Tuesday 31 October 2017

Release Blitz - Let Her Go by Briana Pacheco




Title: Let Her Go
Author: Briana Pacheco
Genre: New Adult Contemporary Romance
Release Date: October 31, 2017



Blurb

Zoë Whitmore is in love with her best friend, but haunting memories and a guilty conscious have been holding her back from letting her be with him.

Owen Stevenson is unknowingly paying for the sins of his father. He doesn't understand why Zoë can't look at him for more than a few seconds or why his touch is unsettling at times. All he's ever wanted was to love her, to protect her, and to be hers, but it's not so easy.

She pushes, he pulls.
She hurts, he loves.

Both are holding onto ghosts of their pasts and in order for them to peruse a relationship they'll have to let them go.







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Author Bio

Briana Pacheco is the author of New Adult novels (DON'T LET ME FALL, SOUNDS OF YESTERDAY, A SKY FULL OF SECRETS, and LET HER GO), a twin, a dreamer, a tattoo lover, easily swooned by accents, and a little bit of an extrovert but a whole lot of introvert. When she’s not reading, writing or people watching, she can be found listening to music, perfecting resting bitch face, or at Dunkin’ Donuts.



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Release Blitz - Blocked by L.P. Dover




Title: Blocked
A Breakaway Novel
Author: L.P. Dover
Genre: Sports Romance
Publisher: Random House/Loveswept
Release Date: October 31, 2017



Blurb

He’s got every reason to be cocky . . . until a female cuts him down to size.

I’m Dallas Easton, the best goaltender in the league. I make a damn good living playing hockey, and with women falling at my feet wherever I go, why not enjoy it? I get whatever I want, whenever I want—that is, until I come across the one player who gets the best of me on the ice.

When I try to pummel the dude, all hell breaks loose. Imagine my surprise when the helmet comes off to reveal a woman underneath. And not just any woman, but the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen. Callie Davis is the complete opposite of the puck bunnies I usually go for, a good girl with sick moves and a selfless streak a mile wide. I need to make amends, but she dodges me at every turn. It doesn’t help that Callie’s brother hates my guts, or that my agent thinks she’s bad for my career.

But I could care less what they think. I can’t let our little run-in on the ice be the end of our story. Because when I set my sights on something, I won’t rest until I score.




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Excerpt

Heart pounding, I stared him down, waiting for him to take the shot. The second he drew back his stick, I got into position, only for him to hit me right between the eyes with his glove. For a split second I lost my focus, and he slapped the puck right between my legs.

“Motherfucker,” I growled, glaring down at the glove on the ice and the puck in the goal. The worthless cunt actually had the audacity to throw his glove at my face. Kellan burst out laughing and the whole rink echoed as they cheered at my expense. Red just fucked up big time. 

The others tried their luck to no avail, and then Red was back at it. I waited for him to throw the other glove, but instead, he turned and sprayed ice right up into my face, his body colliding with mine. During our fall, he hit the puck right into the goal. Rage coursed through my veins and all I could see was red . . . literally. Getting up quickly, he started back toward the others and I slid out my stick, hooking it around his ankle. I jerked him back and he fell. If he wanted to play dirty, I’d show him how dirty I could be. He tried to get up, but I pushed him back down, tossing my mask and gloves onto the ice. The others shouted and skated toward us, but I wasn’t letting Red get away with making me out to be a fool. 

“Think you’re hot shit now, huh?” I spat, grabbing him by the jersey. He was smaller than me, so it wasn’t hard to flip him over and rip off his mask. Blinded by rage, I pulled my fist back, only to stop cold in my tracks. I stared at the face behind the mask, completely transfixed.

The person lying on the ice wasn’t Justin’s brother. It was a woman, and not just any woman. She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Before any words could escape my lips, Justin tackled me to the ice and my breath whooshed out of my lungs as we slid to the wall. 

“What the fuck is your problem? That’s my sister,” he shouted angrily. Eyes darkening, he slammed my shoulders against the wall. 

Catching my breath, I looked up at him and held up my hands. “I didn’t know it was a female. I wouldn’t have touched her if I’d known.” Under most circumstances, I’d have punched him and been done, but I felt like a tool. 

His nostrils flared. “You’re such a prick.” 

“Justin,” his sister called out. We both looked over at her as Kellan and the other two guys helped her up. They all stared daggers at me, including her. “Let’s go.” 

Justin pushed off of me and skated over to her. I got one last look at her angelic face and emerald green eyes before she turned around and disappeared off the ice. 



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Author Bio


New York Times and USA Today bestselling author L. P. Dover is a southern belle living in North Carolina with her husband and two beautiful girls. Before she began her literary journey she worked in periodontics, enjoying the wonderment of dental surgeries.

She loves to write, but she also loves to play tennis, go on mountain hikes and white water rafting, and has a passion for singing. Her two youngest fans expect a concert each and every night before bedtime, usually Christmas carols.

Dover has written countless novels, including her Forever Fae series, the Second Chances series, the Gloves Off series, the Armed & Dangerous series, the Royal Shifters series, the Society X series, the Circle of Justice series, and her standalone novel Love, Lies, and Deception. Her favorite genre to read and write is romantic suspense, but if she got to choose a setting in which to live, it would be with her faeries in the Land of the Fae.



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Release Blitz - Spirited Away by Mary Billiter




Title: Spirited Away
A Resort Romances Novel
Author: Mary Billiter
Genre: Romantic Comedy
Publisher: Hot Tree Publishing
 Release Date: October 31, 2017



Blurb

What happens when the legend of the old west becomes the new reality? In Mary Billiter’s fun novel of investigating the unknown and navigating love, a drop-dead sexy cop and a fiery redhead are linked by a mysterious haunting and the unsolved crime of passion behind it all.

When Reese Pemberton relocates from the Golden State to the Cowboy State for a corporate promotion, she discovers a different state of mind. From the hustle and bustle mayhem of the Bay Area to the slow and easy meanderings of Wyoming, Reese welcomes the change in pace as the hotel’s new general manager. However, she shuts the door on the notion that her hotel is haunted.

But when a series of mishaps introduces the fiery redhead to the hotel’s legendary cowboy ghost, she begins to question the events surrounding his demise.

Reese and Cheyenne police detective Cody Pring join forces to put to rest the spirit that haunts the hotel. In the process, they discover long-buried secrets. Can the two solve a decades-old mystery or are some things better left with the dead?







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Author Bio


Mary Billiter is a weekly newspaper columnist and fiction author. She also has novels published under the pen name, “Pumpkin Spice.”

Mary resides in the Cowboy State with her unabashedly bald husband, her four amazing children, two fantastic step-kids, and their runaway dog. She does her best writing (in her head) on her daily runs in wild, romantic, beautiful Wyoming.



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Release Blitz - By the Fates, Fulfilled by Patricia D. Eddy




Title: By the Fates, Fulfilled
Series: By the Fates #4
Author: Patricia D. Eddy
Genre: Paranormal Romance/Suspense
 Release Date: October 31, 2017



Blurb

I spend my days hiding. Spelled behind a mask. Waiting. Hoping.
While in the dungeon, Raven suffers alone. Chained and tortured, waiting for Ealasaid to rescue him. To fulfill her destiny and save the world.
Then a man I thought long dead breaks through my defenses.
He knows who I am. He's seen my true face. Will he expose my secret?
Or is he the one who will finally set me free?





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Excerpt

Chapter One

The lone figure shuddered under the thick wool blanket, and I released my breath. Alive. At least for tonight. The knot I’d carried in my chest for the past few hours loosened as I approached his cell. Not entirely, of course. The tether that bound me to the witch forced me to sense her constant fear. Only when she slept did I find any relief—and of late, she’d slept little. Perhaps once I cast the spell back in my chamber, I’d earn a few hours of peace.
Peace? You’re trapped as much as this man is. I cursed under my breath. The long days suffocating under the weight of my secret were taking their toll. I longed to breathe free air, but until we found a way to escape Eideard’s spells, I had to maintain my disguise lest the emaciated and broken man in the cell before me gained a companion. The dungeon walls pressed in on me. Most of the room was underground, keeping the temperature near freezing. Only the top few feet of the room peeked above the ground, a tiny window high on the wall providing a torturous glimpse of freedom so far from our reach.
Tufts of matted black hair stuck up from the prisoner’s cocoon. A thick chain rattled as he shivered. Why Eideard insisted on the manacle—running from the man’s ankle to a hasp low on the wall—I could not fathom. The binding spell, the starvation, and the beatings ensured he’d never escape. Not without some sort of miracle.
“Delphine? You’re relieved.”
The deep voice startled me. I nearly dropped the cup of water and the bowl of porridge I carried on a well-worn tray. The scents of cedar and fresh rain announced his presence behind me and I squeezed my eyes shut for a brief moment, not wanting to see him as he was now. After a breath, I found my voice.
“Shortly. I’ve brought the prisoner’s meal. You’ve time for a mug of kahve if you wish.” I turned, biting my lower lip to quell the tremble. Before…the human and I had been close, or we’d tried to be. I’d always found Conall to be a kind and interesting man—one I wanted to know better. Now, victim to the last remaining snáthaid, a stranger stood before me.
We hadn’t known what the snáthaid could do. How if left in a person’s body, it would burrow deeper, the magic eating away at the soul until only an empty shell remained, ready to be molded like clay. King Conall had died more than six months ago, and Eideard—along with his personal mage, Brandanna—had sculpted him into Lachlan, a low-level guard loyal to Clan Kendrick. After the witch’s escape, Eideard assigned Lachlan to the night watch to torture the lone prisoner even further.
 “I…” He glanced towards the stone steps that led out of the underground dungeon. “I do not like kahve.”
“You had a mug with you last week.” My fingers started to itch and the dull throbs of a headache bloomed behind my eyes. I couldn’t hold onto my spell much longer—another half an hour at most. “No matter. Take this morning’s tray back to the kitchens. Eideard may not care if the prisoner sleeps in rat shite, but I refuse to spend my days watching the disgusting things crawl all over him.”
I opened the cell and then gestured to the untouched meal. “Go on.” Even in my lowly position—barely a member of the Guarda, more of a glorified kitchen wench—I outranked Lachlan. Everyone did. From the king to the lowest foot soldier. At least he had no memory of his former station. Small blessings, I supposed.
Uncertainty pinched his dark brows, but he wouldn’t ignore a direct order. As he rose, his hands shook, and his gaze pleaded with me before he turned on his heel and trudged up the steps.
I couldn’t spare the time to wonder why he feared leaving the dungeon. Moving quickly, I dropped to one knee and pulled the blanket away from the warlock’s face. He cringed and shrank further into the corner. “N-no.”
“Shh. It’s only me.” I rested my palm on his chest, each rib sharp under his thin shirt. “You must eat.”
“Let m-me d-die.” His eyes fluttered closed. Blue veins contrasted starkly against skin that hadn’t seen the sun in months. With more speed than I thought him capable of, he lunged for the athame at my waist. Cursing, I leapt back.
“You are not worth the wrath I would earn if you died, warlock.” I spat at his bare feet, drew my athame, and pressed the blade to his throat in case Lachlan came back. Unable to hold his head up, the warlock sagged forward as hoarse sobs wracked his body. I should never have let him go this long without the respite from the Mists. I knew better, but the witch had been so insistent. “You will stay alive for as long as the king wishes. This I promise you.”
“Please…”
The anguish in his voice threatened my tenuous control.  I glanced over my shoulder. We were still alone. I let my spell slip away for a moment, and rather than a middle-aged, stout devil woman with no hair, yellow teeth, and a thick middle, I stood before the prisoner in my true form. Tall, with silver hair past my shoulders, and barely enough bulk to hold my corset up, my familiar face rallied him, though only slightly.
“I can give you peace, for a day or two. But only if you eat.” Thankful Lachlan was taking his time, I slid the athame into its holster and grabbed the prisoner’s arms so I could gently lower him to the floor. My whispered words only seemed to drive him further into despair. “As long as she lives, she will never stop searching. She’ll find a way.”
“Or die…trying.” As the man slumped against the wall, his dark lashes glistened with spilled tears in the torchlight, and I swore under my breath as I noted how sunken his cheeks had become. “Help me…protect her. Kill me.”
Six hopeless months ago, I’d made my vow. How much longer could I stand to watch him suffer? “You are the only reason she lives.” I cupped his chin and forced his head up. “The full moon will be here soon. I’ll be able to get a message to her then. Eat, so I can give you respite.”
I pressed a spoonful of porridge against his lips and thanked the Fates when he accepted the offering. As he ate, I told him how angry the corrupt king had been the last time a contingent of his men had come close to finding Ealasaid but had been cut down by the witch’s power. Eideard had punched one of the stone walls so hard, he’d broken four bones in his hand. “The idiot forgot he’d sent Brandanna to Lobhdain the previous night. He had to suffer with those shattered bones for a full day.”
Angry shouts echoed from the main floor, but I ignored them in favor of holding the cup of water to his lips. “You will not last long in the Mists this time. You must eat more.”
The sound that escaped his throat confused me until I saw his chest shake. Laughter? “You try…that shite. Eideard…has them put lye in it.”
“Fates be damned.” I raised the bowl to my nose, sniffed, and fought not to retch. It had never occurred to me that the king would sink that low. “When next you see me, I’ll have a better meal for you.”
As I wrapped the blankets around him, he forced his eyes open. “Thank you.”
With my hand on his cheek, I cast the spell that would send him into a type of hibernation. Nightmares plagued him there, in a realm created by ancient magic, but at least the cocoon of the Mists spared his body the pain of so many hours trapped in a frigid cell with an icy chain around his ankle.
With a final moan, he succumbed to the tug of the devil magic, and the lines around his eyes and lips relaxed. The magic drained me further, and I shivered. “On my life, I will find a way to free you. Sleep now, Raven, and try to dream of Ealasaid.”
***
My fingers shook as I shut the cell door, and my vision wavered as I reclaimed my disguise.
“Delphine?”
Lachlan’s voice startled me, and I almost lost hold of the spell. I wrestled for control and cleared my throat twice before I risked speech.
“Aye. I’ve sent the warlock into the Mists for the night. He’s all yours.” I brushed past Lachlan, but the scent of blood caught my attention. With my foot on the first stair, I cast a brief glance at the former king. He held a crimson-stained handkerchief to his swollen lip. “What happened?”
“I tripped.” He shrugged, winced, and spat into the cotton square. “The prisoner ate?”
Tripped, my arse. Lachlan braced himself against the wall, his breath stuttered at the end of his inhalation, and his left eye bore a reddish tinge that would likely turn black and blue by the end of his shift.
“Sit.” I offered him a clean handkerchief. When he waved me off, I gave him my best glare. “If you bleed all over your uniform, you’ll earn more of the captain’s ire. And you certainly don’t want to pass out during your watch.”
He didn’t so much sit as collapse into the metal chair.  The occasional hiss escaped his lips as I staunched the blood and passed a quick cooling spell over his swollen cheek, his jaw, and his ribs. “Nothing broken?” My magic faltered as I met Lachlan’s gaze, and I struggled not to show him my true form.
He frowned, shifted to one side, then back again. “No. Not this time.” His last words almost disappeared into his hands as he scrubbed his face. “Leave me. Please.”
Regret twisted like a knife deep into my gut as he struggled to straighten his shoulders. If I thought I could maintain my spell any longer, I’d offer to stay with him, but my skin had already started to crawl with the sensation of a thousand spiders. With the moon full, the mage would be gone, renewing the spells that surrounded the castle. If I could break into her rooms, perhaps I could find a way to escape the dampening field that kept me—and Raven—trapped here.
“I’ll relieve you a bit early tomorrow. Good night, Lachlan.”
Halfway up the stairs, his words followed me. “That’s not my name.”
I almost rushed back to him, hoping I’d find some part of the former king. But he’d relieved me every day for the past month and I’d never seen a single spark of recognition. I couldn’t risk the time or the danger. No. King Conall was dead. Killed by the snáthaid six long months ago. No amount of wishing could change that.
“Be well, my friend,” I whispered as I pushed through the scarred wooden door that sealed the dungeon off from the rest of the castle. “As well as you can be.”



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Author Bio


Patricia D. Eddy lives in many worlds. Witches, vampires, and shifters inhabit one of them, military men and women fill another, with sexy Doms and strong subs carving out the final slice of her literary universe. She admits to eleven novels (though there are at least five unfinished drafts on her desk right now), all while working a full-time job, running half-marathons, and catering to the every whim of her three cats. Despite this whirlwind, she still finds time to binge watch Doctor Who all of the Netflix Marvel shows, and most recently, The Handmaid's Tale. Oh, and she hopes to one day be able to say that she plays the guitar. Right now, she mostly tortures the strings until they make noise.


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Monday 30 October 2017

Release Blitz - Mister McHottie by Pippa Grant




Title: Mister McHottie
Author: Pippa Grant
Genre: Sexy Romantic Comedy
 Release Date: October 30, 2017



Blurb

Chase
I’ve just bought the woman of my nightmares.
Technically, I bought the company she works for. Point is, she cost me my two best friends ten years ago. It’s payback time, and I’m going to make her life hell.
When I’m not banging her silly and myself stupid.
I need to get my head back in business, because getting off is great, but He was a man who had sex, and lots of it, and in the worst locations, with the woman of his nightmares isn’t the inscription I want on my tombstone.
Even if it’s true.

Ambrosia
There are three things I hate:
Bratwurst in any form, my neighbors boinking loudly like farm animals at 3 AM, and Chase Jett.
Mostly I hate Chase Jett. It’s been ten years since he took my virginity—I’d make a bratwurst joke, but the unfortunate truth is that it would have to be a bratbest joke, which also pisses me off—and now he’s not only a billionaire, he’s also my new boss.
Turns out our hate is mutual. And this kind of hate is horrifically twisted, filthy, and banging hot.
I just might have to hate him forever.


Mister McHottie is 45,000 gloriously hilarious, hot, sexy words that your mother warned you about, complete with an organic happy-ever-after (or seven), a Bratwurst Wagon, ill-advised office pranks, and no cheating or cliffhangers.







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Excerpt

Ambrosia May Berger is standing in the elevator bank, peering up at the numbers. She hiccups again. I stop beside her and watch her eyes go wide, then narrow, then cross. Mirrored elevator doors are possibly the second greatest invention known to man.
First, of course, is the internet.
I stare at Bro in the door mirror.
She stares back.
For all the shit she gave me growing up, I always respected her spine. As much as one can respect something that infuriating. She got away with everything. Even when she was reckless.
I can honestly say no woman I’ve been with since her has ever tried to make a break for it in the Bratwurst Wagon.
As long as I block out the month that followed, I can think of the Bratwurst Wagon with a smile.
“Working late or coming in early?” I ask.
“The hogs are mating again,” she replies.
The world believes this woman to be a sane, competent adult. Mind-boggling.
“Do you always wait in elevator banks for women you want to harass?” she asks.
“Only when I’ve gotten bored staking out the bathrooms.” I reach over and hit the up button, because she hasn’t. “Do you always assume the elevators can read your mind?”
“They were doing better than you. I didn’t want to go up.”
“And you’re standing here because…?”
“It’s my thinking spot.”
“It’s 3 AM on a Wednesday morning.”
“Do you see me judging you on wanting to use an elevator at 3 AM on a Wednesday morning? No, you don’t. So why do you have to judge me for wanting to think in an elevator bank at 3 AM? Hmmmmmm?” The hum trills up on the end, right in time with her swiveling to face me. She squints one eye, then the other, before scrunching her face, pointing her index finger at my nose, and making pew, pew noises.
If this is what the security guards were worried I’d find, I’m rather disappointed.
“Drinking on the job again?” I ask.
Again implies I’ve done it before. Which I have not, unless you count that time the guava kale juice fermented, which I don’t, because it only counts as drinking if I enjoy the alcohol. Also, all whiskey was consumed off-premise.”
“So you’re drunk.”
“I’m not drunk. I’m barely buzzed enough to be able to tolerate you.”
I eye her, and decide she’s telling the truth. Her eyes are too focused and her tongue’s too sharp for her to be drunk. I can’t even smell anything on her. Tired, maybe, but not drunk.
“Was it organic?” I ask dryly.
“It’s whiskey, dickhead.”
Christ, that mouth. I want to lick it and tape it shut all at the same time. “You shouldn’t call your superiors names.”
She blows a raspberry. The sight of her ripe pink tongue makes my cock leap to attention.
“Looking for disciplinary action?” I murmur.
“Oh, don’t you wish.” The elevator dings, and she lists inside. I’d try to catch her, but frankly, I wouldn’t mind seeing her crash to the ground.
She comes to a solid stop at the railing along the back paneled wall. “And you’re not my superior,” she says.
“I write your paycheck.”
“Not yet you haven’t.” Spittle shouldn’t be sexy, but her second raspberry gives me a longer look at her tongue. I remember that tongue. Long as a lizard’s, hot as a volcano, talented as a porn star.
That’s as complimentary as I get where Bro Berger is concerned.
“So Mr. Liver-bellied Bratwurst-runner-away-er,” she says, “wouldn’t you be happier owning a grocery store that I don’t work for? Because I’m sure we can find another zagillionaire to take your place.”
I punch the button to the eighteenth floor—where the fresh greens for tomorrow are being picked and packed right now, if all’s on schedule—and give her my worst smile. “Aw, Bro, your inflated opinion of my bank account is touching.”
“You could be a mega-ka-billion-trillionaire, and you still wouldn’t have enough money to buy a soul.”
I’m relatively new to the ranks of the ten-figure club, but it’s still been years since anyone has insulted me to my face.
Her blatant hatred is oddly erotic. “Who needs a soul when I have the power to sack tempestuous employees?”
“Go ahead. I dare you.” She bangs the button for the fourth floor. Then the third, fifth, seventh, ninth, and every odd number to the top. With a frown, she draws her hand down the row of even numbers until every single floor is lit, and if I’d still thought this was alcohol motivating her, the sharp, devious intention in her cold eyes removes any doubt.
She’s fully in control and she’s intentionally trying to bait me.
Heat creeps over my scalp. It’s working.
She’s making this elevator stop on Every. Single. Fucking. Floor.
I whip out my cell phone—security can override her little prank—but as the doors close, my signal dies.
She does the MC Hammer dance, and her breasts jiggle under her swishy spring dress in a way even a celibate Tibetan monk couldn’t resist. There’s no fucking way she’s wearing a bra.
My cock twitches harder.
How did a woman so insanely evil land the world’s most perfect tits?
“Go on, rich boy.” She switches to the Lawnmower, and now her hips are rocking it too. “Buy your way out of that.”
Good Chase, the businessman, the gaming tech genius, the face I show the world, the smarter part of my brain, hops off when the doors open on the second floor, because he appreciates stairs and getting the hell away from this deranged woman.
Bad Chase, though, has possessed my body, and keeps me in the elevator.
I wave goodbye to rational thought and better judgment—who needs those bitches anyway?—and turn to Bro with a growl.
She’s wiggling her sweet curvy ass at me now, arms circling, stirring the batter. “It’s my birthday, happy birthday, it’s my birth—oomph!”
Huh. Emergency stop button works, but it’s a little choppy on the execution. Better have maintenance look at that tomorrow.
I take one large, purposeful step toward Bro.
She fists her hands on her hips and calls me an asshole with her dark, heavy-lidded, fuck-me bedroom eyes.
Yeah.
She’s feeling it too.
That pull. That hate. That inexplicable force of rage that can only be satiated with a hard, hot fuck.





Author Bio

Pippa Grant is a stay-at-home mom and housewife who loves to escape into sexy, funny stories way more than she likes perpetually cleaning toothpaste out of sinks and off toilet handles. When she’s not reading, writing, sleeping, or trying to prepare her adorable demon spawn to be productive members of society, she’s fantasizing about chocolate chip cookies.


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