#Book Blitz #Ravaged (Burned, Inc.2) by Naima Simone #Contemporary Romance @Xpresso book Tours15/11/2022
Ravaged
-- SNEAK PEEK: “Why were you about to leave?” Jordan brushes his lips across my forehead, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. “No, let me guess. Got too close for you. Too real. And what do two people like us, who come from f*cked-up homes where we saw the worst people had to give to each other, know about intimacy, right? It scares the hell out of us. Or it should. And normally, it does. But not with you, Miriam. And you can feel safe with me. I won’t hurt you. Won’t use whatever you share with me against you. So don’t run. Stay.” Stay. A shudder ripples through me, and I don’t try to stifle it. Stay. I’ve been wanted for several reasons. My IQ. My talent. Sex. But no one’s ever asked me to just be. And not with them. For how long? The question sits on my tongue like a five-hundred-pound anvil, but I don’t voice it, too afraid of the response. Besides, for once, I’m also content to just be. Tilting my head back, I rest it on his shoulder. This up close and personal with him, I can catalog every detail on his face. The black pupil with the very thin ring of brown. The tiny scar on the edge of his right cheekbone. The deep dip above his top lip that lends it the bow shape. The almost-there-but-not-quite cleft in his chin. I’ve drawn him countless times in the last few weeks. So many that his face is as familiar to me as my own. And yet, I could analyze him for hours and still find new elements that would fascinate me. Jordan Ransom could become a new field of study, and I would easily earn my doctorate in him. “Tonight, I told Daniel I couldn’t see him any longer.” His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t speak. Yet my heart pounds in my chest, and the beat grows louder, the volume so deafening I can barely hear my own voice. “It wouldn’t have been fair,” I whisper. “Why not?” he asks, and that dark, low timbre is midnight and sin. Temptation wrapped in sex. “You know why.” He bends his head the scant inches separating us and only stops when his mouth hovers a breath above mine. “Say it,” he orders, his lips so close they nearly brush mine. “Because he isn’t you.” Jordan doesn’t move, and I can taste his kiss, but he doesn’t eliminate the remaining space between us. Doesn’t take my mouth and give me what I can now admit I came here for. No, instead he stares at me, his expression inscrutable. Unease twists inside me, and for the first time since he placed me on his lap, I want to climb off, insert space between us. “We’re going to f*ck,” he states, and while the word sends a lightning bolt of heat straight between my legs, it tightens the screw on my unease, deepens it. Because his tone is flat, almost disconnected. “Yes.” We are. I need him tonight. And I won’t be able to stop at a kiss. I’m too empty, too hungry. I haven’t felt complete since the last time he filled me. “And I’m going to be your mistake.” His fingers thread through my hair, sifting before fisting the curls and bringing them to his nose. He inhales, his eyes closing and, for a moment, freeing me from their hold. It’s in this instant that a flicker of emotion flashes across his face. Pleasure. Pain. Both. But when his lashes lift, his expression is back to being a mask of inscrutability. “Don’t misunderstand me. I’m still going to f*ck you. I find I’m so goddam desperate to be inside you I’m willing to have you any way I can. But I just want to make sure I know where we stand.” Oh God. Regret pierces me in the chest, sliding between my ribs like the sharpest blade. I have a lot to answer for. The latest being from a couple of nights ago. I run the moments after our kiss through my head. I never called him a mistake, never said I regretted what happened on my couch. But viewing my actions, my silence, through his lens, I can see how he’d interpret them that way. And coupled with how I friend-zoned him after the first time we had sex, calling that a mistake . . . well, damn. Briefly closing my eyes, I hate myself for causing this bold, beautiful man even a second of self-doubt. He’s no one’s mistake. No one’s regret. And I can tell him that. I could write him a fucking sonnet about that. Or I could show him.
Giveaway! #Book Blitz #The Wrong Man (From Connemara With Love 5) by Alex Kelly @Xpresso Book Tours15/11/2022
The Wrong Man
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo / Google Play -- SNEAK PEEK: Leo slides his hand into the space between our bodies, his pinky finger brushing imperceptibly against mine. I look down at the same moment as him, as if we could feel the same electricity coursing through our fingers, our hearts. We lift our heads. I think this is the first time we’ve really looked at each other so deeply and longingly. It’s ours. This is the first time no one has any power over the other; we can’t deny each other anything. His pinky finger continues brushing against mine, the way it has hundreds of times, before slowly slipping away, back to where it was.
Giveaway! Famine’s Feast
-- EXCERPT: “Where’s the fire, Rivera?” Jake called out. She quickened her pace. “You told me not to be late, sir.” “Danged runners.” Bearing down, he caught up, then cut in front to force her to stop. “Why were you going to kill yourself?” “I wasn’t. I—” “I saw you, Olivia. You made your imminent swan dive abundantly clear.” Her jaw worked and a vein pulsed in her forehead. “Sir, am I off the clock?” “What the hell kind of question is that?” “Am. I. Off. The. Clock? Will you fire me if I answer truthfully?” The fear left his body but was replaced by another kind of tension. Would she finally say all the words she’d hidden behind Spanish curses? He wasn’t sure how he wanted to respond, but his cock shot hard at the thought of what she might tell him. “Nobody is going to fire you for telling the truth.” “Good.” She took a step back, then looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with furious tears. “You’re a jerk, Jake McBride. I hate you. I hate your tasteless food with too much pepper and not enough salt. I hate that you can’t even smell it when you mess up, and that you don’t believe me when I try to say something.” Mess up one steak and never hear the end of it. Was it possible she suffered from hyperosmia? It would explain her gift with sauces and flavor profiles, even with such limited experience. Damn. If he’d even guessed at something like that… And now…he was jealous. “Go on,” he finally said, enjoying the way her tentative, halting speech smoothed into a delicious accent that made his cock stand to attention. “I hate that you can’t make a decent omelet to save your life. I hate your constant criticism when you know I’m doing a good job, and I especially hate that it’s worse when I do something better than you.” “Is that all?” he asked, hiding a smile. It might have taken a near-death experience, but he was delighted she was finally saying what he’d needed to hear. The moonlight was nearly gone, meaning he couldn’t see her very well, but one last shard of silvery light caught her face. Her dark hair hung to the middle of her back in loose spiral curls from a ponytail at the base of her neck, and her brown eyes sparkled. A faint sheen of sweat on her face made her glisten, and she’d never looked more glorious. “No.” She jammed a finger into his chest, making him move back a step. “I absolutely cannot stand that I still want to hear you tell me I did a good job. Just one time.” Interesting. If he’d realized Olivia had a praise kink, he might have handled things differently. Then again, maybe that wasn’t a good choice, considering they were coworkers. Too bad his dick thought it was an excellent idea. “Anything else?” “Yes.” She took a deep breath and scrubbed a hand over her eyes. “I’m walking on eggshells every day because of you. I hate that my nerves misfire and it feels like ants are crawling all over me every time you speak or move. I hate the way your shoes sound like dog whistles. I hate your stupid soap because it makes everything smell wrong, and I hate that you’re too nose-blind to recognize it. And I really hate that I’m thinking about breaking parole so they’ll send me back to jail, just so I can get away from your arrogant ass!” “No,” he replied softly, taking a step toward her. “You’re not going to be doing that.” She snorted and turned away. “You have no idea how close you are to a carving knife between your ribs every time you open your mouth. I wouldn’t lose a minute’s sleep, and best of all, they’d send me to Perryville instead of Navajo County Detention.” “What’s so great about Perryville?” “It’s further away from you.”
Giveaway!
My thoughts:
First of all, although this is Book 3 in the Club Apocalypse series, it can be easily read and enjoyed as a standalone. I'd love to go back and read Kendra/Mark's and Carrie/Ryan's stories, but the focus is firmly on Olivia and Jake. It was clear from the word go that Raisa Greywood is a very experienced writer. She knows how to create memorable, unique characters that go through a lot of growth. I bet Jake McBride's treatment of Olivia at the beginning of the story will make you want to throw a heavy object at him or in the absence of any suitable ammunition, at least use a few choice words to describe this kitchen troll, but very soon you will realise Jake is trying to do his best to help Olivia learn to stand up for herself. He may not believe or trust her (he will explain why later in the book), but he has her best interests at heart. Olivia is also a multi-layered character. There's so much more to her than just her neurodiversity. I adored Raisa Greaywood's descriptions of all the mouth-watering food Olivia creates. There's a great balance of romance and suspense in the plot with the Apocalypse Club being under attack from an unknown enemy. While Jake, who is one of the Horsemen/the owners of this BDSM club, has to fight the threat for his property, he also begins to realise that protecting Olivia's life is becoming much more important to him, despite his unresolved anger and mistrust issues. It was a quick and entertaining read with some hot and steamy scenes, lots of emotions and a satisfying resolution at the end. Now I can't wait to read Gabby's story, which is coming out iin March 2023. Thank you to NetGalley and XBT for the review copy. All opinions are my own and were not influenced in any way. Wall Men: Book Three, a Vow Kept
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- SNEAK PEEK: He suddenly lunges and hurtles toward my mouth. Not for a kiss. For an invasion. I feel Bard’s ice-cold form slide down my throat and push inside me. Is he punishing me because I won’t do as he says? No Ones used to be the equivalent of the Monsterland police, the creatures who hunted you down if you broke one of the vows written on my body. Then they’d eat you, heal you, and eat you again. Apparently they’re gifted at healing and killing. I don’t know what their role is these days. Bard keeps his cards close. “Get out of me!” The pain is intense as he passes through my organs, veins, and head. I feel him moving around like a blizzard beneath my skin. “What are you doing?” I bellow, throwing back my head, grabbing fistfuls of sheets. Master doesn’t stop barking. Someone pounds at the door—probably one of the guards. I can’t get up or move. Bard did this to me once before, back when I was human. He scratched around inside me, looking for something, until I ejected him. That’s what I need to do. Push him out. I flex every muscle in my body, planning to squeeze him like an orange until he pops from my mouth, but suddenly, something happens. The burning hunger in my stomach cools. My mind calms. I almost feel like me again. Is Bard healing me? I exhale, and a plume of smoke comes from my mouth. Bard’s eerie face is over mine, a smile on his lips. “What did you do?” I whisper. “Sleep, Lake.”
Giveaway! Exposed
-- SNEAK PEEK: “What’s wrong?” She wasn’t entirely sure why her stomach clutched at the sight of Quinn using a magnifying glass on one of the photos, but it could have to do with the somewhat dazed and shocked expression on his face. But that expression vanished when he lifted his gaze to hers. “Sorry. Just thinking.” He set the glass down. “These pictures are … disturbing. I’m trying to imagine someone playing dead for the camera.” “You think she’s acting?” Of all the reactions she’d imagined the good detective having, that hadn’t cracked the top one hundred. “Quinn, that woman isn’t playing at anything. You can see the progression. She’s dying. On film. And here? After she’s been in the water?” She stepped forward, tapped a finger on the final image. “She’s dead.” “Maybe.” The distance in his voice pushed her deeper into resolve and incredulity. How could he not see what she did? And why did it bother her so much that he didn’t? “Did Merle tell you where he got the negatives?” She didn’t hear Quinn in his voice now. All she heard was cop. The hair on the back of her neck bristled even as the little voice in her head sang “told you so.” “Merle didn’t get the negatives, he got the film,” Riley explained carefully. “There’s a difference. I can walk you through the process—” “Where did he get them?” The urgency in his voice churned up new bubbles of doubt. “Where did the box they were in come from?” “A customer.” It was all he was going to get out of her as long as he refused to share what he obviously knew. There was no denying that guarded, suspicious glint in his eyes. A glint that removed any lingering doubt the pictures represented far more than just a macabre photo shoot. He did believe they were real—he was just downplaying his reaction. She was trying to decide what would piss her off more: him not believing her, or him pretending he didn’t. The later won out. She bristled. He set that last picture on top of the others, closed the folder, and picked it up. “What are you doing?” “I’m taking these with me.” It wasn’t a question or a request, but a flat out statement. “Fine.” She shrugged. “I’ll just develop another set.” “No.” He didn’t flinch. He didn’t hesitate. He ordered. “No, I want the negatives, too.” So he was going back on their deal after all. Disappointment crashed through her. She should have known. “Why?” she challenged. “If you’re saying they’re not what I thought they were—” “The negatives, Riley.” Every word sounded like an expertly aimed shot from his gun. “Give them to me.” She crossed her arms over her chest and planted her feet as if standing in front of a linebacker. “No.” “What do you mean no?” Her fists clenched so hard her nails bit into her palms. It should have come as a relief, the offer to take all of this out of her hands. Heck, wasn’t she just thinking it wasn’t worth the emotional exhaustion to keep dwelling on them? But she didn’t feel any sense of relief by his command. Instead, she felt only a stomach-churning sense of dread and heartbreaking disappointment. She’d probably just broken the world record for almost-hook-up to bust up. “There’s not really anywhere to go with the word, detective.” The title tasted more than a little bitter on her tongue now. “No, you can’t have the negatives.”
Giveaway! Designed by Destiny
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- SNEAK PEEK: “Where do you see your team, and indeed your company, in five years?” Nick relaxed his stance, reverting into his trademark ability to think on his feet. Like a typical job interview, he sensed Kingsbury taking his measure not only through his words but by his demeanor. Kingsbury wasn’t just looking to hire Grey & Company, he was evaluating Nicholas Grey, the man. “We have interest in expanding our historic restoration department. Work completed on the Blackstone is just a fraction of what we can offer—” Kingsbury held up his hand, halting Nick’s sales pitch. “You don’t need to sell me on your work. I’m interested in your vision.” Nick faltered slightly, furrowing his eyebrows. Wasn’t it all synonymous—direction, vision? What angle was Kingsbury working? “What will be your legacy, Nicholas? If I may call you Nicholas.” Nick nodded. “An appreciation for varied architectural styles drew me to this industry, but I’m interested in more than making new contributions. Our role in preserving history is just as critical. And, if allowed the creative license, I see incorporating modernization with historical elements in our designs, like an architectural fusion.” Kingsbury smiled approvingly. “Your vision sounds very innovative.” “Would you have interest in working with us? I can meet—” “Your work is impressive, but our majority shareholders are old-fashioned, expressing concern about your future.” “Grey & Company is solvent, a financial position supported by multi-year pro forma statements which I can provide—” “The shareholders have concerns about you, Nicholas. They want to invest in your company, but they would prefer more stability in your private life.” Kingsbury averted his gaze, looking uncomfortable for the first time during their conversation. He placed his now empty glass on a strategically positioned cocktail table. “I can assure you, much of that reputation—” he made the air quotes gesture for further emphasis, “—is the result of bored tabloids looking for quick profit by any means necessary.” He scrambled for a semblance of a logical explanation that would satisfy Jamison Kingsbury’s old-fashioned shareholders without seeming contrite. Then, like the answer to an unspoken prayer, he spotted the beauty from earlier. “As a result, a precaution if you will, I am quite private. Enough of my life is misconstrued by the media, I don’t intend to hand them additional fodder.” He tilted his head, offering a conspiratorial smile. “In actuality, my fiancée is in attendance this evening.” He stepped toward the woman, took a fortifying breath—here goes nothing—and called out. “There you are, darling.” The young woman looked up, peered around, but didn’t seem to notice him. He doubled his strides, needing every second to solidify his potentially disastrous scheme before Kingsbury caught on to his desperate deception. Fiancée? God, what was he thinking? Clearly, there was no thinking involved. Get yourself together, man. There would be plenty of time to berate himself later. Right now, he needed to save the game. He arrived at her side and whispered in her ear. “Just play along.” She stiffened and started to pull away. He caught her deer-in-the-headlights expression and knew it would surely tip Kingsbury off to his deception. He did the only thing he could. He cupped the back of her neck and captured her lips. Now, if she happened to look starry-eyed, there was a plausible cause. Her full lips were as soft as they looked. She even melted into his embrace like she’d been born to fit in his arms. He pulled away, breaking off the kiss before he could get carried away. He tucked her neatly against his side as a precaution, just to keep her from darting off. “Well, well. I never thought I’d live to see the day the proverbial playboy settled down. And to this lovely creature, no less.” Kingsbury smiled, leaning over to kiss her hand. “Are you going to properly introduce us?” “Maybe later.” Not knowing her name was problematic, but having her trembling like a leaf beside him was even more concerning. They needed to make a quick exit. It was always better to leave your audience wanting, right? He gave her a reassuring squeeze around her slender waist. She gave him a doe-eyed sideways glance, allowing him his first close-up of her brilliant blue eyes. “Right now, I need to steal my Blue Eyes away.” He offered Kingsbury an apologetic look—he hoped—before looping his arm in hers and leading them toward the exit.
Giveaway! No Rescue Required
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo / Google Play -- SNEAK PEEK: She turned on the blinker to merge, and having wrapped up his issue, Ryan slipped the phone into the center console, arranging it so she could see the directions on the screen. The simple gesture touched her heart. Other than her gram, no one had ever looked out for her, not even in a small way, and his thoughtful courtesy reminded her how concerned he’d been talking with his sister, his impulse to look out for her, the casual way he’d said love you. Not words she’d heard much growing up. Except for Gram. Her parents weren’t big on affection, except with one another, so she had to stock up on I love you during her Kentucky summers. Gram always said kindness was in the little things—delivering a cup of coffee in the morning, offering to make supper, bringing in the newspaper. Big gestures were nice, but the small stuff made up a person’s life. “Hey, before I forget to tell you,” he said, “I appreciate the assist with Mason Hollis. I admit I was pretty thrown by having the door shut in my face.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “Not a guy who’s used to rejection?” “Not really, no.” He looked over, wearing an expression that probably made the Midtown girls melt like a Kentucky snowfall. “Most of the time, the answer I get is yes.” “I bet.” “I’m talking clients, not women.” She raised one brow. “Of course you are.” “Seriously?” A vague irritation flashed across his face. “Truth is, I wasn’t prepared to go back to the Hollis place tonight, not after the ‘city slicker’ comment, but thanks to you, I’ve got a shot to sign Mason, an opportunity that seemed unlikely an hour ago.” He paused. “What can I say? There really is some magic in that southern charm of yours, so thank you. I owe you.” She looked over briefly, touched by his acknowledgment. “You’re welcome.” The inside of the cab grew quiet for a moment, neither having much to say—or, more accurately, not knowing what to say, considering they were fundamentally strangers. Ryan tapped his knuckles on the console and nodded toward the radio. “Not a bad song.” “One of my favorites,” she said, appreciating Maren Morris’s lyrics about putting her car in drive, finding an escape. “You like country music—that’s a good sign.” He gave her a look that said you’ve got to be kidding me. “No upstanding New Yorker likes country.” “I can always sing along,” she said, glancing in his direction. “Convert you into a fan.” “So, you must be a good singer?” “No,” she laughed. “I’m like karaoke’s worst nightmare.” “I bet you look adorable onstage, sporting cowboy boots, singing Shania.” “I do not wear cowboy boots.” She shook her head, chuckling. “And trust me, nothing is adorable about me singing karaoke—absolutely nothing.” His brows lifted. “So, no road-trip serenade?” “No road-trip serenade.” “Maybe next time.” He shot over another one of those cool-guy smiles. Maybe next time. Except there’d never be a next time. Apart from the fact that he liked sports and was down for karaoke, she scarcely knew the guy, and what she did know was in opposition to the low-key life she’d chosen. He was high-end cashmere and pricey gym membership, excessively work-focused and supposedly health-conscious, and not at all her speed. He was also surprising and kind in a way she hadn’t expected when he’d come into the shop. But no—no. She tightened her grip on the wheel. This trip was nothing more than a rideshare, and thinking about his finer qualities was just a road to nowhere. In twelve hours, Ryan Callahan would be a memory, an impossibly gorgeous guy from the city who’d stumbled into her shop on a random Friday night, a guy along for a thirteen-hour ride, down for sharing driving time and expenses. Nothing more, nothing less.
Giveaway! Valkyrie
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo / Google Play -- SNEAK PEEK: “I want to talk about the mark,” I say, skimming right past all of that. If he thinks he can distract me or pacify me with ice cream and cherries like a small child, he’s crazy. “We don’t need to talk about it. It doesn’t concern you,” Odin says. My spoon makes a loud clanking sound against the bowl. “Excuse me, but a glowing magical handprint on my throat one hundred percent does concern me.” “No it doesn’t. You don’t have to worry about it. It’ll go away on its own.” “I thought you said it couldn’t be undone and that it’s beyond you,” I say, mocking his overly serious tone of only moments ago. “It can’t be undone and it is beyond me. I have no control over that mark, but I do know it will fade on its own as long as no further steps are taken.” “But what does it mean? And steps for what?” He’s not going to slither off the hook that easily. “I have control of the berserker. You don’t have to worry.” “The berserker? Is that the name of that thing I saw you shift into?” He levels me with a hard, serious look. “You haven’t met the berserker.” “Oh Odin, teach me to be scary like you,” I singsong. “Little girl, you have no idea the fire you play with.” “I am fire.” He considers me for a moment and nods. “I think that’s a fair description. You’re also a valkyrie. And it’s clear you didn’t know that before today.” “What’s a valkyrie? Or does that not concern me, either?” He just stares at me for a long time. Only this time it’s not lust, it’s a power move. I bet all his little underlings look away. I bet he thinks I’m about to look away. I don’t. I just hold his gaze. “Can you tell me the rules? Is blinking allowed or do I lose if I blink?” “You are the most infuriating…” “I don’t have to be here. You could have chosen to leave the Vanir alone. I don’t even know why I’m here. What do you need me for, Odin? Besides the obvious.” The one thing I’ve been able to ascertain that he wants from me is the same thing every man wants from me, and Odin hasn’t disguised his desire to have me in his bed. He leans closer, speaking each word slowly, clearly, and precisely as if I need this all spelled out again. “You signed a contract… with your blood… and if you think I’m letting you out of it or that you can annoy me to death…” “I may have to stay in Asgard with you, but I don’t have to stay at this table. And since dinner is over and you seem to have no intention of telling me anything worth hearing, I’ll take my leave.” I stand and turn to go, but his hand wraps around my wrist, stopping me. Just this simple touch sends a harsh bolt of desire spiraling through me. His voice is low and calm when he speaks. “The mark is a partial mating claim. My berserker thinks you’re his fated mate.” I whirl back around at this news. “I’m sorry… what? Oh, no, absolutely not… I am not going to be mated to… that thing… or to you for that matter.” “That’s right. You’re not. I have control of the berserker. I don’t know how long it will take for the mark to fade but it will fade if the mating remains incomplete. I’ve never marked anyone, but with most berserkers it’s two or three weeks.” I realize he’s still holding my wrist, his thumb softly stroking the back of my hand. “Why does the berserker think I’m his mate?” “Because you’re a valkyrie.” “I’m not going to ask you again what a valkyrie is.” I’m tired of his childish games. He sighs. “Valkyries work for me. They collect the bravest fallen warriors in the human world for an army I’m building.” “The army the Vanir fought?” “There were a few berserkers in that fight, but no, it’s a different army, for a different purpose.” He’s still stroking the back of my hand. I’m not even sure if he realizes he’s doing it. But I can think of nothing else. “I don’t work for you,” I say. “Oh really? You signed a contract… in blood…” He seems prepared to pull this speech out at my every protest. “I meant, in my capacity as a valkyrie… I don’t exist to serve you.” I don’t even know that I believe his valkyrie line. And it does sound like a line, probably just more of his seduction tactics. He chuckles. “I’ve never met a valkyrie that was also a goddess. Maybe you’re supposed to lead the valkyries, the way I command the berserkers.” “I think you should let go of me, now,” I say, holding his gaze. He jerks his hand away as if burned. His shocked expression tells me he didn’t even realize he was stroking me like that for so long. “Sure, you’ve got control of the berserker. No need to worry.” **Valkyrie (c) Copyright 2022 by Kitty Thomas. All rights reserved. Excerpts used with permission of the author.
Giveaway! Savoring Christmas
-- **Until December 24th, 10% of the proceeds from every book purchased (any Shanna Hatfield book including ebook, audio, paperback and hardback formats) will be donated to the Justin Cowboy Crisis Fund. (Find more info here!) -- EXCERPT: Jay started putting away the supplies she’d brought and glanced over his shoulder at her. “Tell me more, Lark.” “More? About what? I told you all there is to know about the runaway steer.” Jay shook his head as he filled the napkin dispensers. “I don’t care about that. Tell me about this cowboy who caught your eye.” “He didn’t catch my eye,” she huffed. Her protest seemed a little rushed and forced even to her. When her brother chuckled, she knew he was aware of her interest in her cowboy-hat-wearing hero. “Fine,” she admitted. “He may have earned a second glance.” “Or fourth, from the way you were studying him.” Jay looked over his shoulder at her. “Admit it, you like him.” Lark shot a hair band at her brother. “I’m not admitting anything, bro. I just met him. I don’t know enough about him to like or dislike him.” “Keep telling yourself that,” Jay muttered.
Giveaway!
My thoughts:
In my opinion Shanna Hatfield is the reigning queen of clean romance with sweet, relatable characters and romantic, but realistic plotlines. Lark is strong, independent, and driven to do everything to make her small food truck business succeed. She's also sweet and generous with her time and her amazing food, cooked with all her heart. Troy Gibson is a quintessential cowboy-a man of few words, he loves his small family which counts his grandmother Wendy and his charmer of a cousin Truitt. Troy gave up his rodeo dreams to return to his home ranch when his grandfather was diagnosed with cancer and later passed away. Troy knows his family needs his help with the all the hard, backbreaking farm work. No wonder quiet and reserved Troy thinks he has absolutely no time for romantic relationships, even if by some luck he managed to find a girl who wouldn't think him lacklustre and boring. Lark and Troy seem to have been made for each other- they have very similar dispositions and values, but their honesty doesn't allow them get involved with each other as they believe they aren't at the point in their lives where they would be free to pursue a serious romantic relationship! One of the things that I love so much about Shanna's books is that the protagonists aren't flawless, but they are sincere and decent people. Actually, there only a few negative secondary characters- some are just self-absorbed or misguided, with the only truly despicable one getting his comeuppance in the end. Apart from the very realistic dilemma at the heart of the book, there's also a lot of realistic detail that makes this book so interesting starting from the team-roping, wheat planting, modelling and finishing with the use of a commercial kitchen. You can tell straightaway a lot of painstaking research has gone into this story. If you have been following the Rodeo Romance series, you'll be delighted to see the familiar faces and catch up with the protagonists of the previous books. If this is the first Shanna Hatfield book you've picked up, don't worry, it can be read as a standalone. Sweet, wholesome, and charming! Thank you to NetGalley and XBT for the review copy. All opinions are my own and were not influenced in any way. Love You More
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Giveaway! |
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