tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-77183383874610657942024-03-05T15:09:14.791-05:00Miss Ivy's Book Nook Take IIStill honest, rarely snarky.Ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16537505155659023098noreply@blogger.comBlogger439125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7718338387461065794.post-68472498010421146482019-12-02T06:00:00.000-05:002019-12-02T15:22:08.664-05:00THE GLITTERING HOUR Review & giveaway<br />
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An unforgettable historical about true love found and lost and the secrets we keep from one another from an award-winning author<br />
Selina Lennox is a Bright Young Thing. Her life is a whirl of parties and drinking, pursued by the press and staying on just the right side of scandal, all while running from the life her parents would choose for her.<br />
Lawrence Weston is a penniless painter who stumbles into Selina's orbit one night and can never let her go even while knowing someone of her stature could never end up with someone of his. Except Selina falls hard for Lawrence, envisioning a life of true happiness. But when tragedy strikes, Selina finds herself choosing what's safe over what's right.<br />
Spanning two decades and a seismic shift in British history as World War II approaches, Iona Grey's <i>The Glittering Hour</i> is an epic novel of passion, heartache and loss. (Synopsis from Amazon)<br />
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<b>My Thoughts on THE GLITTERING HOUR</b><br />
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<b>5 Stars</b><br />
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<span class="s1"><b>There’s good fiction, which is a nice break; a bit of down time.</b></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>Then there’s great fiction, which transports you to another time and place. Great fiction makes you feel deeply and strongly. The characters become like family or friends to you. Great fiction can take you above the clouds and down into the depths. Makes you laugh out loud for numerous reasons (that can be embarrassing depending on where you are) and break your heart, resulting in copious tears (we’re talking ugly crying- equally embarrassing).</b></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>THE GLITTERING HOUR is great fiction; dare I say brilliant fiction.</b></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>If brilliant fiction is what you desire, look no further than Selina and Lawrence’s tale and prepare to be swept away.</b></span><br />
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<b style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #76a5af; font-size: small;">I was given an ARC by the publisher in exchange for my honest opinion. Thoughts and views expressed are my own.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">What do you require for your fiction to be brilliant? Answer & be entered to win a hardback copy of THE GLITTERING HOUR. </span>Due to shipping costs this giveaway is open to US addresses only.</b><br />
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<a data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.amazon.com/dp/1250066794?tag%3Dmacmillan-20&source=gmail&ust=1570232497600000&usg=AFQjCNHRCF6ZxWggKEEw0CFi_702rA8Y_Q" href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/1250066794?tag=macmillan-20" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Amazon</a> . <a data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-glittering-hour-iona-grey/1130016298?ean%3D9781250066794%23/&source=gmail&ust=1570232497601000&usg=AFQjCNEhPysxUyOJe-cweElGJ-hQ93cWpQ" href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-glittering-hour-iona-grey/1130016298?ean=9781250066794#/" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Barnes & Noble</a> . <a data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.booksamillion.com/product/9781250066794?AID%3D42121%26PID%3D7992675%26cjevent%3D96ae00fae39811e9805a03850a240611&source=gmail&ust=1570232497601000&usg=AFQjCNGUyUwaHWxet0oS8z8KOAtucfR18A" href="https://www.booksamillion.com/product/9781250066794?AID=42121&PID=7992675&cjevent=96ae00fae39811e9805a03850a240611" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Books-a-Million</a> . <a data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.indiebound.org/book/9781250066794?aff%3Dmacmillan&source=gmail&ust=1570232497601000&usg=AFQjCNHD_X3T5TR9osl0HS520gS_LzWfag" href="https://www.indiebound.org/book/9781250066794?aff=macmillan" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Indie Bound</a> . <a data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.powells.com/book/glittering-hour-9781250066794?partnerid%3D33241&source=gmail&ust=1570232497601000&usg=AFQjCNFmjbOVaufms5cGS35MOrl6qhxO3Q" href="https://www.powells.com/book/glittering-hour-9781250066794?partnerid=33241" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Powell's</a></div>
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IONA GREY is the author of the award winning <i>Letters to the Lost</i>. She has a degree in English Literature and Language from Manchester University, an obsession with history and an enduring fascination with the lives of women in the twentieth century. She lives in rural Cheshire with her husband and three daughters.
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</style>Ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16537505155659023098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7718338387461065794.post-38581921741850482672019-09-22T14:40:00.002-04:002019-09-22T14:47:19.324-04:00THE LONG CALL Review 3 stars<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">In North Devon, where two rivers converge and run into the sea, Detective Matthew Venn stands outside the church as his estranged father’s funeral takes place. On the day Matthew left the strict evangelical community he grew up in, he lost his family too. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Now, as he turns and walks away again, he receives a call from one of his team. A body has been found on the beach nearby: a man with a tattoo of an albatross on his neck, stabbed to death.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">The case calls Matthew back to the people and places of his past, as deadly secrets hidden at their hearts are revealed, and his new life is forced into a collision course with the world he thought he’d left behind. (synopsis from Amazon)</span></div>
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My thoughts....3 stars</div>
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THE LONG CALL, Ms. Cleeves' return, is bound to delight many current fans and garner more.</div>
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Distinctive, detailed characters, strong sense of place, and tight plotting tick the top 3 boxes on my list, though not necessarily in that order. Not figuring out the who, what, & why, ahead of time is a bonus.</div>
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Despite these elements THE LONG CALL wass easy to put down & forget about. </div>
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Why didn't I like it more?</div>
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Personally speaking, there wasn't a connection with any of the characters. I didn't dislike them, I simply didn't care. It was a detached, distant reading experience for me. No engagement at all.</div>
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So, while it ticked most of my boxes THE LONG CALL missed the most crucial mark.</div>
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I received an ARC via NetGalley, my thoughts and opinion are my own.</div>
Ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16537505155659023098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7718338387461065794.post-39883092174972947992019-08-03T14:26:00.003-04:002019-08-03T14:26:45.047-04:00TO HELL WITH JOHNNY MANIC Review<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">John Manis, aka Johnny Manic--charming, stylish, impulsive, and reckless--is racked with guilt over the secret he doesn't dare tell. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Marilyn Dupree, passionate and volatile, has too much money and the wrong husband. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Johnny and Marilyn have a chemistry like nitrogen and glycerine, and that makes Detective Lou Eisenfall very uneasy.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
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A twisting tale of deception, murder, and psychological suspense, <i>Johnny Manic</i> is a throwback to the classic crime fiction of Raymond Chandler with added overtones of the multilayered <i>Fight Club</i> and <i>Gone Girl</i>.</div>
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My Thoughts.....<br />
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Readers are introduced to Johnny Manic aka Tom Gantry aka John Manis losing money like there's no tomorrow in Vegas.
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Down to the last ten thousand he buys a home tech service business from The Kid and tries to lose & calm himself in a small town in California wine country. </div>
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Too bad Marilyn lives there too. </div>
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The minute Johnny sees Marilyn it's evident he's fighting a losing battle. Kipling was so right. From that point on Johnny's life goes from bad to worse; a slow motion train wreck.</div>
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TO HELL WITH JOHNNY MANIC is so noir my mental movie was in black & white.<br />
Deeply flawed characters possessing few, if any, redeeming qualities. Every face is a mask. Put 'em in a bag, shake 'em up & see who comes out alive. </div>
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If noir is your thing you don't want to miss TO HELL WITH JOHNNY MANIC. You aren't likely to be disappointed.</div>
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I was provided an ARC by the publisher via NetGalley. All opinions expressed are my own.</div>
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5 Stars</div>
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Ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16537505155659023098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7718338387461065794.post-88748941518111081792019-07-11T06:00:00.000-04:002019-07-11T06:00:01.576-04:00ONLY EVER YOU Excerpt & giveaway<h3 data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", "Bitstream Charter", Times, serif; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">***</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">After I left her and CJ with Lucinda, I spent the weekly staff meeting wondering if Rachel was the same warrior I’d loved or if she was more the woman who’d held her laptop to her chest as if she needed protection.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN">I was obsessed.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN">I had to know.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN">Her text came in as I was leaving the meeting.</span></span></div>
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<i><span lang="EN">I need to check that we’re kidding</span></i></div>
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Before I could finish typing a response, I caught her coming out of the bathroom with her laptop under her arm.</div>
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Alone. Me and her. Nothing between us but the question of who we were and how we fit.</div>
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“Seb, I—”</div>
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She didn’t have a chance to finish. I crowded her back into the bathroom and locked the door behind us.</div>
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“Kidding about what?” I said.</div>
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“About getting married.”</div>
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“Why would that even be a question?”</div>
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“Our parents have been in negotiations about it.”</div>
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My mother couldn’t keep herself from talking if she tried, and I was her favorite subject. </div>
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“It might be a little soon for marriage, but—”</div>
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“Soon? I don’t like you seeing what I do for a living while you’re in a glass-walled office overlooking the ocean. I mean, I’m not marriage material, and the odds are that’s never going to change.”</div>
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“I don’t see why a date’s off the table.”</div>
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“Do you know what’s going to happen if we date?”</div>
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The list of possibilities was as long as my arm. I could have counted them off, from “We decide we hate each other” to “We end up in bed.” But I didn’t, because I was still trying to figure her out.</div>
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What did she want to hear?</div>
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With her wide eyes and parted lips, what did she want? Did she have a fondest wish where I was concerned? Was she leaning forward? Was her expression soft and yielding?</div>
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My mind spent too long deciding what to say, so my body spoke for me.</div>
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I kissed her hard and was met with teeth and stiff resistance. It was a kiss I’d wanted since I’d had hairless armpits and a voice somewhere in the low soprano range. I’d dreamed about it. Fantasized about it. Thought about it so hard in the middle of the night I could practically feel it.</div>
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But never, ever in my fantasies did she push me away so hard I fell back against a towel dispenser, watching her face twist into surprised rage as the machine spit out a ragged rectangle of brown paper.</div>
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“That was—”</div>
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“Messed up. I know.”</div>
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“Then why? What is wrong with you?”</div>
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She was livid, just like she would have been. Just like she <i>should</i> have been.</div>
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The tiger within Rachel was in there, and my attempt to tease her out had probably alienated her. She’d be right to never speak to me again.</div>
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“I’m sorry,” I said with my hand on the door lock. “I misread you. It won’t happen again.”</div>
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I started to open the door, but she held it closed.</div>
</span><span lang="EN"><div style="text-align: left;">
“If we date, my mother’s going to get her hopes up that I’m going to settle down. And I’m sorry, Seb, but if we break up while she’s in chemo, it’s going to crush her.”</div>
</span><span lang="EN"><div style="text-align: left;">
“You don’t even know if she’s sick again.”</div>
</span><span lang="EN"><div style="text-align: left;">
“You’re right.” She pointed a rigid finger at me as if I were her mother. “I’m going to make her tell me.”</div>
</span><span lang="EN"><div style="text-align: left;">
“You’re really beautiful when you’re telling it like it is.”</div>
</span><span lang="EN"><div style="text-align: left;">
She slid her hand off the door. Having been called out, the warrior was sent into hiding.</div>
</span><span lang="EN"><div style="text-align: left;">
No. I wouldn’t accept that. I wouldn’t allow it.</div>
</span><span lang="EN"><div style="text-align: left;">
“Let’s just go out and catch up,” I said. “Saturday.”</div>
</span><span lang="EN"><div style="text-align: left;">
“Can’t. Saturday’s the soonest I can talk to Mom.”</div>
</span><span lang="EN"><div style="text-align: left;">
I unlocked the door. “I’m sorry about . . . the thing.”</div>
</span><span lang="EN"><div style="text-align: left;">
“Kissing me?”</div>
</span><span lang="EN"><div style="text-align: left;">
“No, wasting paper towels. Of course kissing you.”</div>
</span><span lang="EN"><div style="text-align: left;">
“Next time, give a girl a little warning.”</div>
</span><span lang="EN"><div style="text-align: left;">
Next time? Her eyes darted to the door. Was she calculating the distance to her getaway? Or making sure it was closed?</div>
</span><span lang="EN"><div style="text-align: left;">
“How about now?” I asked.</div>
</span><span lang="EN"><div style="text-align: left;">
“Now what?”</div>
</span><span lang="EN"><div style="text-align: left;">
“Fair warning. Now.”</div>
</span><span lang="EN"><div style="text-align: left;">
I stepped a little closer and put my hands on her arms. Not right away. I let them hover an inch away before touching her to give her the chance to move away. A chance I was sure she’d take.</div>
</span><span lang="EN"><div style="text-align: left;">
“Seb, really?”</div>
</span><span lang="EN"><div style="text-align: left;">
But she didn’t move away.</div>
</span><span lang="EN"><div style="text-align: left;">
Not this time. When I laid my hands on her biceps, she leaned in to me just a little. I smelled the floral lotion on her skin and a hint of cool water on her breath.</div>
</span><span lang="EN"><div style="text-align: left;">
“Really.” I slid the laptop from her arms and placed it on the counter. “This is your warning.”</div>
</span><i><div style="text-align: left;">
<i><span lang="EN">You’re doing this. I cannot believe you’re doing this.</span></i></div>
</i><span lang="EN"><div style="text-align: left;">
“It doesn’t feel like a warning,” she said, and again—I noted—she didn’t move away.</div>
</span><span lang="EN"><div style="text-align: left;">
“Flashing red lights.” My lips brushed her cheek, heading for her mouth. She felt better than I ever imagined. “A buzzer, maybe.”</div>
</span><span lang="EN"><div style="text-align: left;">
“Just a kiss?” she asked, her lips moving against mine.</div>
</span><span lang="EN"><div style="text-align: left;">
Before I could consummate what she was agreeing to, I was smacked by a swinging door.</div>
</span><span lang="EN"><div style="text-align: left;">
“Oh!” CJ said. “I’m sorry! I was looking for you.”</div>
</span><span lang="EN"><div style="text-align: left;">
Rachel snatched up her laptop and walked out. CJ raised an eyebrow with good reason, since I was in the ladies’ room. I left, and we all gathered in the hall.</div>
</span><span lang="EN"><div style="text-align: left;">
Awkward.</div>
</span><span lang="EN"><div style="text-align: left;">
“Well,” Rachel said. “Thanks for showing us your tedious financial-sector company.”</div>
</span><span lang="EN"><div style="text-align: left;">
“Thank you for coming,” I said and let them walk away. I could have done or said much more, but not without getting her into trouble. She glanced back at me when they turned the corner, as if she wanted to make sure I was still there.</div>
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<strong><a class="rcptr" data-mce-href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/07c2363f233/" data-raflid="07c2363f233" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/07c2363f233/" id="rcwidget_sp8k6ogm" rel="nofollow"><span style="font-size: small;">a Rafflecopter giveaway</span></a></strong></h3>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzBB2JHtTHMKREFsk_WbZMuZ9fE7bHvRYVVWScwwcyJN8NoDHr_lb6hj7DyBLvU2wwLxZUOuwr7SlYJUJnJWTw1Lxo3louhW5NTt26qaqxcrLBc4zKoZVxkEeM1pbMz-346TVCVKb9wZk/s1600/OnlyEverYou.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzBB2JHtTHMKREFsk_WbZMuZ9fE7bHvRYVVWScwwcyJN8NoDHr_lb6hj7DyBLvU2wwLxZUOuwr7SlYJUJnJWTw1Lxo3louhW5NTt26qaqxcrLBc4zKoZVxkEeM1pbMz-346TVCVKb9wZk/s320/OnlyEverYou.jpg" width="212" /></a>Rachel knew exactly what turning thirty would be like. She had a plan, after all. First college, then a climb up the professional ladder. Love, marriage, children. All of it was on the schedule.</div>
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The cheap Hollywood apartment wasn’t on the list. Neither was the string of heartbreaks. Or the effect her mother’s cancer had on her career.</div>
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It’s hard to stay practical and on point when everything takes a left turn.</div>
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Enter Sebastian, the nerd across the street. The boy she defended when he couldn’t defend himself. The best friend she promised she’d marry if life didn’t go according to plan.</div>
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Not only is he successful, confident, and gorgeous, but he also still has their handwritten marriage contract.</div>
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No one goes through with childhood wedding pacts.</div>
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That’s crazy.</div>
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But their families might just be crazy enough to rent a hall and set a date. All Rachel and Sebastian have to do is fall in love.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzFJXiEGEAGQHjNN1dO30fVHoALG4k1uC7RG9kTq4QgYb_OAO355f-BVZfsTZU6HWo2PTrEV9uR-WeKimD5izn3oSBSGMs_2JcJ4Q9QH2Lnr1l24TtN989C4nzvEneziyK3qoSXHc2OMk/s1600/CDReiss.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzFJXiEGEAGQHjNN1dO30fVHoALG4k1uC7RG9kTq4QgYb_OAO355f-BVZfsTZU6HWo2PTrEV9uR-WeKimD5izn3oSBSGMs_2JcJ4Q9QH2Lnr1l24TtN989C4nzvEneziyK3qoSXHc2OMk/s200/CDReiss.jpg" width="200" /></a>CD Reiss is a <em>New York Times</em> bestselling author. She still has to chop wood and carry water, which was buried in the fine print. Her lawyer is working it out with God, but in the meantime, if you call and she doesn’t pick up, she’s at the well hauling buckets. Born in New York City, Reiss moved to Hollywood, California, to get her master’s degree in screenwriting from USC. In case you want to know, that went nowhere—but it did give her a big enough ego to write novels.</div>
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Reiss is frequently referred to as the Shakespeare of Smut, which is flattering but hasn’t ever gotten her out of chopping that cord of wood. If you meet her in person, you should call her Christine. Text <em>cdreiss</em> to 77948 to get a notification whenever she has a new release.</div>
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<a data-mce-href="https://cdreiss.com/" href="https://cdreiss.com/">Website</a> <a data-mce-href="https://www.facebook.com/CDReiss.writer" href="https://www.facebook.com/CDReiss.writer">FB</a> <a data-mce-href="https://twitter.com/CDReisswriter" href="https://twitter.com/CDReisswriter">Twitter </a> <a data-mce-href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6896405.C_D_Reiss" href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6896405.C_D_Reiss">Goodreads</a></div>
Ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16537505155659023098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7718338387461065794.post-79086149591222196222019-06-06T06:00:00.000-04:002019-06-09T12:31:56.689-04:00MONTAUK by Nicola Harrison Review & Giveaway<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhevcJujBhaFd_nnUIU6nDpMOo45CuVl11-jwA5Q2H6ZND1tro6R2ngyRI6_tvvIVoBJbWmJtNJTugsTz6D7rhc0g_5_t2m86Gr-0D4vUZDw7KIUs1hOlSqhx1S20c8BzGACQordkPKhuc/s1600/Harrison+-+Cover+Art.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhevcJujBhaFd_nnUIU6nDpMOo45CuVl11-jwA5Q2H6ZND1tro6R2ngyRI6_tvvIVoBJbWmJtNJTugsTz6D7rhc0g_5_t2m86Gr-0D4vUZDw7KIUs1hOlSqhx1S20c8BzGACQordkPKhuc/s640/Harrison+-+Cover+Art.jpg" width="420" /></a></div>
<h4>
<i>Montauk, Long Island, 1938. </i></h4>
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For three months, this humble fishing village will serve as the playground for New York City’s wealthy elite. Beatrice Bordeaux was looking forward to a summer of reigniting the passion between her and her husband, Harry. Instead, tasked with furthering his investment interest in Montauk as a resort destination, she learns she’ll be spending twelve weeks sequestered with the high society wives at The Montauk Manor—a two-hundred room seaside hotel—while Harry pursues other interests in the city.</h4>
<h4>
College educated, but raised a modest country girl in Pennsylvania, Bea has never felt fully comfortable among these privileged women, whose days are devoted not to their children but to leisure activities and charities that seemingly benefit no one but themselves. She longs to be a mother herself, as well as a loving wife, but after five years of marriage she remains childless while Harry is increasingly remote and distracted. Despite lavish parties at the Manor and the Yacht Club, Bea is lost and lonely and befriends the manor’s laundress whose work ethic and family life stir memories of who she once was.</h4>
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As she drifts further from the society women and their preoccupations and closer toward Montauk’s natural beauty and community spirit, Bea finds herself drawn to a man nothing like her husband –stoic, plain spoken and enigmatic. Inspiring a strength and courage she had almost forgotten, his presence forces her to face a haunting tragedy of her past and question her future.</h4>
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Desperate to embrace moments of happiness, no matter how fleeting, she soon discovers that such moments may be all she has, when fates conspire to tear her world apart…</h4>
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There's a hardback copy giveaway shared with Manic Readers where a feature was posted 6/5/19. Comment on either blog (leave your email so you can be contacted if you win) to be entered. Winners will be chosen by random drawing. Sorry, due to shipping costs giveaway is Continental US only. Contest ends @12am est 6/11/19.</h4>
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<a data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.amazon.com/dp/1250200113?tag%3Dmacmillan-20&source=gmail&ust=1559441270294000&usg=AFQjCNHlE48_naanltklFRTAJpUDhTJkFw" href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/1250200113?tag=macmillan-20" target="_blank">Amazon</a> <a data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/montauk-nicola-harrison/1129285383?ean%3D9781250200112%23/&source=gmail&ust=1559441270294000&usg=AFQjCNFBp4q2D1U-mZjSWGrh-HcouZCBPQ" href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/montauk-nicola-harrison/1129285383?ean=9781250200112#/" target="_blank">Barnes & Noble</a> <a data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.booksamillion.com/product/9781250200112?AID%3D42121%26PID%3D7992675%26cjevent%3Da51f9104685811e981c701d70a240610&source=gmail&ust=1559441270294000&usg=AFQjCNEplqE-obRfLlF8pZtJO1EBOgZB_g" href="https://www.booksamillion.com/product/9781250200112?AID=42121&PID=7992675&cjevent=a51f9104685811e981c701d70a240610" target="_blank">Books-a-Million</a> <a data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.indiebound.org/book/9781250200112?aff%3Dmacmillan&source=gmail&ust=1559441270294000&usg=AFQjCNHkZLvmQVW9k8HRXGHDwiQXeZnMeA" href="https://www.indiebound.org/book/9781250200112?aff=macmillan" target="_blank">Indie Bound</a> <a data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.powells.com/book/montauk-a-novel-9781250200112?partnerid%3D33241&source=gmail&ust=1559441270294000&usg=AFQjCNG-XUA76qUuRbn5HqHhmvscH5fQog" href="https://www.powells.com/book/montauk-a-novel-9781250200112?partnerid=33241" target="_blank">Powell's</a></div>
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My Thoughts...3.5 stars<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">After the death of her brother Beatrice leaves Vassar before graduating and returns home to Pennsylvania try to help her parents cope with the loss. After a time her father encourages her go live her life. Beatrice moves to New York, gets a job, and meets handsome, rich Harry Bordeaux. </span><br />
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Harry sweeps Bea off her feet, makes the loss of her brother less painful, and gives her a new life of privilege. Now, several years into their marriage they remain childless and are beginning to drift apart. Bea is expected to use her summer in Montauk to help further Harry's ambitions and make nice with the other rich ladies staying at The Manor. But here's the rub, Bea doesn't really fit anywhere lately.</div>
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The loss of her brother and her continued childless state weigh heavily on Bea. The former occasionally felt overplayed and the latter, in keeping with the times, is understandable. She doesn't fit with the "idle" rich wives and soon becomes friends with Dolly. A bit of an outlier herself, but Dolly knows well how to play the game.</div>
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While there were times it was easy to empathize with Bea there were also times it was difficult to like her. My favorite characters were actually Dolly and Elizabeth, a young mother and laundress from the village.</div>
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Bea's choices, often selfish (but don't we all do that on occasion), and refusal to listen to sound advice have repercussions far beyond anything she could've imagined. The ending dovetails perfectly with those decisions and any other would have been disappointing, at the very least.</div>
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MONTAUK does a primo job of reflecting the societal norms and strata of the time. The village of Montauk, The Manor, all of it is brought to life.</div>
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If you enjoy history and realistic flawed characters there's a good chance you'll enjoy MONTAUK.</div>
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A copy was received from the publisher via Netgalley. All opinions are my own.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNIkMWtElvRa5KS3RY_WxNH9i4ergHfIq-qv5OSj1Xuh_ejuri5vkqiSjOo2nBONhyphenhyphenq1GNBpU8cpngbZoG_kEHxVZv97pfHP5uI1QnUGUjokqKDwtm153EzymogfO1nHB06D7T8TIiXx0/s1600/Harrison+-+Author+photo_credit+to+Erwin+List.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNIkMWtElvRa5KS3RY_WxNH9i4ergHfIq-qv5OSj1Xuh_ejuri5vkqiSjOo2nBONhyphenhyphenq1GNBpU8cpngbZoG_kEHxVZv97pfHP5uI1QnUGUjokqKDwtm153EzymogfO1nHB06D7T8TIiXx0/s320/Harrison+-+Author+photo_credit+to+Erwin+List.jpg" width="213" /></a>
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Born in England, <b>Nicola Harrison</b> moved to CA where she received a BA in Literature at UCLA before moving to NYC and earning an MFA in creative writing at Stony Brook. She is a member of The Writers Room, has short stories published in <i>The Southampton Review</i> and<i> Glimmer Train </i>and articles in <i>Los Angeles Magazine</i> and <i>Orange Coast Magazine</i>. She was the fashion and style staff writer for <i>Forbes</i>, had a weekly column at <i>Lucky Magazine </i>and is the founder of a personal styling business, Harrison Style. <i>Montauk</i> is Harrison's debut novel.</div>
Ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16537505155659023098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7718338387461065794.post-23890649694178707502019-06-03T06:00:00.000-04:002019-06-03T06:00:04.309-04:00Terry Spear's SEAL WOLF SURRENDER excerpt & giveaway<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1vBE50wOEvUxLxRdPhyCKAqsdOyVZQm2M66T2yA0ukFWaUP9RW-QKy9_yAbG39PPhNEW_-OIhCdZ0EJOe3IaPtLvUv7dWkBd_2Nl5Bf6IaTN3ZWjhO4-6B8qC_pdJmLgz0RoPbWDVW5o/s1600/SEALWolfSurrender_FB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="536" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1vBE50wOEvUxLxRdPhyCKAqsdOyVZQm2M66T2yA0ukFWaUP9RW-QKy9_yAbG39PPhNEW_-OIhCdZ0EJOe3IaPtLvUv7dWkBd_2Nl5Bf6IaTN3ZWjhO4-6B8qC_pdJmLgz0RoPbWDVW5o/s640/SEALWolfSurrender_FB.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">She took hold of Brock’s free hand and pulled at him. “Come on, honey. We need to get back to the celebration.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Brock looked down at her and smiled and squeezed her hand.</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">She felt her face flush with heat. She hadn’t dated in more than two years, and she had to admit Brock was total hotness.</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">The last guy she’d gotten close to had turned out to be using her. He’d wanted to get insight on her parents’ successful garden nursery in Wichita Falls so that he could start his franchise garden shop and get rid of his competition. After she figured that out, she’d had trouble trusting men’s motives, though she hadn’t met any eligible wolves in Amarillo after their move there. She hated feeling that way, but it only took one lousy rat to prove not everyone could be trusted. She’d felt so bad because her parents had suffered too, not just her.</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">She heard footsteps behind her and was worried that the wolf was following them.</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Don’t worry about it,” Brock whispered in her ear, then pulled her to a stop and kissed her, turning their bodies so he could see who was following them. Still, he got into the kiss, as if he really was her honey.</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Well, she was totally into going along with the game, since she’d started this anyway. She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned into the kiss, tonguing him as his body pressed against hers. Hard muscle and the stirring of an arousal. She almost laughed at turning him on so quickly, but that would have ruined the ruse.</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Their pheromones were zinging all over the place, calling for more, and she was surprised at the intensity of the intrigue between the two of them.</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">He smiled at her, almost looking a little sheepish, his eyes a bit glazed. Then he pulled her away to walk to the Humvee. She was dying to know if he saw Marek behind them, but if the other wolf was following them, he hadn’t walked past them when they’d stopped to kiss.</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Brock slipped his arm around her as they walked to an elevator and got on and pushed the button for the second floor. She didn’t say a word, thinking Brock was going to the wrong floor so the guy wouldn’t learn what he was driving. And what his license plate number was. When the elevator opened on two, Brock punched the button for the third floor. When they reached that floor, he pushed one.</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">He smiled roguishly down at her. Natalie chuckled. She really didn’t believe it would work, but if the guy was trying to follow them, he’d be running up and down the stairs. When they reached their floor, they headed for their row and soon were in the Humvee and on their way. She was trying to see if the guy had figured out which vehicle Brock was driving. She noticed Brock glancing in his rearview mirror too.</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Do you think he’ll suspect something more since we were trying to evade him?” she asked, worried that it might have been a little obvious.</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“He already suspected you took his bag. I was trying to prevent him from learning who I am and where I live. Which would mean he might follow you there too. That’s a lot of money to lose. He wouldn’t know I’m with a pack here or anything about me. So he doesn’t know the kind of danger he could face if he followed us out there. More than anything, I worry about you and when you need to go home. He won’t know your address or name unless he tries to follow you home, and that could be a problem.”</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">She hadn’t had anyone but her parents to worry about her in a long time, so she really thought the world of Brock for caring. “But I won’t have Marek’s money. Not after we burn it tonight.”</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“He won’t know that. And he’d probably figure it would be easier to get the truth out of a lone woman than it would be when you have me at your side. If he didn’t make it to our parking garage level and see my vehicle and the license plate, he might hang around the airport, thinking you’ll be going to Amarillo soon.”</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Great.”</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Well, if he does come after you here, he’ll be one sorry wolf.”</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Maybe we shouldn’t have tried to lose him.”</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Oh, I’ll go after him. He’s made the mistake of coming here. I’ve got his name, his scent, and I’ll run a check on him. As long as that’s his real name, I can run him down. I’ll definitely be escorting you to the airport when you leave and be watching out for the guy.”</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Right. You’re a PI. I keep forgetting. Do you ever do bodyguard work?” She never thought she’d be asking a perfect stranger if she could hire him as her bodyguard until this was resolved. But she didn’t want to bring this business home with her and get her parents into the middle of it without having some additional protection.</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Brock smiled at her. “In the line of duty as a SEAL, yeah. As a civilian, not yet. But I’m up for hire for anything you might need.”</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Anything? Lighting her fire further?</i> She felt she needed to fan herself.</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“God, I can’t believe I just came to a wedding and found I have to hire a bodyguard. I will never, ever again grab a bag at the airport baggage claim without checking the name tag on it first. My concern is when I leave here, he might have people watching for me on my return to Amarillo. They won’t know my name, but he could send a description. Then my parents could be at risk, if the criminal followed me home. I’m not into all this cloak--and--dagger stuff. So I don’t know what to expect.”</span></span></div>
</blockquote>
<span class="s1"><b>For a shifter with no interest in she-wolves...he sure is territorial.</b></span>
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<div class="p1" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", "Bitstream Charter", Times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span class="s1"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", "Bitstream Charter", Times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span class="s1">Wolf shifter and former Navy SEAL Brock Greystoke isn't interested in she-wolves. The last one in his life ambushed him with the intent to kill. So when he's tasked with helping his cousin's friend get to a wedding, he has no intention of getting involved with her...</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", "Bitstream Charter", Times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span class="s1">She-wolf Natalie Silverton has inadvertently crossed a group of dangerous criminals, and she's in dire need of a bodyguard. Good thing Brock is there to protect her. At every turn, their work—and play—brings them closer to catching the criminals and to each other, but Brock will have to get them out of this alive if he has any hope of winning Natalie's heart.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", "Bitstream Charter", Times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span class="s1"><b>SEAL Wolf Series:</b></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", "Bitstream Charter", Times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span class="s1">A SEAL in Wolf's Clothing (Book 1)</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", "Bitstream Charter", Times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span class="s1">A SEAL Wolf Christmas (Book 2)</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", "Bitstream Charter", Times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span class="s1">SEAL Wolf Hunting (Book 3)</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", "Bitstream Charter", Times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span class="s1">SEAL Wolf In Too Deep (Book 4)</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", "Bitstream Charter", Times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span class="s1">SEAL Wolf Undercover (Book 5)</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", "Bitstream Charter", Times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span class="s1">SEAL Wolf Surrender (Book 6)</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", "Bitstream Charter", Times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span class="s1"><b>What Readers Are Saying About Terry Spear:</b></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", "Bitstream Charter", Times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span class="s1">"Great paranormal romance with depth and dimension."—Night Owl Reviews for A Billionaire Wolf for Christmas</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", "Bitstream Charter", Times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span class="s1">"Excitement and suspense that will keep readers hanging on tight."—RT Book Reviews for Flight of the White Wolf, 4 Stars</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", "Bitstream Charter", Times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span class="s1">"Striking characters and explosive chemistry."—RT Book Reviews for SEAL Wolf Undercover, 4 Stars</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><a data-mce-href="https://amzn.to/2SqdOYB" href="https://amzn.to/2SqdOYB">Amazon</a> <a data-mce-href="http://bit.ly/2WYnY1d" href="http://bit.ly/2WYnY1d">B&N</a> <a data-mce-href="https://apple.co/2X4QdLY" href="https://apple.co/2X4QdLY">Apple</a> <a data-mce-href="http://bit.ly/2E4q9ZV" href="http://bit.ly/2E4q9ZV">Indiebound</a> <a data-mce-href="http://bit.ly/2GD8pX1" href="http://bit.ly/2GD8pX1">BAM</a></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b><a data-mce-href="https://terrylspear.wordpress.com/" href="https://terrylspear.wordpress.com/">AUTHOR WEBSITE</a></b></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>GIVEAWAY</b></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>5 Copies of <i>SEAL Wolf Undercover</i></b></span></div>
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Ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16537505155659023098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7718338387461065794.post-86787491101435106862019-05-30T06:00:00.000-04:002019-05-30T06:00:04.413-04:00Lucy Gilmore's PUPPY LOVE Excerpt & Giveaway!<div class="p1" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", "Bitstream Charter", Times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span class="s1"><b><br /></b></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBZYQJGLWnDvUqJabwylhKAQwa5gMr1VvtIYKFAaSXwPvYunTVqQEm3TK2hig3hj84DF0IhhXxvBtXidHa_nXRg4lY83RwlIarDQYjDvB6rg-tP1OEbKqIO-DJiRNHfYDoa2xJXvVM6Lk/s1600/PuppyLove_FB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="536" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBZYQJGLWnDvUqJabwylhKAQwa5gMr1VvtIYKFAaSXwPvYunTVqQEm3TK2hig3hj84DF0IhhXxvBtXidHa_nXRg4lY83RwlIarDQYjDvB6rg-tP1OEbKqIO-DJiRNHfYDoa2xJXvVM6Lk/s640/PuppyLove_FB.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span class="s1"><b></b></span><br />
<span class="s1"><b><br /></b></span>
<span class="s1"><b>No matter the job, no matter the need</b></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", "Bitstream Charter", Times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span class="s1"><b>These service dogs in training will always fall in love at first bark.</b></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", "Bitstream Charter", Times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span class="s1">When Sophie Vasquez and her sisters dreamed up Puppy Promise—their service puppy training school—it was supposed to be her chance to bring some good into the world. But how can she expect to do anything when no one will take her seriously?</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", "Bitstream Charter", Times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", "Bitstream Charter", Times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span class="s1">Enter Harrison Parks: a rough, gruff, take-no-bull wildlife firefighter in need of a diabetic service dog. He couldn't be a more unlikely fit for Sophie or Bubbles—the sweet Pomeranian she knows will be his perfect partner—but when Sophie insists he give them both a shot, something unexpected happens: he listens. Even better, he keeps on listening, even as Sophie and Bubbles turn his lonely, uber-masculine world upside-down.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", "Bitstream Charter", Times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span class="s1">As it turns out, they all have something to prove...and more than enough room in their hearts for a little puppy love.</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", "Bitstream Charter", Times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", "Bitstream Charter", Times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span class="s1"><b>Service Puppies Series:</b></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", "Bitstream Charter", Times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span class="s1">Puppy Love (Book 1)</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", "Bitstream Charter", Times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span class="s1">Puppy Christmas (Book 2)</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", "Bitstream Charter", Times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b><a data-mce-href="https://amzn.to/2SoYwDw" href="https://amzn.to/2SoYwDw">Amazon</a> <a data-mce-href="http://bit.ly/2MYw85n" href="http://bit.ly/2MYw85n">B&N </a> <a data-mce-href="http://bit.ly/2BwwLOZ" href="http://bit.ly/2BwwLOZ">Indiebound </a> <a data-mce-href="http://bit.ly/2SJdh3t" href="http://bit.ly/2SJdh3t">BAM</a></b></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b><a data-mce-href="https://www.lucygilmore.com/" href="https://www.lucygilmore.com/">AUTHOR WEBSITE</a></b></span><br />
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>GIVEAWAY: 3 Copies of <i>Puppy Love</i></b></span></div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: left;">
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<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“You know, now that I think about it, you’re a lot like Sleeping Beauty,” she said, the words popping out before she could stop them.</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">He blinked, the movement so careful and deliberate it was like watching a video in slow motion. “What did you just say?”</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“You’re like Sleeping Beauty,” she repeated. “Gorgeous and grumpy, awakening after a long, deep sleep to find everything overtaken by thorns.”</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Considering the decay of the barn behind them, it seemed an apt metaphor. The red paint had long since faded to a burnt pink, the roof sunken in several places. The scent of animals and hay had given way to a more general earthiness.</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Just like the house, just like the man, it was a kingdom in ruins.</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“That would make me the prince, you know,” she said. When he didn’t answer right away, only stared at her like she’d been taken over by body snatchers, she added, “Because I kissed you yesterday.”</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">That got him to snap to attention. “The devil you did. I was the one doing the kissing.”</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">She did her best to ignore the force of Harrison’s words—and how forcefully they set off a reaction in her body, setting her pulse thumping in ways that no amount of running could match—but it was no use. There was something so liberating about the way he handled her. Not carefully or delicately, or even like a thing to be cherished, but as a woman of courage.</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">As a woman of <i>strength</i>.</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“They say the Sleeping Beauty story is a metaphor for sexual awakening,” she said, emboldened by this realization. “I wasn’t sure I bought into it at first, but it grew on me after a while. I mean, on top of that whole waking-up-from-a-kiss nonsense, she pricks her finger on a spindle. Have you ever seen a spindle? Like, a real one?”</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Where would I have seen a spindle?” he demanded. “Do you think my dad weaves textiles in his spare time?”</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">She giggled, unable to picture her second-favorite Parks man going anywhere near a textile. “Well, I’ll save you the trouble. It’s basically ye olde phallus.”</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">His lips quivered as he fought a smile—the reluctant one, the devastating one, the one she was beginning to realize had the power to change her whole life. “Okay, now you’re just making things up.”</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“I’m not!” she protested. “I’m just calling it like I see it. You’re the beauty, I’m the prince, and the spindle is a literary device meant to shame women into chastity.”</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“You are no prince, Sophie Vasquez.”</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“How dare you? I could totally be the prince.”</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“In this story?” He laughed and shook his head. “I don’t think so. Not when you’re so clearly the dragon.”</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Her eyes widened in surprise, the laughter in her throat replaced by a sudden swelling of elation. No man—no person, actually—had ever looked at her and seen anything but a petite approximation of her sisters. She was a little less bright, a little less exciting, a little less strong. She didn’t have their confidence or their drive and had long since reconciled herself to a life lived in their shadows.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Until now. Until she squared off against this magnificent, quarrelsome man who looked at her and unhesitatingly drew his sword.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><i><span style="font-size: small;">Because I’m so clearly the dragon.</span></i></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Unable to hold herself back any longer, she launched her whole body at Harrison. She caught him off guard, a fact borne out by his heavy grunt as she hit him with the full force of her weight. He didn’t budge though. He was too much like a rock, too much like a wall. Everywhere her body touched his was hard. He was warmer than he normally was, exertion giving him a heat that almost felt like a glow.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Which was why she didn’t pull away from it. So much of what Harrison said and did was meant to keep her at a distance, but the way his arms came up to catch her worked a number on her senses. For what felt like the first time, he was letting her in.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>In</i> was suddenly the only place she wanted to be. Before his reserve could come back up, she cast aside all of her scruples and fears and did the unthinkable.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">She kissed him.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">She caught him off guard with that too, her lips reaching his while they were still partly open. It was a good thing, because she might not have gone through with the rest of the kiss otherwise. There was something hugely intimidating about attacking a bear of a man with one’s tongue, even if he did look and taste like this one. Besides, he was so much softer than she’d expected.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Oh, his body remained like stone, of course, and his arms were more like a pair of manacles than anything else. Those things were good—those things were <i>great</i>, actually—but nothing could have prepared her for the press of his lips against hers. His mouth was gentle, his tongue, when it slid past hers, like a silken embrace.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">It made her yearn to discover the other hidden parts of him, those places where he hadn’t yet turned off against the world. They were all her favorite parts of a man. Not—contrary to popular opinion—the rock-hard abs and rigid cock, but the places were pleasure could be found unexpectedly. The dip of an upper lip, right where the skin began to grow soft. The smooth curve of a well-formed buttock. Any spot where he might let his guard down long enough to admit to being ticklish.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Any part that would cause him to smile.</span></span></div>
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Ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16537505155659023098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7718338387461065794.post-80598505301812765242019-05-29T06:00:00.000-04:002019-05-29T06:00:07.328-04:00Katy Evans & MILLION DOLLAR DEVIL's Jimmy Rowan Talks Stunts Feature & Giveaway<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
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<span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Hey, girl. Jimmy Rowan here. You might know me from my YouTube channel. Yeah, I’m the guy who nearly gets killed on every video. Say what? You want to know how I got started?</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Ahh, long story. Maybe for another day. Or a night with some tequila Cuervo handy. The short is, I’m a daredevil. And I’m good at it. So…imagine my shock when prim and proper Miss Elizabeth Banks comes up to me at a bar, a really seedy, not-her-damn-type bar, and offers me a hell of a lot of money to be her ‘perfect’ freaking man.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Kind of wild, right?</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">All I have to do is wear her suits and act “civil” – whatever that means.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">And I’m having a great time just raking her with my eyes.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">This woman is all long legs, pouty lips, and looking all business in a business suit that’s just begging to get rumpled.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Definitely what Lizzy wants me to do is a walk in a park compared to some of the stunts I do. I mean. I’ve thrown myself off tall buildings and pulled my chute way, way past the moment when I should’ve.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I’ve crashed motorcycles on top of cars when I tried to leap over them.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I’ve broken a rib or two, and sometimes several at a time, and I’ve got a good number of black eyes, with no help at all from anyone but me.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">With Sexy little Lizzy here, there’s no physical risk at all. Not one you could see anyway, except the one that I never really saw coming.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Damn her.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Damn her and her little big million dollar contract.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Damn this sexy, smart, closet-crazy perfectionist just waiting for more than just a sweep off her feet. Oh man, this girl needs a flat out toss to the ground. And I’m the man up for the challenge. What? You’re shocked? Lady, they don’t call me devil for nothing.</span></span></div>
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Heir apparent to her father’s company, Lizzy Banks needs a man. The perfect man. But when the rich “fundbabies” she usually rubs shoulders with prove impossible to hire, she takes a chance on a raw beast of a man salvaged from the wreckage of a bar brawl.</div>
James Rowan earns a modest income as a YouTube daredevil, but he can’t refuse Lizzy’s million dollar deal. As she polishes his rough edges, creating a sophisticated gentleman fit for the highest circles of society, not only does she bring out the perfect man—it’s like she’s making the man of her dreams. How can she resist?
Though Lizzy loves seeing James in his clothes—and out of them—he isn’t the kind of man you bring home to Daddy. Her father’s disapproval and the pressure of the campaign have her eyeing the straight and narrow, but Lizzy’s finding it awfully hard to resist the devil on her shoulder . . .
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<strong>Author Biography</strong></div>
Katy Evans loves family, books, life, and love. She’s married with two children and a dog, and she spends her time baking healthy snacks, taking long walks, and taking care of her family. To learn more about her books in progress, check out www.katyevans.net and sign up for her newsletter. You can also find her on Twitter @authorkatyevans and on Facebook at AuthorKatyEvans.<br />
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Ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16537505155659023098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7718338387461065794.post-69157410352153066722019-05-28T06:00:00.000-04:002019-05-28T06:00:07.906-04:00Mary Wine's WICKED HIGHLAND WAYS Excerpt & giveaway<style type="text/css">
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Brenda Grant has no desire to marry. Ever since her first, horrible marriage she's made herself into a hellion of a woman to keep men from wanting her. But the Campbells, her previous husband's family, are determined to find her a new husband.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Highland Chief Bothan Gunn is smitten by the woman who won't be tamed. It takes all Brenda's willpower to resist the brawny Highlander who takes her to safety. But as they spend time together—and grow ever closer—Brenda finally finds the freedom she's been longing for all along.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Someone pulled her back, encircling her waist with a hard arm and lifting her right off her feet. It happened in an instant, and Addams was knocked in the jaw with a hard fist as a man grabbed a handful of his doublet front to keep Addams from flying into the wall. His head jerked back and his eyes rolled back in his head before the man who’d laid him flat lowered him to the floor in an unconscious heap.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“He needs a wee nap to think about the tone he was using with ye,” Bothan Gunn informed her firmly.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Brenda didn’t care for the way her heart accelerated. Perhaps if she could have attributed it to fear, it might not have mattered, but she knew that wasn’t the cause. Which only alarmed her more.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">She knew the danger of emotions. Aye, she knew it well.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Chief Bothan Gunn,” she muttered as she caught sight of his captain offering a coin to the cook. The man took it in a blink of an eye before settling down and casting his attention toward the hearth. “Ye should not have followed me.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Bothan Gunn was a huge man. He’d ducked to make it beneath the roofline and had to stay away from the edges of the kitchen because the roof sloped, preventing him from standing upright. They were still close enough to the border that his kilt did not cause too great a disturbance with the men he’d walked past in the yard. But she knew him for what he was: a Highlander. The English around them might make the mistake of believing all Scots the same, but Brenda knew better, and anyone who took the time to look at Bothan Gunn would see he was far harder than any Lowlander.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Bolder too because he was standing there. Somehow, she wasn’t really surprised. Bothan Gunn had always been a man who wasn’t afraid to reach out and grab what he wanted.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Did ye think I would no’ come for ye, Brenda?” Bothan asked softly, his lips twitching up into a mocking grin.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">She’d hoped…</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Brenda stiffened, chastising herself for the stray thought. She couldn’t afford such things as personal ideas.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Especially with regard to Chief Bothan Gunn. It wasn’t his clan the King of Scotland would hold accountable if she didn’t go through with her wedding.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Duty. So very sharp-edged. She felt like the very word left open wounds as it crossed her soul. She drew in a deep breath, looking at Bothan and the freedom he represented and knowing she had to deny herself.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Deny yerself…what?</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Brenda had refused his suit and ignored the stirrings inside herself.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">And she would not be acknowledging any of them now.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Not now, when she had duty weighing her down like a heavy yoke.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“I didn’t realize ye were one to waste yer time,” she muttered as she reached into the barrel and retrieved the pitcher. Water drained down from her hand as she fought to maintain her composure. Her tone wasn’t as bored as she would have liked. And the way his eyes narrowed suggested he saw through her pose.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Bothan always had affected her oddly. Of course, tonight she was certain her heart was beating faster because she longed to be free of her English escort and her date to be wed. The response was only natural after all.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Yes, that was why she felt so very breathless.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Keeping ye from being forced to wed a black-hearted bastard is no’ what I’d call a waste of me time,” Bothan informed her.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">He eased closer to her. She caught a glimpse of his blue eyes in the dim light and realized she was savoring the moment, putting off answering him because he was correct—she had no liking for her circumstances.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Still, duty was duty. Bothan was not just a man. He was chief of the Gunns. It was somewhat more than laird because he’d been elected by his fellow clansmen. He didn’t just have their loyalty; he’d earned it beside them. She drew in a deep breath and stood firmly in place.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Me cousin will be branded a traitor if I do not wed Galwell Scrope.” Brenda forced the words past her lips. “I will not shirk from my duty to me family and laird. And ye would not have me if I did. Yer clansmen would vote against ye if ye brought home a woman who turned her back on her kin. Ye should go now, for there is no reason for ye to stay.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">***</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Excerpted from <i>Wicked Highland Ways </i>by Mary Wine. © 2019 by Mary Wine. Used with permission of the publisher, Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc. All rights reserved.</span></span></div>
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Ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16537505155659023098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7718338387461065794.post-14881322037236273422019-05-26T06:00:00.000-04:002019-05-26T06:00:06.669-04:00MURDER IN THE CITY OF LIBERTY Review<div style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
<a href="https://dj6cnfthgyqas.cloudfront.net/B07DT69ZM3-original.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://dj6cnfthgyqas.cloudfront.net/B07DT69ZM3-original.jpg" /></a><strong style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: center;">Hamish DeLuca and Regina “Reggie” Van Buren have a new case—and this one could demand a price they’re not willing to pay.</strong></div>
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Determined to make a life for herself, Reggie Van Buren bid goodbye to fine china and the man her parents expected her to marry and escaped to Boston. What she never expected to discover was that an unknown talent for sleuthing would develop into a business partnership with the handsome, yet shy, Hamish DeLuca.</div>
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Their latest case arrives when Errol Parker, the leading base stealer in the Boston farm leagues, hires Hamish and Reggie to investigate what the Boston police shove off as a series of harmless pranks. Errol believes these are hate crimes linked to the outbreak of war in Europe, and he’s afraid for his life. Hamish and Reggie quickly find themselves in the midst of an escalating series of crimes.</div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">When Hamish has his carefully constructed life disrupted by a figure from his past, he is driven to a decision that may sever him from Reggie forever . . . even more than her engagement to wealthy architect Vaughan Vanderlaan.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">(Synopsis from Amazon)</span></div>
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My thoughts 4.5 stars</div>
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Hamish DeLuca, Regina Van Buren, and Nate Reis are complex characters in a world on the brink. Their relationships mirror the complexity of the times and the characters themselves. </div>
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1940's Boston as the world surrounding the United States is at war is vividly depicted. Hamish, Reggie, and Nate feel it inching closer as the ideologies behind the war loudly rear their ugly heads in their adopted neighborhood. </div>
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These ideas and the hatefulness they spawn combine with the cold hard practicalities of war to create a case that leads Hamish, Reggie, and Nate to the brink.</div>
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While Ms. McMillan did a good job picking up the threads and explaining events in the prior (first) book in the Van Buren and DeLuca Mystery series, I was still occasionally frustrated by not having experienced the progression myself. </div>
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This is due to the depth of the characters and their "lives", and is my own fault. My mistake will be remedied in the near future.</div>
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MURDER IN THE CITY OF LIBERTY isn't what I'd call a light read; it requires concentration. It's for those times you want to time travel, immersing yourself in another world by becoming someone else, tuning out the here & now completely; live dangerously even if it's only vicariously. </div>
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MURDER IN THE CITY OF LIBERTY is for those times.</div>
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I received a review copy from Thomas Nelson via Netgalley. All opinions expressed are mine alone.</div>
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Ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16537505155659023098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7718338387461065794.post-30173735316198017662019-05-25T06:00:00.000-04:002019-05-25T06:00:11.758-04:00Laurel Kerr's SWEET WILD OF MINE Excerpt & giveaway<style type="text/css">
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<b style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-size: medium;">Love runs wild at the Sagebrush Flats Zoo...</b></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">In a bid to revitalize his career, bestselling author Magnus Gray has come to Sagebrush Flats to write about the local zoo's latest rescue—an orphaned baby polar bear. But Magnus dreads the drama of small towns and is bullishly determined to keep to himself.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">June Winters is a people person, and delights in welcoming Magnus to Sagebrush Flats, though it seems unlikely she can get the handsome stranger to crack a smile. Then a mishap with an open gate forces Magnus and June to deal with a stampeding flock of fainting goats, an adorable but clingy polar bear cub, a cranky pregnant camel, and two star-crossed honey badgers. Never mind small town drama—the lively animals may just convince these two that opposites really do attract...</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Where the Wild Hearts Are Series:</span></b></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Wild On My Mind (Book 1)</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Sweet Wild of Mine (Book 2)</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"><b></b></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Praise for Wild on My Mind:</span></b></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">"Hilarious...a truly touching contemporary romance about the power of love and family."—Night Owl Reviews Top Pick<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">"Clever, fun, and poignant...with wit and heart."—Kirkus Reviews</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">"Outstanding...sure to delight."—Publishers Weekly Starred Review</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://amzn.to/2RQHsBi" target="_blank">Amazon</a> <a href="http://bit.ly/2DyNzVU" target="_blank">B&N</a> <a href="https://apple.co/2SLs11G" target="_blank"> Apple</a> <a href="http://bit.ly/2I7elKv" target="_blank">Indiebound </a> <a href="http://bit.ly/2Sv6URV" target="_blank"> BAM</a></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://laurelkerr.com/" target="_blank">AUTHOR WEBSITE</a></span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a class="rcptr" data-raflid="54ca7af7762" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/54ca7af7762/" id="rcwidget_5ar2epeb" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">There was nothing like witnessing new life, Magnus thought as he watched the wee calf make another attempt to stand. Her mother hovered anxiously nearby, using her head to nudge and guide the peedie camel. The bairn managed to get her front legs up, but as soon as she tried to raise her hind ones, her forelegs folded at the knees. Her rear stuck in the air, her hooves splayed out to keep her back half upright.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“I think we should call her Knobby,” Abby proclaimed, her voice bright with the unabashed joy that only a child could display so freely.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Lulubelle chose that moment to snort. Loudly. Abby giggled. “I don’t think Mama likes that one. I guess it isn’t dignified enough. You haven’t named an animal yet, Miss Winters. Would you like to?”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Do you want a good southern belle name?” June asked.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Why not?” Bowie said with a shrug. Like Magnus, he’d sneaked off briefly to take a shower, and his wet hair stuck to his head. He must have been just as tired as Magnus, but his face shone with the same energy as his daughter’s. It wasn’t difficult to see the source of the lassie’s love for animals.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Savannah,” June suggested. No sooner had the word crossed June’s lips than the wee bairn finally stood. She held her position for several seconds before her wobbly legs collapsed. The whole group chuckled softly, not wanting to frighten the calf.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“I think she likes it,” Abby said.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Savannah it is,” Lou pronounced, and the wee camel struggled to her feet for a second time.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">They stood in silence for a little longer before the group started to drift away. Bowie left first to check on Sorcha. Katie then nudged Abby, reminding her that she hadn’t started her homework. Abby made a couple protests, but Katie held firm. The preteen relented and followed her stepmother from the barn. After they left, Lou creakily walked back into the birthing stall. Magnus debated about helping the older man crouch down to check on the camels, but he didn’t want to embarrass him. June made a move to assist, but she must have thought better of it too. Lou managed well enough on his own. When he was satisfied that mother and calf were doing well, he said his goodbyes and headed back to the house.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">June lingered, obviously as enthralled with the peedie calf as Magnus. As she stood beside him, he noticed her sway slightly and then yawn. Magnus narrowed his eyes. It was not terribly late in the evening, but the lass must get up early in the morn to start the baking for her café, and she’d been standing on her feet for over two hours watching Savannah’s birth.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“You all right, hen?” Magnus asked.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">June nodded as she smothered another yawn. “Four o’clock in the morning is showing on me, that’s all. I’d better go soon and pick up Nan, but I want to stay just five more minutes.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">She looked so tired standing there that Magnus acted without thinking. He stepped next to her and pulled her close, so she could lean her weight against him. She nestled into his body like it was the most natural thing. Pressing the back of her head against his chest, she gazed up at him. “Thanks.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“’Tis nothing, lass. You’re a slight thing.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Her mouth curved into a soft smile tinged with affection. Magnus almost dipped his head and captured her bonny pink lips with his own, but June returned her gaze to the camels. She sighed and wiggled closer. Tenderness whispered through Magnus like gentle snowflakes after a blizzard’s end. He only felt this content when sitting by a fire sipping whiskey and reading a good book. And he’d never experienced peace like this while in the company of another person. It was the kind of quiet that seeped into a man’s soul and slowly washed away the day’s worries.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Neither of them spoke as they watched Lulubelle fuss over her baby. Savannah managed to nurse on unsteady legs. Despite her wobbliness, she greedily drank the colostrum, the nutrient-rich milk that would help ensure her health and survival.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” June said, her voice full of wonder.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Aye. A m-m-man can never grow weary of a sight like this.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“You must have witnessed a lot of births growing up on a farm.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Aye, but it never stops being m-miraculous,” Magnus said.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">June shifted. Although she still kept her body pressed close to his, she tilted her head to gaze at him. A smile drifted across her lips. Slow. Sweet. Tempting.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">A huge sigh from Lulubelle broke the spell the lass was weaving. Magnus turned with June to watch the camel settle down with her calf. Within minutes, the pair drifted off to sleep. June yawned and pushed herself upright. “I’d better head out now. Nan will be wondering where I am. She’s having a good day, but I don’t want her getting scared.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Magnus nodded. “All right, lass.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“I’ll see you tomorrow.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Aye, see you in the m-m-morn.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Magnus followed June with his eyes until she disappeared from sight. Although it wasn’t too baltic tonight, his body instantly missed her warmth. <i>Aw, baws.</i> Truth be told, he craved her presence. And Magnus didn’t like that. He didn’t want to feel this incessant need for another.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">And it wasn’t just sexual. It went deeper than that.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">He’d lived his whole life independently. He dreaded ending up like his da, a permanently beelin’ arse because a hen left him. But June? June made him want. Made him long. Made him feel things he didn’t wish to.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Magnus knew he should stay away from the lass. But he couldn’t. It wasn’t just that she kept popping up everywhere like a mole in a vegetable patch. <i>He</i> didn’t want to avoid June anymore. Which wasn’t like him. At all.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Excerpted from <i>Sweet Wild of Mine </i>by Laurel Kerr. © 2019 by Erin Laurel O’Brien. Used with permission of the publisher, Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc. All rights reserved.</span></span></div>
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Ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16537505155659023098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7718338387461065794.post-51789672653337857452019-05-22T06:00:00.000-04:002019-05-22T06:00:12.388-04:00Marie Harte's SMOOTH MOVES Excerpt & giveaway!<div class="p1" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", "Bitstream Charter", Times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
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<span class="s1"><b></b></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>He may be all brawn</b></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>But when it really counts... His heart is all gold</b></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Former Marine Cash Griffith is a brawny beacon for trouble, always finishing a fight that someone else starts. Working at his family's moving company, he does his best to keep a low profile, but he can't help but tangle with the newest employee, Jordan Fleming.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1">When Jordan joins Vets on the Go! she has her hands full with her new job and her rebellious teenage brother, not to mention going toe to toe with the obnoxious, arrogant, incredibly hot Marine at work. Soon their battles turn to camaraderie, and one kiss leads to a connection neither of them expected. But when dark secrets come to light, will their bond break...or strengthen into a happily-ever-after they desperately desire?</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", "Bitstream Charter", Times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span class="s1"><b>Veteran Movers series:</b></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", "Bitstream Charter", Times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span class="s1">The Whole Package (Book 1)</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", "Bitstream Charter", Times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span class="s1">Smooth Moves (Book 2)</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", "Bitstream Charter", Times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span class="s1">Handle with Care (Book 3)</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>Praise for Marie Harte:</b></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", "Bitstream Charter", Times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span class="s1">"A blazing hot, emotionally intense love story." —Kirkus Reviews for A Sure Thing</span></div>
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<span class="s1">"This is truly a must-read!" —Night Owl Reviews Top Pick for Roadside Assistance</span></div>
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<span class="s1">"Sexy, sweet, and thoroughly satisfying."—LAUREN LAYNE, New York Times bestselling author for The Whole Package</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><a data-mce-href="https://amzn.to/2E5CkFK" href="https://amzn.to/2E5CkFK">Amazon</a> <a data-mce-href="http://bit.ly/2DElyfF" href="http://bit.ly/2DElyfF">B&N</a> <a data-mce-href="https://apple.co/2SHvoqh" href="https://apple.co/2SHvoqh">Apple</a> <a data-mce-href="http://bit.ly/2E45yop" href="http://bit.ly/2E45yop">Indiebound</a> <a data-mce-href="http://bit.ly/2GiNJ7D" href="http://bit.ly/2GiNJ7D">BAM</a></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="http://marieharte.com/" target="_blank">Visit Marie</a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>GIVEAWAY</b></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>5 Copies of <i>The Whole Package </i></b></span></div>
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<strong><a class="rcptr" data-mce-href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/54ca7af7780/" data-raflid="54ca7af7780" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/54ca7af7780/" id="rcwidget_laippxex" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a></strong></h3>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">In the front yard, away from the mess, the boys and their dog played. Thank God at least the kids stayed away, frolicking in the growing wet.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Cash swore and slicked his hair back, and Jordan tried really hard not to ogle the man. But the rain made it difficult to ignore the crew’s fine physiques—at least, that was her excuse.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">He was part owner of the company, yet he worked alongside the guys as if just another employee. All too easily she imagined former Gunnery Sergeant Cash Griffith in uniform. Sadly, she’d noticed everything about the man from day one. Cash exuded leadership. Though what normally came out of his mouth was either crass, obnoxious, or rude, he made people laugh and somehow <i>want</i> to follow him. Hell, he annoyed her to no end, but she could see his natural fit for command.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">He had legs like tree trunks, a broad chest, and thickly muscled arms she’d dreamed of holding her more than once. His short, dark hair spoke of time in the military, kept trim but not buzzed short. And that stubborn jaw had temped her more than once to punch it then kiss it better.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Cash’s bright-green eyes seemed to be constantly on her, filling her with heat.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">As they were now.</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">She pretended she hadn’t been staring at him so hard, and he snorted. The big, bad man who intimidated most others didn’t frighten her in the slightest. Because Cash was a protector at heart. He might swear, act gruff, and loom over everyone with that condescending smirk, but he was always the first in line to offer to help.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">And he hadn’t lashed out at the kids all day, when he’d had plenty of opportunity to do so. Especially now. She groaned. “Judy, am I seeing things, or did the boys just go inside the truck?”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Judy frowned. “They were told not to do that.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Several times today.</i> “Hey, Cash. The boys are—”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“I see them,” he snarled. Apparently, he’d reached his limit. He stalked inside the truck, and she heard, “That’s it! You two, out, now. And take your dog with you. This is no place for kids.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Silence reigned for a moment.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“You can get hurt if—”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Something crashed, the dog bolted, and the boys screamed. Not a <i>we’re-having-fun</i> yell but the scared kind.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Everyone rushed to the truck, and Hector, closest to the ramp, hurried inside first.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“My babies!” Judy cried, but Heidi held her back from entering.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Jordan gasped. Inside, Cash looked like Atlas, crouched and holding the weight of a large grandfather clock on his broad shoulders and upper back while one of the boys lay under him, frozen in fear.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">The other twin stood on a couch behind the overturned furniture, staring in shock.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Hector rushed to pull the boys out while Jordan helped a visibly straining Cash edge the clock off his shoulder.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Why did the kids have to tip this thing over? Why not the lamp that weighs ten pounds? Oh my God. This is heavy.” She couldn’t believe he’d been holding it, crouched as he was, off the boy.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“No shit, Sherlock,” he said through gritted teeth.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Her own shoulders ached as she laughed. “Okay, okay. Don’t be so dramatic.” She paused then added the ultimate insult, “Nancy.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">He laughed. “You’re such a pain in my ass.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Ditto.”</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Then Hector and Heidi were there, easing the furniture and a few other skewed pieces back into place.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Once everyone had exited the truck back into the shelter of the garage, Heidi glared at the twins, her accent growing thicker the madder she became. “I <i>told you</i> not to play in there. Nothing is strapped down yet. You could have been hurt.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">The boys looked a lot more sulky than sorry, reminding Jordan of her own brother. <i>Rafi</i>, who’d taken money from her wallet. <i>Rafi</i>, who’d involved himself with a questionable bunch of teens. <i>Rafi</i>, who seemed to be on the verge of throwing his entire future away. <i>Rafi,</i> who needed a firm kick in his teenage ass.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Sorry, Judy. This has to be done.</i> Jordan stepped forward and grabbed each boy by the neck of his T-shirt, yanking him forward. She glared into their beady little eyes. “That. Is. <i>It!</i> If Cash hadn’t been there, one of you might have been seriously hurt. Or crushed.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Or dead,” Cash said bluntly. “That clock weighs a ton, enough to crush a tiny little skull for sure. You ever seen brains leak out of your head, kid? It’s gross.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“<i>Ja.</i> And messy,” Heidi added, her face stiff.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Hector pinched the bridge of his nose, and Jordan felt for him, sensing her own headache coming on.</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">The twins flinched.<i> Finally</i>.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">She dragged them closer. “You will now thank Cash for saving your sorry little asses.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">They stared at her with wide eyes. Judy blinked at her through tears.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“And you will apologize to your mother for worrying her. She just lost your nana; she doesn’t want to lose you too. <i>Look at her</i>.” She shook them, not hard but enough to get their attention. “She’s worried about you.”</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Judy had been silently crying.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">The boys lowered their heads in shame. Jordan heard sniffles. If only it were that easy to get her brother in line.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“We’re sorry, Mom.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Yeah. We’re sorry.”</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Jordan nudged them toward Judy. “Now you go give her a hug. Then you stay with her. Because if you don’t, Cash is going to paddle your butts until you can’t sit for a week. And your mom won’t even mind.”</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Cash flexed his huge hands, and Jordan saw the boys’ fright. Heck, she wouldn’t want to be spanked by a hand that large either.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><i><span style="font-size: small;">Well… No. No I wouldn’t.</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"><i></i></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">***</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Excerpted from <i>Smooth Moves </i>by Marie Harte. © 2019 by Marie Harte. Used with permission of the publisher, Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc. All rights reserved.</span></span></div>
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Ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16537505155659023098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7718338387461065794.post-22160147014522836662019-05-20T06:00:00.000-04:002019-05-20T06:00:09.286-04:00Isabelle Ronin's SPITFIRE IN LOVE Excerpt & Giveaway<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixlORYe7a_DgJ5nyrDvmtI9K4D2P_duiJ8VzlN64rW2Uc5T2gIsc9Fj6h6dlIdhm5eHgtAEyq5dZmMSmlhiqp3Mfeu6S-cQp84sIGgyl4n6mjUYBxmNgXKEV3qnL4z5nDfxHZyk23nTdk/s1600/SpitfireInLove_FB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="536" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixlORYe7a_DgJ5nyrDvmtI9K4D2P_duiJ8VzlN64rW2Uc5T2gIsc9Fj6h6dlIdhm5eHgtAEyq5dZmMSmlhiqp3Mfeu6S-cQp84sIGgyl4n6mjUYBxmNgXKEV3qnL4z5nDfxHZyk23nTdk/s640/SpitfireInLove_FB.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>From the International Phenomenon with over 200 Million Reads on Wattpad</b></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>She's never at a loss for words.</b></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>He's determined to have the last one.</b></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>KARA</b></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", "Bitstream Charter", Times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span class="s1">There he was with his piercing blue eyes and Lucifer black hair.</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", "Bitstream Charter", Times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span class="s1">He was leaning against the wall, a lollipop in his mouth, hot as hell and twice as dangerous.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Kara Hawthorne never backs down, especially when it comes to protecting her family.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b>CAM</b></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", "Bitstream Charter", Times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span class="s1">She looked so soft, harmless, like a pretty kitten, but she was as safe as a ticking time bomb.</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", "Bitstream Charter", Times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span class="s1">My sweet, sweet Spitfire.</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", "Bitstream Charter", Times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span class="s1">Cameron St. Laurent isn't intimidated by the feisty woman at his doorstep. And when she asks him for the impossible, Cameron knows just how to sweeten the deal...</span></div>
<div class="p1" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", "Bitstream Charter", Times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<span class="s1">The two combustible personalities are faced with unavoidable off-the-charts chemistry. But when Cam's dark past shows up, he'll have to slay his demons and lay himself on the line to win Kara, body and soul.</span></div>
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<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><a data-mce-href="https://amzn.to/2DoRfco" href="https://amzn.to/2DoRfco">Amazon</a> <a data-mce-href="http://bit.ly/2N4kSo4" href="http://bit.ly/2N4kSo4">B&N</a> <a data-mce-href="https://apple.co/2SGsnqp" href="https://apple.co/2SGsnqp">Apple </a> <a data-mce-href="http://bit.ly/2WW3lCQ" href="http://bit.ly/2WW3lCQ">Indiebound </a> <a data-mce-href="http://bit.ly/2TISJFA" href="http://bit.ly/2TISJFA">BAM</a></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span class="s2"></span></div>
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<a data-mce-href="https://www.isabelleronin.com/" href="https://www.isabelleronin.com/"><span class="s1"><b>AUTHOR WEBSITE</b></span></a></div>
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<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Kara</span></b></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Cameron’s blue eyes were even deeper, somehow more intense, in the muted glow of the light. They were patient as he followed Dylan to the front door—no, not patient. They were waiting. Anticipating what was to come.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">I heard my brother’s footsteps and Cameron’s, then the click of the lock.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">The echo it made in the room was as loud and heavy with meaning as a declaration of war.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Then those eyes, with those deep-blue irises, shifted to mine.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Conquer me</i>, they challenged, <i>before I conquer you.</i></span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">It was bait.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">And I wanted to bite.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">I curled my hands into fists and instinctively stepped back, stopping when the back of my knees hit the couch.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">The effect he had on me was undeniable, and I didn’t care for it. I didn’t like the way I felt defenseless around him, how he could strip away my reasoning just by looking at me.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">As if he heard my thoughts, his lips, slowly and deliberately, formed into a smile.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>I got you</i>,<i> </i>his smile said, <i>exactly where I want you.</i></span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Strength and controlled power showed in every movement of his body as I watched him cross the room toward me. His body was big and sleek, like a stealthy cat roaming the jungle, patient and hungry.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">My eyes took in the long lines of his arms, the ripple of muscles, the veins that stood out like cords, his thick wrist. Every part disciplined, tight, and masculine.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">He stopped in front of me.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Kara.” He whispered my name. His voice was deep and rich, and my name sounded and <i>felt</i> so carnal coming from his lips. “Tell me why you’re here.”</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">I tried to answer. God knows I tried, but my body wouldn’t cooperate. It felt so easy, so sinful, like a soft, silky feather stroking my skin, to give in. Let someone else take control for once. No, not just someone. It had to be him. I closed my eyes in defense. I was losing, and surprisingly, I didn’t seem to mind. Was this what it felt like to want? To need?</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">The air was thick with tension, and I felt it shift before his fingers stroked the inside of my wrist. Once, twice. Then it was gone.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">My lips opened a fraction, letting out a sharp breath. An expulsion, a way my body dealt with the surging desire in the aftermath of his touch.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Or maybe, maybe, it was a silent demand for more.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Open your eyes,” he said softly.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">I kept them closed.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Kara.” His voice was soft as velvet, coaxing. “Look at me.”</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">But what would happen if I did?</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">This was something I’d never felt or experienced before. I’d never been this close to anyone nor had I wanted to be.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">I was teetering between two worlds—the one where I would stay the same if I stepped away from him now, and the other one where the world I knew would end and change to something unfamiliar.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Which one would I choose?</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">I always put others before me. Responsibilities, commitments, family. When was the last time I did something just for the hell of it?</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">I opened my eyes. And stared right into the blue of his.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">He was ruthlessly beautiful. The straight, dark brows, the deep-set eyes, the long, straight nose, the full lips. And all that beauty framed by soft, black hair.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">I had thought he looked like a dark archangel when I first laid eyes on him. I still did.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">He was as deep and dark as a cave, and I was standing right at his entrance. Should I go in or leave?</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">I made up my mind.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">His lips parted in surprise as the my finger slowly traced his collarbone, marveling at the warmth of his skin, at the smoothness of it. I thought I’d be satisfied just by feeling it, but I wanted to do more.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">His muscles tensed as I moved my fingers to the long line of his neck, rubbing the stubble on his jaw, tickling myself.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">I smiled but didn’t say anything. I usually had a lot to say, but I wasn’t myself right now. I was different when I was with him. I felt more beautiful, more aware of myself as a woman.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">The pulse at the base of his throat jumped as I focused on his lips and continued my exploration there. They were full, pink, with a prominent Cupid’s bow.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Suddenly, he opened his mouth and caught my finger between his lips, between his teeth, then with his tongue. And sucked.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">I gasped, my eyes snapping to his as I snatched my finger away, feeling like my whole body was on fire.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">There was so much emotion raging inside me. My skin prickled. I felt hot, itchy, needy. I wanted…more. Just <i>more</i>.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“You’re driving me fucking crazy,” he whispered. His voice was husky, more than a hint of frustration in it.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Where every move before had been disciplined, he now radiated restless energy. It felt like having a big, edgy cat in a small cage.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">His eyes grew heavy, hungry. “I’m waiting for you to run away,” he said quietly.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">When I didn’t reply, his arms fell dejectedly to his sides.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“I don’t want you to.”</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">I bit my lip at his confession. He made me feel wanted. That I shouldn’t deny myself what I wanted. Even just for this moment.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">The way he looked at me felt like heat gliding across my skin. Hot, palpable, alluring.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">He looked so good, so unapologetically <i>male</i>.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Kara.”</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">I looked up at him. He held his hand out to me, palm up.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Come here,” he said huskily.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">As if in a trance, I placed my hand in his. His hand was wide, with long, tapered fingers, and rough, with calluses and scrapes. A working man’s hand. A capable, strong, gorgeous man.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">My eyes shifted to his. There was a delicious hot curl in my stomach at the approval and hunger I saw in his eyes.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">He kissed my palm and placed it on his chest. His hands banded on my hips, his fingers pressing intimately, possessively, as he sprawled on the couch, pulling me to him and settling me on his lap.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">I gasped as our bodies made contact, as I straddled him. He was wide, and <i>God</i>, so big that my legs stretched to accommodate him.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Up close, he was even more beautiful. Almost unreal. His features were perfect, his skin creamy and smooth.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">His hands slipped under my sweater, fingers stroking the skin on my lower back. I shivered at the delicious rough texture of them.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">When his lips touched my ear, I jumped. He let out a deep, low laugh.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Butterflies whirled in my stomach at the sound. Even his laugh was sexy.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Can’t stop thinking about you,” he murmured.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">He dragged his lips from my ear to my jaw, inhaling long and deep. My hands gripped his arms, waiting, wanting him to keep going, wanting to feel what was going to happen next.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">His hands left my back, gliding up my arms, gently securing both sides of my neck. His thumbs stroked the hollow of my throat. My head fell back as I savored his touch. Back and forth and back and forth on my pulse that had gone mad.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">He leaned forward until his lips were almost touching the side of my mouth. Almost.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Kara,” he whispered. “Won’t you kiss me?”</span></span></div>
<div class="p3">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"><b></b></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">***</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Excerpted from <i>Spitfire In Love </i>by Isabelle Ronin. © 2019 by Isabelle Ronin. Used with permission of the publisher, Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc. All rights reserved.</span></span></div>
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<a class="rcptr" data-raflid="54ca7af7760" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/54ca7af7760/" id="rcwidget_d2uwntnj" rel="nofollow"><b><span style="font-size: large;">a Rafflecopter giveaway</span></b></a>
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Ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16537505155659023098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7718338387461065794.post-79347624432207020292019-05-07T17:43:00.001-04:002019-05-07T17:43:16.665-04:00Mary Kay Andrews' SUNSET BEACH Review<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<img height="640" src="https://dj6cnfthgyqas.cloudfront.net/125012610X-original.jpg" width="419" /> </div>
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<i><b>Pull up a lounge chair and have a cocktail at Sunset Beach – it comes with a twist.</b></i></div>
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Drue Campbell’s life is adrift. Out of a job and down on her luck, life doesn’t seem to be getting any better when her estranged father, Brice Campbell, a flamboyant personal injury attorney, shows up at her mother’s funeral after a twenty-year absence. Worse, he’s remarried – to Drue’s eighth grade frenemy, Wendy, now his office manager. And they’re offering her a job.</div>
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It seems like the job from hell, but the offer is sweetened by the news of her inheritance – her grandparents’ beach bungalow in the sleepy town of Sunset Beach, a charming but storm-damaged eyesore now surrounded by waterfront McMansions.</div>
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With no other prospects, Drue begrudgingly joins the firm, spending her days screening out the grifters whose phone calls flood the law office. Working with Wendy is no picnic either. But when a suspicious death at an exclusive beach resort nearby exposes possible corruption at her father’s firm, she goes from unwilling cubicle rat to unwitting investigator, and is drawn into a case that may – or may not – involve her father. With an office romance building, a decades-old missing persons case re-opened, and a cottage in rehab, one thing is for sure at Sunset Beach: there’s a storm on the horizon.</div>
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<i>Sunset Beach </i>is a compelling ride, full of Mary Kay Andrews' signature wit, heart, and charm. (synopsis from Amazon)</div>
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My thoughts.....4 stars</div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">For me, Mary Kay Andrews has become synonymous with a great beach read. Even when not at the beach.</span></div>
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After the death of her mother, and an accident that prevents her from participating in the sport she loves, Drue Campbell moves back to the east side of the state when her long absent dad, lawyer Brice Campbell, offers her a job. The one positive to Drue's situation is her inheritance of the beach cottage her grandfather, Papi, built. The cottage is a bit worse for wear & storms, but that can be remedied. The memories and love make it home; something Drue hasn't had in a long time.</div>
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While searching out a leak in the attic Drue finds a forty year old police file about a missing woman. This seriously piques her interest, honestly, who wouldn't be intrigued with this find? Combine that with the case of a murdered housekeeper at the exclusive resort up the beach from her cottage and Drue has plenty to keep life interesting while paying the bills with her justice call line cubey job from hell.</div>
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With Drue's history she could've easily been the type of "heroine" that sets my teeth on edge. Fortunately, she didn't go the annoyingly whiney route.</div>
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Drue's unconventional investigations and trips down memory lane (where she did some growing up) quickly sucked me into <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Sunset-Beach-Mary-Kay-Andrews-ebook/dp/B07GNC2WRN/ref=sr_1_1?crid=WGNHU64UX8SG&keywords=sunset+beach+mary+kay+andrews&qid=1557259502&s=books&sprefix=sun%2Caps%2C153&sr=1-1-catcorr" target="_blank">SUNSET BEACH</a>. It was fun trying to figure out the mysteries and discovering who Drue was growing up to be.<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Mary Kay Andrews never fails to entertain and inspire the faith that things can and will get better. Just hang in there.</span><br />
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I received a review copy from the publisher via Netgalley. All views expressed are my own.</div>
Ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16537505155659023098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7718338387461065794.post-36424717905029367092019-05-06T06:00:00.000-04:002019-05-06T06:00:05.621-04:00You Might Be A Bluestocking If....& giveaway w/ Christ Caldwell<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqUjkkM8XXMHtGW9jMXT2889bM6V7AgLZnx2qFoRXoB9uD-8iUWJYxmpJ2Bnru3vfaaYs_7eFjVzkIiGmM_E8DvT0UWa9yR2HZcIHyl_VeTR7ECBdFM3cLPuj4wc57gUEWRY_fmoJsY2c/s1600/TheBluestockingGraphic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqUjkkM8XXMHtGW9jMXT2889bM6V7AgLZnx2qFoRXoB9uD-8iUWJYxmpJ2Bnru3vfaaYs_7eFjVzkIiGmM_E8DvT0UWa9yR2HZcIHyl_VeTR7ECBdFM3cLPuj4wc57gUEWRY_fmoJsY2c/s640/TheBluestockingGraphic.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>You Might Be a Bluestocking If... with Author Christi Caldwell</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In my newest novel, <i>The Bluestocking</i>, Gertrude, the eldest Killoran sister, has spent a lifetime being underestimated—especially by her own family. She may seem as vulnerable as a kitten, but given the chance she can be as fierce as a tiger. Her adopted brother Stephen has just been snatched back by his true father, and she’ll be damned if she relinquishes the boy to the man reviled throughout London as the Mad Marquess.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Still haunted by a deadly tragedy that left him publicly despised, Lord Edwin holds only hatred for the Killorans—the people he believes kidnapped his son. And not one of them will ever see the boy again. But when Gertrude forces her way into the household and stubbornly insists that she remain as Stephen’s governess, Edwin believes he may have found someone madder than himself. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">With every moment he shares with the tenderhearted Gertrude, Edwin’s anger softens into admiration . . . and more. It is possible that the woman he loathed may be the only person who can heal his broken soul?</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Gertrude was such a wonderful character to write. She’s the eldest of her siblings and firmly on the shelf. She’s incredibly diverse in her strengths and in her interests and in the knowledge she possesses: it’s a knowledge that really is all-encompassing, spanning furniture-making to the care of animals to skills for surviving on the streets. In addition, she’s been responsible for educating the children in her family’s care, and what I found so fascinating is that she knows the value of education and what she’s been providing has been so important, and yet so many have failed to appreciate the power of her contributions. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In honor of Gertrude, an intelligent, interesting, and ultimately irresistible heroine, I have written a short game of "You Might Be A Bluestocking If..." so you can test yourself to see what you have in common with Gertrude. </span></div>
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<li style="margin-left: 15px;"><span style="color: black;">You might be a bluestocking if...you have more than one cat.</span></li>
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<li style="margin-left: 15px;"><span style="color: black;">You might be a bluestocking if...your hands are permanently ink stained from your writing.</span></li>
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<li style="margin-left: 15px;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">You might be a bluestocking if...you have an in-depth knowledge of ancient furniture </span>design.</span></li>
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<li style="margin-left: 15px;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">You might be a bluestocking if…you prefer lectures to balls.</span></li>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">With every moment he shares with the tenderhearted Gertrude, Edwin’s anger softens into admiration . . . and more. Is it possible that the woman he loathed may be the only person who can heal his broken soul?</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA11mQBwlusXGxiQPc0inijn0UJtN77mla0XpvlIpdvX9o_Xjxp4BDlOj9uc0hepXejJBJuWFYdFRcCanZ81MdGOyTWqE0wOSRLTssnHVK2e-IwcxhqolBZGaVTqVPezbcBGbT8Om04i4/s1600/ChristiCaldwell.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA11mQBwlusXGxiQPc0inijn0UJtN77mla0XpvlIpdvX9o_Xjxp4BDlOj9uc0hepXejJBJuWFYdFRcCanZ81MdGOyTWqE0wOSRLTssnHVK2e-IwcxhqolBZGaVTqVPezbcBGbT8Om04i4/s320/ChristiCaldwell.jpg" width="208" /></a><span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>USA Today</i> bestselling, RITA-nominated author Christi Caldwell blames authors Julie Garwood and Judith McNaught for luring her into the world of historical romance. When Christi was at the University of Connecticut, she began writing her own tales of love. She believes that the most perfect heroes and heroines have imperfections, and she rather enjoys torturing her couples before crafting them a well-deserved happily ever after.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The author of the Wicked Wallflowers series, which includes <i>The Governess, The Hellion, </i>and<i> The Vixen</i>, Christi lives in southern Connecticut, where she spends her time writing, chasing after her son, and taking care of her twin princesses-in-training. Fans who want to keep up with the latest news and information can sign up for Christi’s newsletter at <a data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=http://www.christicaldwell.com/&source=gmail&ust=1556933974027000&usg=AFQjCNFrso9Y8lA3LBMguxCnqZiFipKVNg" href="http://www.christicaldwell.com/" style="color: #1155cc;" target="_blank">www.ChristiCaldwell.com</a> or follow her on Facebook (AuthorChristiCaldwell) or Twitter (@ChristiCaldwell).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><a href="http://christicaldwell.com/" target="_blank">Website</a> <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Christi-Caldwell-215250258658392/" target="_blank">FB</a> <a href="https://twitter.com/christicaldwell" target="_blank">Twitter</a> <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5297089.Christi_Caldwell" target="_blank">Goodreads</a></b></span></div>
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Ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16537505155659023098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7718338387461065794.post-88728633201491160972019-04-23T12:54:00.005-04:002019-04-23T12:58:50.407-04:00MR. FINCHLEY DISCOVERS HIS ENGLAND Review<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>Set during the 1930's, MR. FINCHLEY DISCOVERS HIS ENGLAND is book 1 of a trilogy that holds a timeless appeal. Perfect for stepping back in time to a slower era. It's a balm to the heart and soul. Loved it!</b><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My thoughts...5 stars</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Mr. Finchley, </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">head clerk in a solicitors office</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> is single, 45, and has never had a holiday. Until now. Mr. Finchley is going to holiday in Margate, or so he believes. Innocently passing a bit of time sunning on a bench before lunch & catching his train leads to Mr. Finchley unwittingly being involved in a high speed police chase and being taken hostage among other adventures. </span><br />
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What a delightful change of reading pace. Mr. Finchley's adventures and era almost convinces me I was born too late. It's hard to find books and writing like this unless you look to the past and mores the pity. </div>
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Before you know it you're immersed in Mr. Finchley's world and the colorful characters he encounters on his first holiday. The bar is set high and successive holidays are bound to be a bit of a let down after these escapades.</div>
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MR. FINCHLEY FINDS HIS ENGLAND is a lovely, calming escapist read that did me a wealth of good. If you need a humorous change of pace, literally, give Mr. Finchley a go.</div>
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I received a digital copy from the publisher via NetGalley, all views and opinions expressed are my own.</div>
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Ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16537505155659023098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7718338387461065794.post-58081452485020555082019-04-23T06:00:00.000-04:002019-04-23T06:00:16.544-04:00Profiling Special Agent Macy Crow of HIDE AND SEEK & giveaway with Mary Burton<div style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
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Special Agent Macy Crow is 33-years-old and is an accomplished FBI Agent. She’s worked a series of high profile cases across the United States and isn’t afraid to take chances. When her father was murdered, she headed to Texas to investigate the crime. Following clues left behind by her father, she was closing in on the killer when she became the victim of a hit and run accident.</div>
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Most would have died from the injuries Macy sustained or would have been permanently disabled. However, Macy channeled her extreme ability to focus into her recovery. Though her fit muscles have softened during her recovery, she is regaining strength each day and is now laser-focused on returning to the FBI as a field agent. Before her accident, she had shoulder length blond hair but the brain surgeons who saved her life cut off all her hair. She now proudly sports a pixie cut. </div>
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When Macy returned to Texas, she learned a startling fact about herself. She has an identical twin—medical examiner Dr. Faith McIntyre. Though adopted by different families, the sisters already have a strong connection. </div>
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Macy’s adoptive parents split when she was two and she moved from Texas to Alexandria, Virginia located outside of Washington, D.C. Over the years she remained close with her father and spent many summers with him helping repair old cars on his auto salvage lot. In Alexandria, she and her mother lived in a large apartment complex. When she was young, a neighborhood girl was murdered. That tragedy had a very profound affect on Macy, who discovered she wasn’t afraid of the police and FBI agents swarming the apartment complex. Instead, she was fascinated by their work and not only watched law enforcement in action but also walked the actual crime scene herself in search of clues.</div>
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Macy has never been married and has no children. For a long time, she considered herself married to her job and it wasn’t until she met FBI Special Agent Mike Nevada that she reconsidered her single status. However, her accident cut short their romance. Nevada is now the sheriff in a small Virginia town in the Shenandoah Valley. He understands Macy’s need to reclaim the FBI job she has always loved so much. In the last year, he has never forgotten her and is committed to helping regain her old life. When the two are paired on a cold case murder investigation in Nevada’s district, they become an unstoppable team.</div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span id="m_5532862480651008566gmail-docs-internal-guid-559e224a-7fff-684c-1d3c-da4ebf150f36"></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span id="m_5532862480651008566gmail-docs-internal-guid-559e224a-7fff-684c-1d3c-da4ebf150f36"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="white-space: normal;">Special Agent Macy Crow is a survivor. After a vicious hit-and-run nearly kills her, she gets right back to work, and now she’s gunning for a spot on the FBI’s elite profiling team. As an audition, she offers to investigate the recently discovered bones of Tobi Turner, a high school girl who disappeared fifteen years ago.</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; white-space: normal;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box; white-space: normal;" /><span style="white-space: normal;">While investigating with local sheriff Mike Nevada, a former colleague and onetime lover, Macy discovers a link between Tobi’s case and several others that occurred around the same time as her disappearance. As Macy interviews victims and examines old cases, she uncovers a sinister picture of a stalker who graduated to sexual assault—and then murder.</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; white-space: normal;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box; white-space: normal;" /><span style="white-space: normal;">Macy and Nevada race to put this monster behind bars before he can come out of hiding. But the murderer’s had years to hone his skills, and soon Macy herself becomes a target. She’s no stranger to pain and terror, but will Macy’s first profiling case be her last?</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span id="m_5532862480651008566gmail-docs-internal-guid-559e224a-7fff-684c-1d3c-da4ebf150f36"><a data-mce-href="https://www.maryburton.com/" href="https://www.maryburton.com/" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", "Bitstream Charter", Times, serif; font-size: 16px;">Website</a><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , "bitstream charter" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;"> </span><a data-mce-href="https://www.facebook.com/maryburtonfanpage" href="https://www.facebook.com/maryburtonfanpage" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", "Bitstream Charter", Times, serif; font-size: 16px;">Facebook</a><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , "bitstream charter" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;"> </span><a data-mce-href="https://twitter.com/MaryBurtonBooks" href="https://twitter.com/MaryBurtonBooks" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", "Bitstream Charter", Times, serif; font-size: 16px;">Twitter </a><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , "bitstream charter" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;"> </span><a data-mce-href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15020.Mary_Burton" href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15020.Mary_Burton" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", "Bitstream Charter", Times, serif; font-size: 16px;">Goodreads</a></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="white-space: normal;"><i>New York Times </i>and <i>USA Today</i> bestselling novelist Mary Burton is the highly praised author of twenty-six romance and suspense novels and five novellas. She lives in Virginia with her husband and three miniature dachshunds.</span><span style="white-space: normal;"><br /></span></span></div>
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Ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16537505155659023098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7718338387461065794.post-61355292355192267772019-04-19T09:03:00.000-04:002019-04-19T09:03:16.217-04:00Stacy Green's THE NIGHT HE DIED Review<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Wrong place. Wrong time. And everything to lose.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Running for his life …</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Cage Foster discovers a body in one of New Orleans’s most mysterious cemeteries. His partner recognizes the victim—she investigated him for the disappearance of his girlfriend months ago and suspects suicide. Cage isn’t buying it—the evidence and the cause of death tell a different story.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Running out of time …</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Within days, others start to disappear. Cage is certain everything is tied to one of New Orleans’s most powerful Mardi Gras Krewes, but with Fat Tuesday just days away, city officials demand Cage drop the investigation. Up against the city’s rich and powerful who financially fuel a corrupted legal system, Cage only has two allies: A clairvoyant and a woman with a past so dark and damaged, he’s afraid to trust her.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">The killer will do anything to keep from being exposed, and Cage’s luck has finally run out, because this is The Night He Died. (Synopsis from Amazon)</span><br />
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My thoughts...4.5 stars<br />
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It's been a while since I caught up with Cage Foster and he's been seriously busy. Now in New Orleans, he's been assigned to help the police force improve their record. In THE NIGHT HE DIED Cage is asked to help some college students who've found a dying man at a popular voodoo tree. Things escalate quickly from that point, in large part because Cage is Cage and he's determined to get to the truth; no matter how it shakes & rattles the status quo.<br />
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This is Book 2 and it maintains the high standards I've come to associate with Ms. Green's tightly woven and complex stories. It's easy to read as a stand alone, but I'm one of those readers who want to be in on it from the get go and "feels" the loss of prior books. There're some characters I'd like to have met before the events chronicled in THE NIGHT HE DIED.<br />
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Another aspect of Ms. Green's books I enjoy is always learning something interesting specific to the location & it's customs/culture or history. Since this is New Orleans where the otherworldy permeates the very air you breathe there's more than a passing mention of such things, but it isn't pushy, more questioning. Well done no matter which side of "things that go bump in the night" or different religions you're on.<br />
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If I had to choose one word for THE NIGHT HE DIED it would be satisfying. Solid mystery, complex, flawed, and interesting characters, the story builds on the past and stays true to my expectations. If you aren't reading the Cage Foster mysteries you should be.
I received an ARC from the author for my honest opinion. All views expressed are my own.Ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16537505155659023098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7718338387461065794.post-55133620766909749842019-04-16T06:00:00.000-04:002019-04-14T14:42:11.457-04:00Carolyn Brown's inspiration for THE PERFECT DRESS & giveaway<br />
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My granddaughter is getting married this fall, and she’s not one of those size six girls who can walk into wedding dress store, try on a dozen dresses and find the perfect dress—especially when she has her heart set on a black lace dress for her wedding. When we began to shop for her dress, I wished for a custom wedding shop that catered only to women who wore a size fourteen or larger. So I created one called <i>The Perfect Dress</i> and set it in the little town of Celeste, Texas. This summer I plan to bring my old Singer sewing machine out of retirement, and make my granddaughter’s black lace wedding dress—just the way she and I will design it!</div>
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<i>The Perfect Dress</i> is not a real place so don’t go to the local doughnut shop in Celeste and ask about it, but the town, the characters and the shop were all very real to me while I was writing about it.</div>
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Speaking of characters let me introduce you to Mitzi. She’s and her two plus sized friends, Paula and Jody, have dreamed of putting in their own plus-sized wedding dress shop for years. Now it’s a reality. They’ve bought an old two story house at the edge of Celeste and hung out their shingle. </div>
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Jody is a thin vegetarian now, but when the girls were in high school, she was a big girl just like her friends. She’s living proof that a woman will do anything for love, but when love goes awry, she’s sure glad that she’s got Mitzi and Paula to support her.</div>
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Paula is carrying a big secret. The three women have shared everything since they were little children, but she can’t talk about her secret, not when both her friends are in the middle of drama themselves. She has to be the strong one to share Jody’s sorrow and Mitzi’s happiness.</div>
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Fanny Lou, Mitzi’s grandmother, is an eccentric old gal with lots of advice that she’s not one bit shy about spreading around. She’s the mother role for all of them, constantly popping into the shop with a box of doughnuts, or the local gossip.</div>
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Lately Mitzi has been feeling like maybe her ‘perfect family’ is missing someone... perhaps the perfect man. She hasn’t seen him since high school, but that doesn’t mean that Mitizi’s heart doesn’t go pitter-patter for this awesome single dad. Graham towers above Mitzi, who is almost six feet tall. He has twin girls, who are also plus sized. He feels the sparks, too, but questions whether Mitzi could ever love some big guy who already has teenage daughters.</div>
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There is definitely a gap between the teenager girls, who help out in the shop, and Fanny Lou, the granny, and the three best friends. But true friendship knows nothing about age—it’s love, support, and unflinching loyalty towards each other, no matter what the age.</div>
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In the small town of Celeste, Texas, Mitzi Taylor has never quite fit inside the lines. Nearly six feet tall, flame-haired, and with a plus-size spirit to match every curve, she’s found her niche: a custom wedding-dress boutique catering to big brides-to-be with big dreams. Taking the plunge alongside her two best friends, she’s proud they’ve turned The Perfect Dress into a perfect success.<br />
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Just when Mitzi has it all pulled together, Graham Harrison walks back into her life, looking for bridesmaid dresses for his twin daughters. A still-strapping jock whose every gorgeous, towering inch smells like aftershave, the star of all Mitzi’s high school dreams is causing quite a flush.<br />
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For Mitzi, all it takes is a touch to feel sparks flitting around her like fireflies. She can just imagine what a kiss could do. Graham’s feeling it, too. And he’s about to make that imagination of Mitzi’s run wild. Is it just a hot summer fling, or are Mitzi’s next designs for herself and seeing her own dreams come true?<br />
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Carolyn Brown is a <em>New York Times</em>, <em>USA Today</em>, <em>Publisher’s Weekly</em>, and <em>Wall Street Journal</em> bestselling author and a RITA finalist with more than ninety published books. Her genres include romance, history, cowboys and country music, and contemporary mass-market paperbacks. She and her husband live in the small town of Davis, Oklahoma, where everyone knows everyone else, knows what they are doing and when . . . and reads the local newspaper every Wednesday to see who got caught. They have three grown children and enough grandchildren to keep them young. Visit Carolyn at <a data-mce-href="http://www.carolynbrownbooks.com/" data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=http://www.carolynbrownbooks.com&source=gmail&ust=1555106749151000&usg=AFQjCNHvaF9i3UL4Yo2Mk2DKPnhUYWOdHA" href="http://www.carolynbrownbooks.com/">www.carolynbrownbooks.com</a>.<br />
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<a data-mce-href="https://www.carolynbrownbooks.com" href="https://www.carolynbrownbooks.com/">Website</a> <a data-mce-href="https://www.facebook.com/carolynbrownbooks" href="https://www.facebook.com/carolynbrownbooks">FB</a> <a data-mce-href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/13554.Carolyn_Brown" href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/13554.Carolyn_Brown">Goodreads</a></h3>
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Ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16537505155659023098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7718338387461065794.post-32791041014600406782019-04-14T14:25:00.000-04:002019-04-14T14:25:52.286-04:00Jamie Beck Interview & THE PROMISE OF US Giveaway<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>1. Can you give readers a quick snapshot of your newest novel <i>The Promise of Us</i>. </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">At its heart, this book is based on some favorite romance tropes (best friend’s older brother, unrequited crush, second chance-ish) although the circumstances are unusual. Basically, Logan returns to town to help his sister recover and, in his desire to help his sister mend fences with Claire, he hires Claire to redecorate his apartment. What starts out as a somewhat manipulative—though well-intentioned—plan flips on him. He remembers the version of Claire from before the gunshot wound and wants her to stop living in fear, so he sets about slowly challenging her limits to help her lead a fuller life. In the process, he falls for her, although his job and wanderlust (and Claire’s inability to forgive Peyton) conspire to make her push him away. Ultimately, they have to figure out how to compromise if they want things to work out.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>2. What makes Claire and Logan’s story special to you?</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Each book I write is special in its own way. I think what stays with me about this one is a sense of tenderness that developed in Logan that didn’t really exist before he spent more time with Claire. He was a fairly selfish guy (meaning he put his needs and career aspirations ahead of everything) for most of his life. His sister’s life-threatening illness was the first catalyst for change, but his relationship with Claire develops a new facet of his personality. I liked him so much by the end of the story. And I had fun writing Claire, despite her being a very nervous, conservative character at the outset.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>3. Your heroine Claire has suffered tremendously (both physically and emotionally) yet she perseveres and has made a great life for herself. What gives her strength?</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In my mind, Claire’s greatest strengths are her ability to be content with the little things and her gratitude for her family and friends. For the most part, she rarely laments her quiet life. When she had to give up her first love (tennis), she directed her energy into something else she enjoyed and made that a career. She feels that she is good at her job and she enjoys it, so that also gives her a sense of pride and accomplishment. I think her job (making old or ugly things pretty) is a bit of a metaphor for how she dealt with her injury. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>4. Claire has had love and lost it. How has her past experience changed her?</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I think losing her boyfriend to a best friend rocked her to the core. Those two betrayals shook a fundamental sense of trust in all relationships. And in love. She recovered much better from her physical injury that the emotional ones, that is for sure. In any case, this cynicism about love and friendship definitely makes it hard for her to believe anything Logan has to say, or to believe that he could truly love her.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>5. What is her reaction to first seeing her childhood crush Logan?</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">She’s caught unaware, so she reacts badly, especially because she suspects he is trying to manipulate her. Hostile might be how some would describe her mental state, although Claire tempers her feelings most of the time, so it is more of a quiet rage with a hint of desperation to flee!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>6. It seems like Claire and Logan are complete opposites. She is cautious about new experiences, while he jet sets around the world. Was it difficult to write about two very different characters? </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">No. They are opposites, but in a complementary manner. In other words, he is able to use his strengths (courage) to help her tap into her own, and she is able to use her strength (contentedness) to give him a sort of stability and affection sorely lacking in his life.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>7. What common ground do your heroine and hero have? </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The have the common ground of growing up in the same community, with all the values and ideals that help form us as children. They also have mutual friends and some shared history, which binds them. In terms of their interests, they are both creatives—him with photographs, her with fabrics and such—so they understand that way of seeing the world.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>8. A hallmark of your writing is the maturity that your characters find throughout their journey of falling in love. What are some lessons that Claire and Logan must learn for them to get their happily-ever-after?</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The hallmark of any well-written romance (of which there are plenty) is that its characters will have a strong arc (they will grow and become better, stronger individuals). In this story, Claire needs to learn to take risks again, and to trust that, come what may in life or love, she will survive and be okay. Logan needs to learn to compromise, and to learn that the relationships he makes in the here and now are more likely to bring true happiness than achieving any aspirational goal.</span></div>
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Claire McKenna knows about loss. The bullet wound that ended her promising professional tennis career drove her to make a quiet life for herself working with fabric samples, chatting with her book group, and spending time with her parents in her sleepy coastal Connecticut hometown. Then there was the boyfriend who dumped her to pursue her adventurous childhood friend. Now, Claire’s business has hit a financial snag, but she’s up to the challenge. After all, she can survive anything. At least she thinks so . . . until her teen crush, Logan, returns to town with his sister, Claire’s traitorous friend.</div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Photographer Logan Prescott is more playboy than homebody. But his sister’s illness teaches him that there’s more to life than chasing the next thrill. Bent on helping her win Claire’s forgiveness, he turns his charm on Claire and offers her big bucks to renovate his multimillion-dollar New York City condo.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">After years of playing it safe, Claire must now take some risks. The payoff could be huge, but if it all falls apart, can her heart recover from another loss?</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhioN508VU1yaZLUpumWfaV4gvudeoshLEVKWNF-60lJgizZEiPP9vlpPGs9CGYM5bUr4o15OsNN6qA3AI1_aTlXyr3lESQCZYvAPmEPc1gSHxzqefsx0zx2uubY4CE3OIgsOA1OkZvrzw/s1600/Jamie+Beck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhioN508VU1yaZLUpumWfaV4gvudeoshLEVKWNF-60lJgizZEiPP9vlpPGs9CGYM5bUr4o15OsNN6qA3AI1_aTlXyr3lESQCZYvAPmEPc1gSHxzqefsx0zx2uubY4CE3OIgsOA1OkZvrzw/s320/Jamie+Beck.jpg" width="213" /></a>National bestselling author Jamie Beck’s realistic and heartwarming stories have sold more than one million copies. She’s a Booksellers’ Best Award and a National Readers’ Choice Award finalist; and critics at <i>Kirkus</i>, <i>Publishers Weekly</i>, and <i>Booklist</i> have respectively called her work “smart,” “uplifting,” and “entertaining.” In addition to writing, she enjoys dancing around the kitchen while cooking and hitting the slopes in Vermont and Utah. Above all, she is a grateful wife and mother to a very patient, supportive family.</div>
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Ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16537505155659023098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7718338387461065794.post-75553575250427091652019-04-07T13:11:00.001-04:002019-04-07T13:17:15.646-04:00GRAHAM: THE BROKEN DUKE: AN ILLUSTRATED ROMANCE Review<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
<a href="https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1552000514l/44301401.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Graham: The Broken Duke: An Illustrated Romance" border="0" src="https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1552000514l/44301401.jpg" /></a><b style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><i></i></b><br />
<b style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><i><b style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><i><br /></i></b></i></b>
<b style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><i>A Special Illustrated Edition of The Broken Duke by 10 time USA Today Bestselling Author Jess Michaels</i></b></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">This beautiful special edition of The Broken Duke (1797 Club 3) includes gorgeous photographs by Jenn LeBlanc in every chapter. The text hasn’t changed, but the images will enhance the reader experience. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Adelaide Longford is London’s most overlooked bluestocking wallflower and that is fine by her. Being ignored gives her the perfect opportunity to sneak out and secretly take on the persona of the most celebrated actress of the day, Lydia Ford. The thrill of walking the boards and hearing the applause of those who watch her is the most exciting experience of her life. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Until Graham Everly, Duke of Northfield comes into her life. He is broken after the humiliating loss of his longtime fiancé to his supposed best friend and they enter into a lusty affair which sets her body on fire. Graham has no idea why he’s so attracted to both the bespectacled, prickly Adelaide and the passionate Lydia, but soon he is caught in a dance with them both and torn between which future he wants to pursue. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">When Graham finds out Adelaide’s secret identity will he be able to accept both parts of her? And will he be able to save her from a lurking danger that neither of them could have ever foreseen?</span><br />
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<b style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Length:</b><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> Full-Length Novel (70,000 words)</span><br />
<b style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Fully Illustrated:</b><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> Yep, some of the pictures even include abs.</span><br />
<b style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Heat Level:</b><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> eyebrow waggle</span><br />
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<b style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><i>This book is part of a series (The 1797 Club) but can be read as a standalone novel. A non-illustrated version of The Broken Duke is also available. (Synopsis from Amazon)</i></b><br />
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<b style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><i><br /></i></b>
<b style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><i>Did anyone else ever read the Italian Photoromances KISS & DARLING in the late 80's? It was like a movie in a magazine. Please tell me I wasn't the only one! </i></b><br />
<b style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><i>Well, this isn't quite the same, but there are wonderful photos of the characters that kick it up a notch. They really add to Graham and Adelaide's tale. Enjoy, y'all!</i></b><br />
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MY THOUGHTS: 4 STARS</div>
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The deliciously daring, secret riddled romance between Graham and Adelaide is kicked up a notch with the addition of photos.</div>
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Interspersed amidst the text are photos of the characters, including "live action" shots. The billiard game is a special favorite of mine. Just when you thought Graham and Adelaide couldn't be improved upon, Ms. Michaels and Ms. LeBlanc do just that.</div>
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So, if you enjoyed Graham and Adelaide the first time around, find out what pictures add to their story. </div>
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If you've never met them come see what you're missing. Secrets, mysteries, murder, and of course love; of the toe curling variety to be exact. Graham and Adelaide will keep those pages flying.</div>
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You may want to consider getting this in print for your keeper shelf. </div>
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I received a digital copy from the author. The expressed opinions in the review are my own.</div>
Ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16537505155659023098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7718338387461065794.post-87861455205084501392019-04-02T06:00:00.000-04:002019-04-02T06:00:00.131-04:00Rosanne Bittner presents LOGAN'S LADY excerpt & giveaway<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="s1"><i><span style="font-size: small;">May 29, 1870</span></i></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Logan strolled into Sheriff Adam White’s office in Abilene and handed him a letter. White looked up at him and frowned. “You again?”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Yup.” Logan noticed the man had a few crumbs in his long, black beard, probably from breakfast. “I already checked at Rinker’s saloon, and he’s out of town again, so I’m bringing you proof that I found the man Rinker was looking for. Rosell still had over three thousand dollars on him.” Logan handed out a leather satchel. “The money is in here. That letter is from a Mr. Clive Macy and a few citizens of Mirage, Colorado, saying I brought them Mr. Ben Rosell. The town promptly hanged the man for kidnapping and raping Clive Macy’s thirteen-year-old daughter.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">White looked into the leather satchel, then back up at Logan. “You actually <i>found </i>the man? He had a good three-week start on you.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“He was easy to track. He was a braggart, and every place he stopped people remembered him. He also spent a few days at each stop along the way to Denver—liked to show off. That slowed him down.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">White shook his head. “I’ll be damned.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“I want you to give all that money to Mr. Rinker and tell him I’ll be back to collect my bounty. Right now, I’m in kind of a hurry because<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>intend<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>to<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>find the man behind Rosell. His name is Robert Alexander. Have you—”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“<i>Alexander?</i>” White interrupted, speaking the name as though in shock.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">It was then Logan heard an odd whimper from a jail cell behind the wall where the sheriff sat. White got to his feet.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Logan, you have no idea—”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Do you have a <i>woman </i>back there?” Logan interrupted.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Well…yes. That’s what I started to tell you. We didn’t quite know what to do with her. She just rambles crazy when she talks.” White leaned in closer and dropped his voice. “Logan, she shot a man on<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>the Kansas Pacific. Bloodiest mess you ever saw! She claimed he attacked her, but heck, they were traveling alone together, so I don’t know <i>what </i>to believe. We found the mess just this morning on their Pullman car when the train came in. The man’s identification says his name is Robert Alexander.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Logan stepped back. “<i>What?</i>”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Yes. And he was layin’ in a sleeper car buck naked and covered in blood. There were dresses all over the bed in the back bedchamber, and they were covered in blood, too. We found a small pistol laying on the floor, and the woman—she’s a young thing—she was just sitting in a chair in the parlor area wearing <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>a nightgown and covered in blood—her clothes, her face, her hands—it was the most god-awful mess I ever saw. We’ve been trying to decide what to—”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Logan left him and hurried around the corner, and there in the jail cell sat what he thought might be a very beautiful woman with blond hair. He couldn’t be sure because she was covered in so much blood. Even her hair was stuck together in places from dried blood. His rage knew no bounds. After what Rosell had told him about Robert Alexander, he could just imag- ine what this woman had been through. He turned to Sheriff White when the man followed him to the cell. “Why in hell is this poor woman sitting in there unwashed and unattended! Can’t you see she’s been through something awful?”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“We just weren’t sure what to do with her—what to believe. She could be a murderess.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“<i>Murderess! </i>Hell!” Logan roared the words so loudly the sheriff stepped back defensively. “I know all about this Robert Alexander, and I can tell you if she shot him he damn well <i>deserved </i>it! Get that woman out <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>of there.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Sheriff White shrugged. “What the hell are we supposed to do with her? She doesn’t talk any sense.” “<i>Look </i>at her! She’s shaking from shock. And she’s probably scared as a baby rabbit. I guarantee Alexander brought her out here under false pretenses, and then he took her for every dime she has and was going to sell her to a whorehouse. Get her out of there. There are more men behind this, and I need to know what <i>she </i>knows and what Alexander took from her.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“You sure—”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Get her <i>out </i>of there!” Logan raged.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">White ran for the keys. Logan’s shouted words made the woman look up. Her eyes widened, and <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>she quickly curled up onto the cot where she sat and shook even harder.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“It’s all right,” Logan told her. “I’m going to get you some help.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">She just kept staring at him as White returned with the keys and opened the cell door. Logan stepped inside.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">The woman shook her head. “Don’t let him touch me!” she screamed at the sheriff. “He’s here to take me away to someplace awful!”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">They were the first coherent words she’d spoken since Sheriff White had pulled her off the Pullman car. Logan stepped closer. “Ma’am, I’m not going to—” “His name is Chad!” she screamed at the sheriff. “He’s here to pick me up and take me away. He rides with a lot of bad men! Robert told me about him!” “Ma’am, this man isn’t called Chad,” the sheriff tried to assure her. “This is Logan Best. He’s a bounty hunter, and he was after that man you killed. He wants to help you. His word is good, so we won’t hold you any longer. Logan claims Alexander was a swindler of some kind.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Don’t believe him! He’s Chad Krieger, and he’s going to take me someplace where I’ll never be found again. Look at him! He’s filthy and wears guns and— he looks like an <i>outlaw</i>! Don’t let him take me!”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">White stepped closer and leaned down to look into the woman’s eyes. “Ma’am, I <i>assure </i>you, this man isn’t Chad Krieger. He’s a bounty hunter. He <i>hunts down </i>men like Chad Krieger. His name is Logan Best, and he wants to get you some help. You’ll be safe with him.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">The woman buried her face in her bloody hands and wept.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Logan turned to White. “Where is the closest doctor’s office?”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Couple of doors down. Doc Billings. This is the best time to catch him sober. It’s still early. The man is pretty useless by eight o’clock or so at night.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“I’ll carry her. You lead the way.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Sure.” White stepped back, and Logan walked closer to the woman. She shrank back again. Logan knelt in front of her.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“I’m not that man called Chad,” he assured her again. “My name is Logan Best, and I was here in Abilene to collect bounty on a man called Ben Rosell. You ever hear that name?”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">She shook her head.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Logan looked her straight in the eyes and hesitantly reached out to touch her arm. She didn’t pull away. “Let me help you. What’s your name?”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">She watched his eyes, and her shaking stopped. “Elizabeth Baylor.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Let me guess. Are you British? I mean, your accent tells me you are, but I need to know for sure.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Elizabeth nodded.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“And this man called Sir Robert Alexander duped you into trusting him—offered to bring you west and then managed to steal your money and turn on you. Right? He was taking you to someone. He was going to leave you with the man called Chad.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Elizabeth swallowed. “How—do you know all that?”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“It’s a long story. But I’m not this man you call Chad Krieger. I’m <i>hunting </i>for Krieger.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Elizabeth broke into tears. “I’m alone out here. I don’t know what to do. I killed him! I killed Robert!” “And I’m betting it was for a damn good reason,”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Logan told her. “We need to talk, Miss Baylor. <i>Is </i>it Miss?”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Elizabeth wiped at her tears, smearing the blood on her face. “Lady,” she answered, showing a spark of pride. “I am Lady Elizabeth Baylor…from London.” She cried even harder. “I loved him! I was going to marry him! Why did he…do this?”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Because he’s a swindling sonofabitch,” Logan answered. He rose. “Come on. Let me get you to a doctor.” He looked at White. “Where are her things? She needs to wash up and get dressed. For God’s sake, how could you leave her in this condition, and in a jail cell to boot?”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“We were going to have a meeting soon to discuss what to do with her.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Common sense should have told you this woman didn’t do anything wrong. <i>Look </i>at her! She’s been abused, and she was probably just defending herself. If you weren’t a lawman, I’d land a fist into your face. Where are her things?”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“They’re still down at the depot.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Then have somebody go get them and bring them to the doctor’s office.” Logan reached out for Elizabeth. “Can you walk?”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Elizabeth crossed her arms over her breasts as though she thought Logan might be able to see through her gown. “I don’t want people out there to see me. And…I’m barefoot.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Logan grasped her arms and pulled her up. He noticed she winced.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Are your arms bruised?” he asked. Elizabeth nodded.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Logan reached down and yanked a wool blanket off the cot. He wrapped it around her shoulders, covering her completely before lifting her into his arms. He thought how small and light she was. Her situation reminded him of what had happened to MaryAnne. He’d killed every last one of the men who’d hurt her before coming out here to hunt down every damn wanted man he could find.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Let’s get her to a doctor,” he told the sheriff. White obliged, heading out the front door.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">A few people gathered to watch Logan Best carry the strange, bloody woman who’d killed a man to the doctor’s office.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Elizabeth curled against him, her head on his shoulder. At least he could get help for this woman. He’d never had the chance to help MaryAnne.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://amzn.to/2Bp2n9a" target="_blank">Amazon </a> <a href="http://bit.ly/2UNqbuv" target="_blank">B&N</a> <a href="https://apple.co/2DZUpVw" target="_blank">Apple</a> <a href="http://bit.ly/2MUMAn2" target="_blank">Indiebound</a></span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Two worlds in conflict</span></b></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Two hearts intertwined</span></b></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><b><span style="font-size: small;">One love worth fighting for</span></b></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: small;">Wealthy Englishwoman Lady Elizabeth Baylor longs for adventure. She leaves for America full of hope, only to lose everything to a villain hiding treachery behind his smile. Lost in this strange and lawless land, Elizabeth vows to track down the man who did her wrong...but she can't do it alone. What she needs is someone hardened by the west and unflinching toward its dangers: notorious bounty hunter Logan Best.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: small;">Ill-mannered and seemingly ruthless, Logan exorcises his dark past by throwing himself into his vengeful profession—hunting wanted men. There's nothing about the pampered Englishwoman that should call to him, and yet as their adventure takes them across the wild and treacherous west, he realizes he'll do anything to keep her safe...and defend his Lady to his final breath.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s2"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>USA Today</i> bestseller and award-winning novelist <b>Rosanne Bittner</b> is known as the “Queen of Western Historical Romance” for her epic love stories and family sagas. Her award-winning, well-researched books span 1800’s America from coast to coast. Devoted readers have described her books as “awesome,” “realistic,” and “unforgettable!” Rosanne and her husband live in southwest Michigan. Visit her at www.rosannebittner.com.</span></span></div>
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Ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16537505155659023098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7718338387461065794.post-45894682339499851042019-03-24T14:19:00.000-04:002019-03-24T14:19:33.990-04:00LITTLE DARLINGS Review<div style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
<a href="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/P/B07H7SGH32.01._SX142_SY224_SCLZZZZZZZ_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Little Darlings: A Novel by Melanie Golding" border="0" height="400" src="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/P/B07H7SGH32.01._SX142_SY224_SCLZZZZZZZ_.jpg" width="262" /></a><b style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">An April 2019 Library Reads Pick!</b></div>
<b style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br />“Mother knows best” takes on a sinister new meaning in this unsettling thriller perfect for fans of Neil Gaiman, <i>Grimms’ Fairy Tales</i>, and Aimee Molloy's <i>The Perfect Mother</i>.</b><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Everyone says Lauren Tranter is exhausted, that she needs rest. And they’re right; with newborn twins, Morgan and Riley, she’s never been more tired in her life. But she knows what she saw: that night, in her hospital room, a woman tried to take her babies and replace them with her own…</span><i style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">creatures</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">. Yet when the police arrived, they saw no one. Everyone, from her doctor to her husband, thinks she’s imagining things.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">A month passes. And one bright summer morning, the babies disappear from Lauren’s side in a park. But when they’re found, something is different about them. The infants look like Morgan and Riley—to everyone else. But to Lauren, something is off. As everyone around her celebrates their return, Lauren begins to scream, </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">These are not my babies</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Determined to bring her true infant sons home, Lauren will risk the unthinkable. But if she’s wrong about what she saw…she’ll be making the biggest mistake of her life.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;" /><div style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Compulsive, creepy, and inspired by some of our darkest fairy tales, </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Little Darlings</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> will have you checking—and rechecking—your own little ones. Just to be sure. Just to be safe. (synopsis from Amazon)</span></div>
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My thoughts....3.5 stars</div>
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<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Little-Darlings-Novel-Melanie-Golding-ebook/dp/B07H7SGH32/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=little+darlings&qid=1553451188&s=books&sr=1-1" target="_blank">LITTLE DARLINGS </a>creates a creeping atmosphere of ominous dread while keeping the reader guessing and questioning.</div>
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Did Lauren's nightmare delivery, her abandonment by the hospital staff; left alone to care for her twins to care for her twins while being unable to move from the waist down, and the crisis the next day combine to start her descent into psychosis? Or is it a case of "there are more things in heaven and earth"?</div>
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I vacillated between the two options as events unfolded and the past events were revealed.</div>
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Did she or didn't she? Were the Riley and Morgan switched with changelings? </div>
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You'll have to judge that for yourself. </div>
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If you enjoy a book that keeps you off balance and builds slowly, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Little-Darlings-Novel-Melanie-Golding-ebook/dp/B07H7SGH32/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=little+darlings&qid=1553451188&s=books&sr=1-1" target="_blank">LITTLE DARLINGS</a> should be on your to read pile.</div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I received a complimentary copy of this book from the publisher through NetGalley. Opinions expressed in this review are completely my own.</span>Ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16537505155659023098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7718338387461065794.post-46404564525089526572019-03-22T06:00:00.000-04:002019-03-22T06:00:05.859-04:00A LORD APART & perfectly nerdy giveaway with Jane Ashford<br />
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<span class="m_3246317566815262108normaltextrun"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 12pt;">After his parents' sudden death, Daniel </span></span><span class="m_3246317566815262108spellingerror"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 12pt;">Frith</span></span><span class="m_3246317566815262108normaltextrun"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 12pt;">, Viscount Whitfield, is struggling to unravel a web of chaotic family records. He is astonished to learn his father's will contains a mysterious legacy: a house left to </span></span><span class="m_3246317566815262108advancedproofingissue"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 12pt;">a complete stranger</span></span><span class="m_3246317566815262108normaltextrun"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 12pt;">. He knows nothing about the beautiful Penelope Pendleton and he's not sure he wants to...until she turns out to be a whiz at all those nasty tasks involved in estate administration...</span></span><span class="m_3246317566815262108eop"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , serif; font-size: 9pt;"><u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span class="m_3246317566815262108normaltextrun"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 12pt;">Penelope has no idea why Rose Cottage was left to her. But it's a godsend after her brother's reckless actions disgraced her family. She had planned to stay out of Viscount Whitfield's way, not grow ever closer to him. But when they discover how entwined their families really are, Daniel and Penelope must collaborate to avoid a scandal that reaches much higher than they could have guessed...</span></span><span class="m_3246317566815262108eop"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , serif; font-size: 9pt;"><u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span class="m_3246317566815262108normaltextrun"><b><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 12pt;">The Way to a Lord's Heart:</span></b></span><span class="m_3246317566815262108scxw154465212"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /><span class="m_3246317566815262108normaltextrun"><span style="color: #333333;">Brave New Earl (Book 1)</span></span><span class="m_3246317566815262108scxw154465212"> </span><br /><span class="m_3246317566815262108normaltextrun"><span style="color: #333333;">A Lord Apart (Book 2)</span></span><span class="m_3246317566815262108eop"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , serif; font-size: 9pt;"><u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span class="m_3246317566815262108normaltextrun" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><a href="https://amzn.to/2tb4o4e" target="_blank">Amazon</a> <a href="http://bit.ly/2RR62lm" target="_blank">B&N</a> <a href="https://apple.co/2DnU6T1" target="_blank">Apple</a> <a href="http://bit.ly/2Cs9RJ1" target="_blank">Kobo</a> <a href="http://bit.ly/2DZUB7a" target="_blank">Indiebound</a> <a href="https://www.janeashford.com/" target="_blank">Visit Jane </a></span></span><br />
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“They taste good even if they look ridiculous,” said Daniel. He took a second bite of a Shrewsbury Cake that he’d shaped so ineptly. The room seemed different with Miss Pendleton installed in a chair beside his at the desk. Fresh and lovely in a blue cambric gown, she transformed it from a place of dry drudgery to a chamber full of possibility. She’d seemed harried when she first came in, but the sight of his documents, and the donning of her oddly charming dust sleeves, had visibly settled her.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">She finished her cake. “That’s the great thing about pastry,” she said. “It’s still delicious even when you’ve sat on the box. Although eclairs are rather a challenge in that regard.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Daniel raised an eyebrow. “That sounds like wisdom drawn from direct experience.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Miss Pendleton nodded. “The…rather squashed looking Shrewsbury Cakes reminded me.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“I must hear the story.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Her smile was pensive, a little distracted. “As a special treat, my mother and I sometimes visited a bakeshop in a town near where we lived. Mama used to say the owner was an artist of the oven. On this particular day I insisted on carrying the box with its wonderful pink string. I was so proud, like an altar boy bearing the chalice.” She glanced at him. “I was four years old, you understand. I put the box on the seat of the carriage while I climbed up. Mama stepped in after me and sat on it.” She shook her head. “I hadn’t thought of that in ages.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Daniel imagined how his own austere mother would have reacted to this misstep. “Was she annoyed?”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Oh, worse than that.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">He had visions of a thundering scold, even a boxed ear.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“She burst into tears,” said Miss Pendleton.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">The picture in his mind underwent a quick revision.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“She’d picked out a lemon tart, one of her favorite things in the world. She was looking forward to it as much as I was to my éclair. More, perhaps. And now they were both ruined.” She made a melancholy face. “So I had made my Mama cry.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Difficult.” Daniel started to point out that it wasn’t entirely her fault. Her mother might have been more careful about where she sat. But Miss Pendleton went on before he could speak.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Utterly tragic for a small girl.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“You might have gone back to the shop and replaced them.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“I suppose. We didn’t. Perhaps there was a reason Mama had to be back. But in any case, she soon recovered. She was wonderful that way. She turned setbacks into…festivals.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Rather like her daughter did with an upended life, Daniel thought. “How does one redeem squashed pastry?”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Ah.” Miss Pendleton’s smile was impish now. “We took our flattened box to her sitting room and hid it away until a maid had brought tea for Mama and a glass of milk for me.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Hid it? Why?”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“We didn’t want to hurt Cook’s feelings by letting her know we’d bought pastry. She was very skillful, but not with sweets. So we always ate our treats in secret.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“That was kind,” said Daniel. Had his parents had any such concerns about Frithgerd’s cook? Or any of the servants? He didn’t think so.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Miss Pendleton blinked rapidly. “My mother was extraordinarily kind.” She took a deep breath. “When the coast was clear, we spread open the box and ate spoonfuls of the…contents. We decided to call it an <i>eclart</i>. Which I still think is a very fine word.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Like a burst of excitement in your mouth,” he replied.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Exactly!”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">As their eyes met, alternative meanings for this phrase seemed to unfold between them. Daniel was suddenly conscious of the beautiful shape of <i>her</i> mouth, not far away at all. He wasn’t aware of leaning forward until he noticed that she’d done the same. They were inches apart. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, pull her close, and kiss her passionately, repeatedly, until they were both dizzy. He could just barely make himself sit back. The effort left him rigid, in more ways than one.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Penelope caught her breath. She hadn’t touched him, but it felt as if she had. The sense of connection had been as intense as an actual caress. She’d never experienced anything like it. She was suffused with longing. Did it show on her face? Was he wondering what was wrong? Her hand twitched. Their fingers brushed, and another bolt of sensation coursed through her.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Whitfield moved his hand away. He raised it, left it hovering in the air for a moment, then reached for another Shrewsbury Cake.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Penelope ordered <i>her</i> hands to stop trembling, and they obeyed. She’d learned to hide her feelings in the past year, as she discovered that a person being questioned by the authorities, particularly a woman, had to appear calm and rational at all times. Emotion roused suspicions and drew contempt. Interrogators might shout, and be seen as forceful, but they would pounce on the slightest tremor in their prey and call it instability. Not that Lord Whitfield was like that. She was muddling two very different things. She had to get hold of herself.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Picking up a page from one of the piles she hadn’t yet investigated, Penelope scanned the contents.</span></span></div>
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<a class="rcptr" data-raflid="54ca7af7758" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/54ca7af7758/" id="rcwidget_dsfr0w4z" rel="nofollow" style="font-size: x-large;">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
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<div class="m_3246317566815262108paragraph" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span class="m_3246317566815262108normaltextrun" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span class="m_3246317566815262108normaltextrun" style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">This super cute gift set includes a pack of Bloom floral file folders, three </span></span><span class="m_3246317566815262108advancedproofingissue" style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">pretty gold</span></span><span class="m_3246317566815262108normaltextrun" style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> pens, a </span></span><span class="m_3246317566815262108spellingerror" style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Lemome</span></span><span class="m_3246317566815262108normaltextrun" style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Original notebook (it has pockets!), and two lovely floral teacups. What better prize to honor the two loveable nerds in this Regency Romance?!</span></span><span class="m_3246317566815262108eop" style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></span></span><br />
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<span class="m_3246317566815262108normaltextrun" style="font-size: 11pt;"><b><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 12pt;">Praise for Jane Ashford:</span></b></span><span class="m_3246317566815262108eop" style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="m_3246317566815262108normaltextrun"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 12pt;">"An endearing, optimistic story of second chances."—Publishers Weekly for Brave New Earl</span></span><span class="m_3246317566815262108eop"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , serif; font-size: 9pt;"><u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span class="m_3246317566815262108normaltextrun"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 12pt;">"A refreshingly different, sweetly romantic love story [readers] will long remember."—Booklist for Brave New Earl</span></span><span class="m_3246317566815262108eop"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , serif; font-size: 9pt;"><u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span class="m_3246317566815262108normaltextrun"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 12pt;">"[P]</span></span><span class="m_3246317566815262108spellingerror"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 12pt;">lenty</span></span><span class="m_3246317566815262108normaltextrun"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 12pt;"> of wit, matchmaking, sweetness and sensuality to keep readers highly entertained."—RT Book Reviews for The Duke Knows Best</span></span><span class="m_3246317566815262108eop"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "segoe ui" , serif; font-size: 9pt;"><u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span class="m_3246317566815262108normaltextrun"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 12pt;">"Expertly crafted...another triumph of nuanced characterization and sparkling wit."—Booklist for Nothing Like a Duke</span></span><span class="m_3246317566815262108eop"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></span></div>
Ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16537505155659023098noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7718338387461065794.post-54715666988705420552019-03-03T10:54:00.001-05:002019-03-06T20:12:54.360-05:00Jessica Scott Print Giveaway!!<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGk5Az-D9i3rMJxfUe2ggxxEa-__y8k2JIg0WZfCj0bH9quCthI-cRimTEG0-rStjSk78O5mqiQ6nlWOcbsjImOldh0JsNm3bupKpJl5zmeEArtq42i8gkGaWT0Wzwkng0avB48Cm74ps/s1600/Coming+Home+card+Front+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="454" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGk5Az-D9i3rMJxfUe2ggxxEa-__y8k2JIg0WZfCj0bH9quCthI-cRimTEG0-rStjSk78O5mqiQ6nlWOcbsjImOldh0JsNm3bupKpJl5zmeEArtq42i8gkGaWT0Wzwkng0avB48Cm74ps/s640/Coming+Home+card+Front+copy.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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Jessica Scott, the premier author of military romances, is giving away 3 print books (author's choice) to 3 commenters. Please share her PB post link below anywhere on social media & let us know where. Winners will be chosen at random. Please be sure & leave your email so we can contact you if you win! Good luck!<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>https://bit.ly/2GXROyq</b></span><br />
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Ivyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16537505155659023098noreply@blogger.com0