dirty Suburbs #1
Author: Cassie-Ann L. Miller
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: September 28, 2016



Blurb

Keeland Masters...Growing up, he was the boy next door, my brother’s best friend, the guy who asked me to the prom...and then stood me up. He just vanished into thin air.

Now that he’s back in town, he wants to come over to play. And I’m not talking hopscotch. But he’s hurt me once, so I’m sticking to my side of the fence no matter how good he looks pushing that lawnmower in all his tanned, toned shirtless glory.

Dirty Neighbor is book one in the "Dirty Suburbs", a series of stand-alone romantic comedies set in small town Illinois.






Purchase Links

99c

AMAZON US / UK / CA / AU



Trailer




Excerpt

Keeland

I veer off of the I-96 and guide my Harley onto the off-ramp. I grin to myself as I glance up at the huge, green highway sign looming above the road.

Welcome to Reyfield, Illinois.

I never thought I’d ever feel so damn happy to see that sign again but after all I’ve been through over the past three years, I just want something simple and familiar. I want to be in a place where I don’t feel antsy, like I’ve got to keep looking over my shoulder.

Reyfield is it. It’s almost like coming home…

Almost.

I’m well aware that the Masters’ left a lot of destruction in our wake the last time we were in this town; unpaid bills, unsaid goodbyes and at least one very broken heart.

Maybe it’s time to pay old debts, heal old wounds and make amends as best I can. Maybe it’s time for a fresh start.

It’s a chilly night. Fall is creeping its way into town. I breeze through the streets and everything feels familiar. It all gives me a little thrill in the pit of my stomach. The gothic architecture of the Presbyterian church…The washed-out “Go Tigers!” banner hanging outside of our old high school…The field where we played football…The burger joint we used to go to for lunch when the school cafeteria’s offerings resembled road kill topped with warm dog food...

I take a left off of Clifford Boulevard and pull onto Hyatt Street. The corner store is right where I left it. I cut my engine in the parking lot and stroll through the front door. I give a quick nod to the middle-aged woman sitting behind the cash register and make my way down the narrow, brightly-lit aisles.

Man, it feels good to just walk down the aisles of a freakin’ convenience store. When you’ve been locked away for as long as I have, you learn to appreciate the simple things.

I stand in front of the chip display for a moment, trying to decide between vinegar and barbecue. “Fuck it…” I’m having both. And how about a bag of jalapeño-cheddar, too? I’m making up for lost time, after all.

I grab a case of beer — the cheap kind that we used to buy with our fake ids when we were teenagers. I’m feeling awfully nostalgic tonight. Then, I grab more chocolate-covered pretzel sticks than any self-respecting 27-year-old man ever should.

When I get to the condom aisle, I pick up eight three-packs of XL Magnums.

Yes, that might seem overly ambitious but I haven't had sex in three freakin’ years and whoever I take home with me tonight is in for a hell of a good time. The ladies don’t call me Master Kee for nothing. My main priority tonight is to drain the tank into the first acceptable-looking broad that comes my way and to be honest, ‘acceptable-looking’ is pretty much open for interpretation at this point.

Because I’m horny enough to fuck my way through the Reyfield phonebook.

I drop my goodies onto the counter and the cashier eyes me with an arched eyebrow and a subtle grin. “Exciting night planned?” she asks, tipping her chin towards the condoms. The innuendo in her voice is undeniable.

I give her a second glance. Is she Ms. Acceptable for tonight? Nah, she’s probably older than my mother and she smells like she’s been marinating in cigarette smoke and cheap perfume all day. My definition of “acceptable” may be loose, but not that loose.

I nod politely as I glimpse at the number glowing on the screen of the cash register and pull a $100 bill out of my wallet. She drags her long fingernails along my palm as she deposits the change into my hand.

Did my cock just twitch?

Down, buddy. Down.

“Have a good night, Big Boy,” she purrs as I give her a quick salute and duck out the door.

I store my goodies in my backpack and jump onto my bike. When I rev it, the poor thing lets out a choked straining sound. I’ll look into it first thing in the morning, but for now, I’m on mission to get laid.

ASAP.


Samantha

“Breathe in...hold hold hold...breathe out...Breathe in...hold hold hold...breathe out...Breathe in...hold hold hold...breathe out…”

I take long deep breaths, doing my best to synchronize my rhythm to the sound of Isla’s voice pouring into my ears. The cool morning breeze blowing over my face and the sun smiling down on my skin make it that much easier.

This is one of the few things that I absolutely adore about being back in Reyfield. It’s a quiet, serene town. Except for the occasional ruckus caused by the young children playing on the street and the yapping of the over-talkative Yorkshire terrier a few doors down, the place is a sanctuary. A slice of suburban perfection. The ideal place for soul-searching and self-reflection.

But Reyfield is just too slow-paced for me. Take Thornbush Lane, for example. The cul-de-sac is charming, for lack of a better word – the kind of place you’d go to raise a family or grow old, I guess. A cast of interesting characters occupy the lane. Nancy and Delores, the gray-haired duo who’ve appointed themselves as the two-woman neighborhood watch, the eccentric mailman who delivers my mail to the wrong house half the time, meddlesome neighbors who drop by unannounced when you least expect them. That all adds to the cozy feel of the place. But for an ambitious 25-year-old like me, Reyfield is nothing but a dead end.

Growing up, I couldn’t wait to get out of the suburbs. And that’s what I did as soon as I could. I moved 15 miles south, to Chicago for college and then took a job in the city. Everything was going relatively well until four months ago when I suddenly got laid off. Now, here I am, unemployed, single, broke and for the past six weeks, living in my parents’ house again.

Ugh.

Thank god mom and dad are staying in Florida with grams till next spring so at least I have the house to myself. I did not work my ass off for my certified internal auditor designation only to end up living with my parents forevermore. Basically, I need to find a new job stat so that I can move back to the city as soon as possible.

Anyway, Isla swore up and down that meditation would help with my job search. She says that I’m ‘scattered’ and that’s why I haven’t been able to find a new position since I got laid off. Her new meditation recording is supposed to help me find my ‘center’ and ‘recalibrate’ in order to attract a suitable employment opportunity.

Her words, not mine.

For weeks, I resisted. The old Sammie thought that Isla was delusional and maybe even slightly off her rocker. The new Sammie is so hopeless and desperate and sick of being unemployed that I’m pretty much willing to try anything to get a damn job. Sending out resumes, compulsively checking job-listing websites and waiting impatiently for the postman to show up with my mail every morning has proven to be an ineffective strategy.

So, it was time to try something new.

I’ve been using this meditation track for a few days now and if nothing else, it’s relaxing and distracts me from the ticker tape of worry, doubt and anxiety constantly running through my mind.

I shift my foot slightly, determined to ignore the itch prickling at my heel. I'm going to meditate the fuck out of it. Forget you, stupid itch. It's time to turn ‘inwards’ because my money’s low and I need a miracle right about now. I focus solely on my breathing.

Eventually, time and space slip away. I think I’m in that space that Isla’s always talking about. ‘The nothingness’ is what she calls it. I feel content. Satiated. That tiny, niggling voice in the back of my head gnawing at me to get off my butt and go search through the local classified ads again? I smother that bitch under pillows of bliss.

“Breathe in…hold hold hold…breathe out…”

Putata-putata-putata

What the fuck is that?

Putata-putata-putata

Is that a motorcycle? Who the hell on Thornbush Lane has a motorcycle?

I squeeze my eyes shut and try to channel my inner yogi in a futile attempt to drown out the hiccup-hiccup of the engine as it sputters to death nearby. It seems like the harder I try to ignore it, the louder it gets.

I grudgingly yank out my earbuds and ease out of my cross-legged position on my oversized cushion on the back patio. I peer around the side of the house and notice a shiny black Harley Davidson lying on its side in the driveway just as a tall, shirtless figure slinks across the front lawn next door.

What the fuck? Nobody’s supposed to be over there.

As far as I know, dad tried to get that place rented for months before he finally gave up in defeat at the end of July. Illinois’s economy is bad and nobody wants to pay a premium to rent that crumbling, two-story colonial with its unkempt lawn and weather-beaten clapboards. Still, my stubborn father refuses to lower the rental. He’d rather the house sit vacant. I guess he can afford to be picky about his tenants. He doesn’t have a mortgage to pay on it since he inherited the house when his uncle Kramer died back when I was a kid.

I bring my attention back to the very bold intruder next door. I can’t see his face because the tall hedges now hide him from view. I should probably call the police but I decide to check it out myself. I grab a weapon – the rake leaning against the side of the house – as I inch cautiously towards the front yard.

I trek across the driveway separating the two houses, passing the beastly motorcycle and an open toolbox on the way. I stomp through the overgrown lawn and up the stairs to the front porch. The door is wide open and for some reason that puts me at ease. A burglar would probably be more discreet than that, right?

The knot in my stomach loosens a bit. This is probably all some huge misunderstanding.

I stick my head into the doorway without stepping inside, just as a precaution. “Hello?”

A shadowy figure approaches, moving down the long, dimly-lit hallway that leads from the kitchen to the front door. Sunrays slice through the kitchen curtains, illuminating him from behind and revealing his silhouette bit by bit.

And what a sexy silhouette it is.

My eyes climb his frame in slow motion.

His large, sturdy feet.

His long, muscular legs and the gray basketball shorts hanging low on his hips.

Well, damn…

The delicious V punctuating his washboard abs.

The colorful, intricate tattoos ornamenting his strong chest and those brawny arms.

Oh, wow…

His square, stubbly chin.

Those full lips slowly spreading into a wide smile.

My god — I can’t breathe…

Blue eyes, as pale and electric as a flash of lightening.

He shoves his large hand through his messy blond hair. “Hey…”

My heart stops cold in my chest and a shiver runs through my body. The rake slips from my fingers and lands at my feet with a metallic clang. I choke out his name.

“Keeland…?”




Author Bio

Contemporary romance author of the Esquire Girls Series and the Esquire HEAT Series available on Amazon and Kindle Unlimited.


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