Crimson Tears
-- EXCERPT: The coppery bite of dried blood invaded my nostrils. Scrunching my nose up, I twitched my fingers, moving them along a satin fabric beneath me. Wherever I was, it was a hell of a lot more comfortable than cold, wet tar and broken glass. Oh, fuck. My brain flooded with snippets of what had happened: the weird animal on the road, the crash, my body breaking on the pavement, the voices with mesmerizing British accents, sexy man bun guy, and the blinding pain. I swallowed hard, my hand wrapping around my throat as I winced at the burning sensation. How the fuck am I moving? My bones were shattered. I was dying. I patted my arms, legs, stomach, chest, and head to find no injuries at all. It was like the car accident hadn’t even happened. The only indication it had was that my clothes were torn and uncomfortable dried blood was crusted all over me. Fuck. Panic flitted through me. My phone was in the passenger seat. I reached up and clasped the fire opal pendant resting on my neck, and a calmness spread over me from the warmth it radiated. Thank God it’s still there. I pried my bleary eyes open as I sat upright with adrenaline flooding my system. My gaze darted around the room, soaking in my surroundings. Soft evening light from the large glass balcony door bathed the room in a golden hue. I was lying on a soft king-size mattress with various throw pillows scattered around me. A few gothic-like paintings hung on the white walls, and I could see the details of the brush strokes. A low whistle from the wind howling outside was the only sound in the room, and it was eerie as fuck. I wasn’t used to that level of quiet growing up with two older brothers. Shit. I had to let them know I was okay. I swung my legs to the side of the bed, and my bare feet hit the plush carpet as I stood. “Welcome to Draven Manor,” a deep voice drawled. I whirled around to find a man leaning against the door that led to the balcony with his arms crossed—tattoos of dragons, fire, and some language I didn’t recognize covered his biceps. He was fucking hot in a rugged kind of way. Pure white hair spiked up on his head, and a scent of charcoal and soot wafted off him. His steel eyes pierced me as his head tilted to the side, and his pink tongue darted out to wet his lips. I couldn’t tell if it was a good or a bad thing that there was a bed separating us. “What the fuck? How are you even real?” My tongue ran over my bottom lip. “You’re like a seriously hot anime character from an otome game.” His lips quirked up into a cocky smile, and dangerous heat rushed through me. “What the fuck is an otome game?” Planting a hand on my hip, I grinned. “It’s a video game. That’s all you need to know.” “I do have Google, you know?” “Hmm. Then I guess you can look it up yourself and sate your curiosity.” “I’d rather sate something else, Poppy.” His gaze darkened as it raked up and down my body with clear desire.
GIVEAWAY! Brutal Winter
-- EXCERPT: He leans over until his face is right in front of mine. His warm breath moves over my face. His voice is low and coiled with tension. “Did that make you feel better?” I can only stare at him, my jaw tight, because no that didn’t make me feel better, not even close. There’s still this right tension inside of me demanding to be satisfied. My eyes drift down to Vito’s lips, to the way they’re pulled down and oh so close to my face. And again, I act without thinking, pressing my lips to his. Neither of us move for a second, our lips touching but nothing more until I move a fraction closer. Vito’s hand wraps in my hair and he pulls, pressing my lips harder against his and I let out a startled gasp. He takes the moment to dip his tongue between my lips, drinking in the moan that leaves my mouth. I reach out, gripping his neck roughly. I dig my fingernails into his skin as heat moves through my body. His lips move away from mine as he jerks my head back, his mouth dancing over the skin of my neck. Goosebumps break across my flesh. My legs spread as he steps closer before he’s lowering me back, my back slamming against the mattress. His hard body comes over mine and I wrap my legs against his waist, my head falling back to give him more access to my neck. I know that it’s wrong, that I shouldn’t be allowing this to happen, to participate. But with the hollow feeling in my soul, all I want is to feel. And the way that Vito touches me, kisses me, it crushes the simple word and morphs into something stronger.
GIVEAWAY! Breaking the Cowboy
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo / Google Play -- EXCERPT: More guests had filtered into the ballroom. Tom McCallister, the local postmaster and his wife, Ruth, were standing close by. Several other couples also had their eyes and ears trained on him and Louisa. Did he want to do drastic now, in front of all these people? Hell, yes. If this was their dreaded goodbye, Brody wasn’t going to leave anything unsaid. Gawking eyes and gossiping whispers be damned. He answered as truthfully as he knew how. “That depends on you, Lou.” “Brody – I…” The smooth lines of her neck contracted with a quick swallow. “I don’t know where you’re going with this. But now isn’t the time ─” “Yes, it is.” Sliding his hand down to her wrist, he gently pulled her to him. “You have to know how I feel about you. I’m in ─” “Don’t do this,” she interjected, softly. Holding back tears, her eyes pleaded with him to stop. “Please, Brody. Walk away and let me go.” Her stark request shook him. Couldn’t she see that he couldn’t do that? He could walk away from his friends, his job at the Rescue, and his ranch for a life in Colorado with his son, but he’d never to be able to let her go. Not like this. Not without her knowing how he felt about her. “That’s the bitch of it, sweetheart.” He stroked her jaw with his thumb and felt her shudder beneath his touch. “I’m in too deep to just walk away because of some half-ass cowboy rule. I need a good reason to leave.” Licking her lips, she nodded. “Okay, then. I…” He waited. “You what?” “I, ah…” The frantic movements of her eyes mimicked a caged cat. “I’m… in love with another man.” Louisa’s confession was Brody’s greatest fear. “With Chris.” The mention of Chris’s name whipped her eyes to a sharp focus. “What? No!” He hadn’t expected that harsh reaction, but her denial didn’t help quell his need to know. “If it’s not Chris, then who is it?” As if cued by the question, Cord let out a laugh from across the room. Louisa glanced his way then quickly pulled her focus back to Brody. Brody let out a scoffing laugh. “Don’t tell me you’re in love with Boot Boy.” She neither acknowledged nor denied her interest in Cord. Instead, red blotches had colored her cheeks as tears pooled and threatened to spill over her bottom lids. “Who told you about Chris?” Realizing he hadn’t accomplished a damn thing except make her cry, Brody knew he should have dropped the subject and walked away. But the cold determination in her eyes told him that Louisa wouldn’t let him off that easily. She’d be hot on his heels, demanding he name his source. “Ah, hell,” he sighed. “This town is too small for secrets, Lou.” “That’s not an answer.” He didn’t want to lie, but he also wasn’t going to give her a reason to tear into the groom, so he went out on a logical limb. “Shorty dropped his name before I threatened to kick his ass.” Her willpower succumbed to tears and with a trembling bottom lip she let out a shallow curse. Brody had never dug a grave, but right now, he felt like he was shoveling his way farther and farther into a hole he might never be able to climb out of. “Sweetheart,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to hurt-” “Don’t,” she bit out, glaring as more tears flowed, “mistake these tears for hurt. Just say what you have to say and let’s get this over with.” Brody had never been good with words and bringing Chris’s name into the conversation had made matters worse. Pushing up the brim of his Stetson, he rubbed his forehead and tried a new approach. “I can throw a saddle on the meanest, most stubborn horses on the planet and ride them until they break. I just dig my spurs in and hang on. I’m that damn persistent when I want something.” She promptly skimmed a forefinger under her eyes and swiped her face with the back of her hand. “And just what is it you want, Brody?” That was a complicated question and to answer it properly, he’d need more than a few seconds on a crowded dancefloor. But the music had started, and more people were gathering around. Time wasn’t on his side, so he had to muster the testicular fortitude to answer her right here in front of the whole damn town. Any fool could see that this conversation was going to end badly. But he’d started it. And it didn’t matter if it was now, when half the town was watching, tomorrow at church or Monday morning at work, the question of what it was he wanted had to be answered. “I want a beginning or an ending.” “To what?” “To us, Louisa. Let’s fuel the fire under those rumors about us being lovers and commit to pursuing that endeavor or…” He paused. “Or douse ’em out cold.” She struggled to swallow. “And just how do we do that?” His heart did a nosedive. He’d been digging a hole, alright, and he’d just hit the bottom. This was it. The beginning of the end. There was nothing but rocky ground beneath his feet and there was no going back. No climbing out, walking away, or waiting. He took her small hand and fashioned her fingers and thumb into a fist. “Hit me.” Aghast, her bottom jaw dropped. “Rattle my teeth so hard there’s not a doubt in any man’s mind that we’re over and done with.” “You want me to hit you?” she asked, incredulously. “No,” he said, praying this didn’t go the way his gut was telling him it would go. “But if you do, men will start knocking on your door and you’ll be rid of me.” Her eyes went wide. “You’ve gone loco.” He thought maybe he had lost his mind. What sane man would ask a woman to hit him? A desperate one. “One punch right in the kisser and I’m out of the picture. Forever. I’ll take the job in Colorado and you never have to see me again or,” he said, knowing the words he was about to say could end it all, “give us that beginning. Give me a chance. Kiss me, here in front of the whole town, and let’s really give them something to talk about.”
GIVEAWAY! Rogue Wave
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My thoughts:
If you are a fan of Isabel Jolie's distinctive writing style and have been following her West Side series, you are going to be happy to find out she has a new series. Rogue Wave is the first book in the Haven Island series and is a heartfelt, emotional, opposites-attract romance. Tate returns to Haven Island after more than ten years of absence. He is haunted by his past and his family issues, but cannot put them to rest until he confronts them and how and why they changed him so much. Luna is a twenty-two year old student of marine biology, who, like Tate, is in love with the sea and everything to do with this amazing habitat. There is an instant attraction, but there's also a considerable age gap between our protagonists, which explains Tate's reluctance to take a chance on a romantic relationship with Luna. On surface, Tate and Luna are complete opposites: she is an optimistic, happy person, who wants to live her life to the fullest, while Tate is a classic broody hero, who might have been burned once or twice by his past experiences. The attraction is really strong and they become friends and much more, until Tate decides to break up wiith Luna and stay away from her to protect her from his past and unresolved present, he still needs to deal with. I liked the setting o fa small island and really enjoyed the whole mystery/ suspense feel of the story. Not to say that I didn't enjoy the romance between the two protagonists who in my opinion were just perfect for each other, and, of course, their Happily-Ever-after (in case you were wondering). I'd recommend it to all the fans of Isabel Jolie or anyone looking for a new romance series with a few relevant to the world we are living in, serious issues. Thankyou to Giselle from Xpresso Book Tours, the publisher and the author for the review copy, provided in exchange for an honest opinion.
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Sips & Strokes
-- EXCERPT: I enter the classroom expecting to find Ms. Maldonado already there but stumble to a stop as soon as I’m inside. There is no middle-aged professor dressed in a long skirt and cardigan. Instead, there’s a young woman seated on the pedestal in the center of the room. Her legs swing idly as she stares up at the sunlight streaming in from the windows close to the ceiling. An overstuffed blue velvet armchair sits on the pedestal, providing an interesting backdrop for her. She blinks and hops to her feet when the door shuts, her gaze focusing in on me. Her dark eyes give me a full-body scan, brows rising as she goes for round two. She shakes her head and swallows hard. “Oh, hi. Sorry, I was just having a moment.” “I hate to interrupt. Are you modeling for this class too?” Her lips curve as a blush sweeps her cheeks. My attention snags on her mouth. Her full, pink lips are fucking lush. She’s got the kind of mouth that women kill for and men daydream about. I’m not above daydreaming a bit myself, and with the way that blush makes her skin glow-- “I’m sorry, what?” I shake my head, sure that I was too distracted to hear her correctly. “I said no, Mr. Ross, I’ll save everyone from that horror and stick to teaching, thanks.” Well, fuck me running. This stunner in blue jeans and a white t-shirt is Ms. Lily? Where is my buttoned-up professor? I look around, taking in the space. The linoleum is there, sure, but this room is a proper studio. The walls are draped in warm cloth to enhance the soft lamps glowing in the corners. Easels are at attention around the dais with a teacher’s desk off to the side, but everything about this place has been set up with creativity in mind. Impressive. I stick out my hand and abandon all presumptions I’d had about this gig. “It’s Calder, please. And I am sorry to interrupt, but I’m also sorry I’m a bit late, Ms—” “Lily.” “Ms. Lily.” She laughs as her hand slips into mine. I’m hit with a double whammy of sensation. First, the warmth of her soft skin sliding across my palm and then the muted sound of her mirth, which she hides with her free hand. Her eyes squint as she shakes her head. “Just Lily. If that’s what you’re comfortable with.” “I could be very comfortable with it.” The words I’d meant to keep in my head tumble out without warning. What the fuck is with you? Is this amateur hour? Pull your shit together and be a professional for a second. Lily’s blush deepens, so I release her hand and flash an easy grin. “No need for formality in my opinion,” I clarify. She exhales and nods, and I take that as a decent recovery. I watch her go to her desk, shuffling a stack of papers as she says, “We’ll start with some short gesture poses if that’s good for you?” “Of course.” I tug off my tee as I head to the pedestal. Once I hop up, I drop my sweatpants and toss everything on the armchair. “Great, so if you need any suggest—oh!” The papers flutter to the floor as she turns and looks at me. “Oh my god, you’re already naked.” My brows knit. “Just getting comfortable. Was I meant to wait for a specific moment?” “Well, I just, I mean class hasn’t started and we—or, no, but it’s just that you’re… so naked.” Her eyes dart around the room, landing on me at regular intervals as a blush paints her cheeks all the way down her neck now. I bite the inside of my lip, glad I’m not the only one off their game today. “You could get me a robe.”
GIVEAWAY! Stryker’s Girl
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- EXCERPT: He was a moody man, and she didn’t have time for that even if he sent her libido into orbit. It had only started as an offer for a temp job, but once Ben discovered where she was going to work, he had demanded she add the family agenda. She was only out for a connection between him and the farm and then something that would break that link. Once that was found, she would likely need to slip away quickly and quietly. And that just sucked. She waited to see if there would be any movement from Renee’s office, but when all was quiet for a few moments, she walked closer. Good, maybe she could sneak into Stryker’s office and look through some of his papers while they were otherwise occupied. Avery locked the front door. Her heart pounded, and her blood rushed as she worked on scanning through all the paperwork in the inbox and then in the outbox on Stryker’s desk. Automatically picking up a dirty coffee cup from Stryker’s desk, she tried to open a file cabinet but found it was locked. There was a noise in the office next door, and then the front door opened. Caught with nowhere to go, she carried his cup out of the office. Declan walked in the door and pocketed his keys. “Who locked the door?” “The last one to go in or out of that door was Stryker.” Not a lie but not an answer to the question asked. Declan paused. “Is Stryker in there?” He nodded in the direction of the room she was exiting. “No, I was dropping off something and grabbing his coffee cup to clean.” “He’s washing his cup now?” Avery frowned and looked inside the cup. “Well, I am. This is disgusting.” Declan laughed. “I could get used to you. But a word to the wise. I’d have it washed and then refilled with coffee as soon as he walks in the door, so he doesn’t notice right away that you’ve washed it.” “Why? Doesn’t he like it cleaned?” “Nope. Says it adds character and flavor to his next cup.” Avery rolled her eyes. “Right.” “Hey, I’m Declan, but I don’t have time to chat. I’ll see you at dinner or lunch soon. Yeah?” “Oh, um, yes.” “Good.” That was too close for comfort. Avery wasn’t up to this spy business. Going behind people’s back kept her stomach in an uproar. The honesty in her bones was rioting, and it was more than a little uncomfortable. Something told her if Stryker ever found out, she would be one sorry woman.
GIVEAWAY! A string of suicides. A community in terror. And a chilling conspiracy only DI Amy Winter can crack. A wave of apparent suicides hits a string of seaside resorts, but when a police officer is named as the latest to die, DI Amy Winter suspects there may be more than mere coincidence to these tragic deaths. But what dark motive could cause someone to throw themselves into the cold depths of the North Sea? Someone in the community knows more than they are letting on, but Amy’s questions are met with resistance. A group of mysterious teenagers might hold the key, but why are they so afraid to talk? Meanwhile, after the release from prison of her serial killer mother, Amy is fighting her own demons. In her toughest investigation yet, Amy must confront her dark past if she is to put an end to the carnage. What secret is so terrible that it’s worth killing a police officer for? Amy needs to find the answer, before the sea washes up any more bodies. (from the blurb) My thoughts:
Flesh and Blood is the fourth instalment in Caroline Mitchell's series of police proceduralsfeaturing DI Amy Winter. If you have been following the series, you know quite a lot about Amy's family of origin and why her background makes her an outstanding police officer. If you are planning to start the series from this book, it is possible to read and enjoy it as a standalone. DI Amy Winter and her team are enjoying a brief respite after their last case, when Donovan gets bad news from the police station in Clacton where he used to work before coming to the Met. One of his colleagues committed suicide by jumping off the pier. The weird thing is that she had called Donovan just a few minutes before it and left a voice message asking for his advice on a case.If only he'd answered his phone... A closer look at what has been happening in the area reveals a strange spate of suicides with victims apparently having nothing in common. Amy's super team decide to investigate what has really been going on in this seaside community and what mysterious case Carla had been looking into before her death. One of the things I like so much about this series is the author's personal experience of a police officer which shines through in the level of realistic detail. Caroline Mitchell knows how to engage her reader with an interesting case, as well as giving us a glimpse into what it's really like to do this job on a daily basis. The members of Amy's team are all strong characters with their own unique voices. I was particularly happy to get to know Molly and discover her secret. While Amy's horrific past is and always will be there in her life, she isn't defined by it, and we see how she is finally allowing herself to believe in the possibility of her own personal happiness. This case has less focus on Amy, although it turns out to be quite personal for Donovan. Caroline Mitchell masterfuly weaves together several threads and throws in a few red herrings to keep the reader guessing until the end. The pace is really good - the story isn't rushed at any point, but the chapters are quite snappy and leave you wanting to read more. The ending opens up new possibilities and new dilemmas Amy will have to face up in the next book. A well-written, intriguing, and gripping read from page one to the last page, Flesh and Blood is a great addition to an excellent seriesand I can definitely recommend it to all the readers who enjoy the genre. Thank you to NetGalley and the publisher for the review copy provided in exchange for an honest opinion. Reclaiming Ryda
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- EXCERPT: Crispin A large circular room greater than thrice my height in diameter lay beyond the gate. On all sides from the floor to about two feet below the ceiling, which was well beyond my reach, were shelves laden with all manner of written records. Binders, scrolls, bound volumes, drawers, boxes, and files lined each shelf. Small tags hung from many of them—each card covered in neat writing. Over them, a wooden ladder hung by hooks on a rail that ran the circumference of the room. Above the track, small rectangular windows nested in the thick stone walls between the top shelves and the carved ceiling. In the center of the rotunda lay a thick round carpet. On it sat a large wooden table that had clearly been made to match the shelves and five padded chairs. I crossed to the table and set my scribe’s bag on the polished surface. As I surveyed the shelves wondering where I ought to begin my search, I came up short. Someone was singing—a woman by the sound of it. Leaving my bag behind, I turned around searching for the source of the voice, which was how I discovered the stairs. Tucked behind the shelves opposite the gate by which I entered, they could not be seen from the entrance. The narrow steps led upwards, following the curve of the stone tower wall. In the niches where the straight wooden boards of the stairs didn’t quite match the curve of the stone, someone had tucked all kinds of odd things, like clay jars, colorful baskets, and crocheted blankets. As I climbed, I struggled to focus on the singer’s words. The words weren’t from my native tongue. However, the melody sounded familiar. I came to a halt on the landing just outside a second room almost precisely like the one below, the sounds fell into place. She was singing in Saruthian. Pale as the moon all still and lovely, Her honeyed voice washed over me. Blinking in the glow of the late-morning light pouring in the octagonal windows above the shelves on this level, I studied the singer as she continued her work. She was perched halfway up the ladder against the shelf with a bag full of tomes strapped to her hip and a long golden-brown braid falling down her back like a thick rope. I couldn’t help thinking of the ancient Saruthian tale of the captive of the rampion witch. She was definitely fetching enough to play the role of the captive. With the long length of hair, the color of honey, the hue falling between the alfalfa and buckwheat honeys my bees produced at home, she could snare any man. Her form appeared pleasant as well, slender and curved in all the right ways. As she reached the last of the verses in the poem, I fully expected her to stop. Stepping into the room, I prepared to introduce myself. But she didn’t stop. As she set the second-to-last book in place, she began to sing a verse I had never seen in any of my references. My mind scrambled to translate it as she sang. Then she turned around. A soft squeak escaped her, followed by a heavy thud as the last book fell from her suddenly lax fingers and hit the floor. “Who are you?” she demanded.
GIVEAWAY! #Blog Blitz #The Misadventures of a (wannabe) Slutty Bartender by W.S.Carmichael @Xpresso Book Tours21/4/2021
The Misadventures of a (Wannabe) Slutty Bartender
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GIVEAWAY! Mad Dog
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo / Google Play -- EXCERPT: My pulse speeds up at the mere mention of what we did back then. “I thought we knew each other well enough.” He tilts his head back and stares at the ceiling. “Maybe conversations aren’t really our thing.” Then he spears me with a sharp look that makes my insides go molten. “Maybe not.” My heart pounds so hard it’s difficult to breathe. My feet have a mind of their own when I start to walk again. I pass by him, feeling his gaze on me all the way as I head around the corner and through the door to the locker rooms. The space smells musty and old, a mix of stale sweat and lemon cleaner. There are no showers—just two rows of lockers with benches in front and a restroom with a trio of toilet stalls and a row of sinks beyond another door. The boys’ side is a mirror to the girls’ side, though less used due to the majority of students being female. The gleaming chrome of brand-new locks on the lockers catches the sparse light from a high window. I pause in front of the locker at the far end. This was where it happened. My eyebrows twitch at the etched lines engraved into the metal in the center of the locker: M + C. Reaching out, I trace the letters. They weren’t there before. Did he come back? Or did these initials belong to some other lovesick teenage girl? His intense gray eyes are fixed on my fingertips. He closes the distance, takes my hand, and raises my fingers to his lips. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, finally able to say to him what I never had the chance to until now. Taking a deep breath, I brace myself for a more detailed apology, but all thought disappears when he hauls me close and slams his mouth onto mine.
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