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Forgotten
-- EXCERPT: “Careful,” he warned, helped her get seated. He sat down and turned to face her, his expression concerned. “Your ankle? Is it hurting?” She reassured him with a smile. “It’s fine. Thank you.” Relief settled over his features. He took her hands in his and brought them to his lips where he planted a gentle kiss. “My love, I seek only to make you happy. Why did he have to be so good? Guilt stabbed at her as she looked into his golden eyes. He was so sincere … so kind … so handsome. She could almost convince herself that she could live the lie and be the doting maiden he believed her to be. He was a prince, destined to be a king. How easy it would be to simply accept his love. Even as she thought the words, her heart cried out, Traitor! And she knew she could never escape her innermost desires, for it was not the fair-haired prince with his genteel manners but the dark-haired rogue with the sharp tongue and stormy blue eyes that tormented her dreams. If Edward was the sun, then Rushton was the shadow forever crossing over her heart. She loved Rushton—loved him with a passion that consumed all else. At that moment, she longed to be far away from the complex life of the castle. She longed to be a simple peasant girl again—a girl who’d long ago given her heart to an impulsive, hot-tempered squire.
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The First Dark Sorcerer
-- EXCERPT: Flipping Gelrá open, I search for a spell to try. “Something simple,” I say to him. “Rudimentary, even.” Of his own accord, my grimoire flips through the pages, stopping on a page that looks like all the others. A spell fills the middle of the page, written in Ancient Naerthen. The title implies it’s about moving inanimate objects. I scoff. “We know what happened the last time I tried my hand at telekinesis.” I move to flip the page, to find a spell that might be easier. Gelrá doesn’t budge, but makes his pages stick together like glue. Heaving a sigh, I nearly give in, but the room is empty. “What good is a spell if there’s no object to move?” Gelrá blurs the spell to sketch a drawing. He shows a surprisingly good rendering of Truff, tapping the list of rooms on the wall and calling up a cart of cleaning supplies. I slap my legs in reluctance. “Fine.” Getting up, I try touching the words that say Ævin Hall. Nothing happens. “I’m going to clean Ævin Hall,” I say aloud and tap the list. Again, nothing happens. My lips pull back in disdain as I cross my arms and pace. “Opera house.” As I speak, I let my senses feel the air. Magic lingers on every side, like snow suspended in space. I can’t see it, but I can feel it. “Opera house, can I have a broom?” The magic clusters before me, driven by an invisible force. There’s a bright, white shimmer, and then a broom appears sticking straight up with its brushes on the ground. As soon as the light disappears, the broom falls. Catching it by the wooden handle, I marvel at what just happened and scan the Court Room again. “Thanks,” I say, not sure if this room cares about manners, but it feels wrong not to be polite. Inspecting the broom, I expect it to be charmed, but it doesn’t glitter with magic. Nothing about it is fancy. It’s just a broom, but unlike the one I used this morning, it isn’t broken. […] “Let’s go back to the telekinesis spell, please.” The pages flip again, and the spell Gelrá originally showed returns. For a second, all I do is stare at it. This spell is one of the first I ever memorized. It’s true that I know it by heart, but as I stare at the page, reading it over and over, my body shivers. I’ve never enacted any of these spells correctly. Not since that fateful day … Taking in a huge breath, I blow it out with an exasperated sigh. “Okay,” I whisper. “Mac says this room can contain me. I can do this.” Setting the broom neatly before me, it rests flat on its side. Sweat glistens on my arms and makes my shirt stick to my stomach. Please listen, I internally think to my magic. I need you to work. Then I begin the spell, and a swirling of power builds into a tiny vortex in my chest. It’s working! I almost smile, but then blue light swirls prematurely down my arms. I hastily finish the spell, and my magic bursts forth to swirl angrily around the broom. It stands up right, and for half a second, I think the spell worked. But then the bristles lift off the ground. I barely have a second to roll out of the way before the wooden handle comes jerking towards me like a mace. 
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Shy Girls Can’t Date Billionaires
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My thoughts:
Tell me the book has the 'Enemies-to-Lovers' trope and I'm sold! Plus, if you're getting some 'Opposites Attract /Shy girl-Popular Guy' vibes, you're absolutely right. Milly Rose has discovered a winning formula for a gripping romance and of course it works. When Christie's house burns down and her family loses everything, her father's boss Mr Ashworth offers a temporary residence in his mansion. Yay! Who hasn't dreamt of living like a billionaire just for a day? add Christie's Dad's promotion, and no wonder Christie's parents are totally charmed. She, on the other hand, is too busy trying to work out what Mr Ashworth's son's problem is. One moment Thomas would like nothing better than see the back of Christie's family, next, he's all kind and sympathetic. He's also drop-dead-gorgeous and seems to be an undisputed king of Christie's new school, where she (as usual) is struggling to make new friends. But then again maybe Thomas or Ash as everybody calls him has his own share of worries and disappointments and being with a shy listener can help? First of all, the book is all written from Christie's point of view, so, if you are/were shy at school and didn't find it easy to meet new people and open up to strangers, you will relate. Also, there's quite a lot of first love/ high school drama, so again get ready for some misunderstandings, heated arguments, inexplicable conclusions drawn out of sero evidence, and, of course, mean girls. Since I don't think there is anything wrong with being shy, I am more than happy to see more rep for this trait! I love the way Milly Rose gave Christie a perfect creative outlet- painting. Ash also has a passion of his own and it is so romantic the way his nerdy side matches her artistic one. Christie and Ash are sixteen, so obviously they still have a long way from having everything worked out in life. I didn't find it too credible the way Mr Ashworth provided for everything or some of Mrs Ashworth's actions, while Ash relied on his parents' money a bit too much- it would have worked if the protagonists were older. Overall, it was a very quick and easy read. Although I would have prefered more humour, Milly Rose did capture how important family dynamics and school relationships are at sixteen. Hope we're getting Nessa's story next! Thank you to NetGalley and Xpresso Book Tours for the review copy provided in exchange for an honest opinion.
A Heartbeat Away from You
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Kobo -- EXCERPT: The tears spilled down my heated cheeks as I stumbled down the steps to the lawn. Fabulous. Now I was crying like a little kid. I needed something to kick or throw or-- Thud. I crashed into someone. The top of my head whacked into what felt like a chin. Grunting, I stumbled backward. Two hands gripped my arms, steadying me. “Whoa. Slow down.” A broad chest hovered just inches from mine, clad in a grass-stained T-shirt. Dazed, I lifted my head—and found myself staring into a pair of gorgeous eyes. We’re talking deep chocolate brown with little flecks of gold and framed by sexy dark eyelashes. Those eyes peered down at me, laced with a mixture of surprise and concern. His hair—a shade darker than his eyes—fell in a tousled wave across his forehead. Stubble dusted his strong jawline, and his tanned skin practically glowed in the afternoon sun. He stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. His shirt was too small for him, fitting snugly across his chest. Tingles danced along my skin as I scanned his well-defined torso and arms. Who was this hot stranger in my backyard? “You okay?” “Huh?” I tore my eyes from his abs and forced myself to focus on his face. His amazing face. “You hit your head pretty hard. Are you okay?” Oh. My. Freaking. God. I swiped my hands across my tear-stained cheeks and took a step back. I knew that voice. This was no stranger. My eyes widened. “Max?” A faint blush tinged his cheeks. He flashed me a sheepish smile, wide enough to display a row of perfectly straight teeth. “Hi, Ali.” Shock radiated through my body, keeping me rooted to the spot. This couldn’t be Max. Max had poufy hair and a mouth full of metal. He was stick thin with an acne-covered face and thick-rimmed nerd glasses. And his eyes… his eyes had never looked so bold and brilliant. “I got contacts,” he said, as if reading my mind. “Oh.” His gaze tracked the length of my body. “I didn’t expect you to look so… well, so different.” His mouth tipped up on one side. “This is a good look for you.” Nothing sheepish about his smile now. It was mocking. Arrogant. And there was his critical tone, the one that made me want to slap him across the face. The strange tingly feeling completely evaporated, and my body tensed. His looks might have changed, but his personality hadn’t. “What are you doing in our backyard?” I asked in a terse voice. “Your dad pays me to mow the lawn.” My enemy doing my yard work? Not when I was around. Contrary to what Dad thought, I was perfectly capable of physical activity. My heart may have been slow, but the pacemaker brought it up to a rhythm that was just as normal as Max’s. “You can stop,” I said. “I can do it now that I’m here.” “I don’t think so.” “You don’t think so?” I let out a harsh laugh. “Oh, excuse me, I didn’t realize you had a say in my family affairs.” He whistled. “Wow, still the same hotheaded Ali.” He stepped away and grabbed the lawnmower from where it stood in front of the shed. “This is my job. I get paid to do it, and as far as I can tell, Mr. B. wants to keep it that way.” Oh, I bet he does. “Besides,” he continued, “this is newly sodded grass, and there’s a bit of an art to mowing it.” He raised his eyebrows at me. “I doubt you’re familiar with the method.” Anger burned in my veins. “Still the same condescending Max.” I jabbed my forefinger at the observatory next door. Sun glinted off its walls, blinding me. “Look, why don’t you go help your own father? I’m sure he’s got…” I trailed off, but I’d realized my mistake too late. Between my dad and Max, I’d been so riled up that I’d completely forgotten about what had happened to Mr. Delaney. I quickly dropped my hand, my cheeks hot. When I opened my mouth to do damage control, nothing came out. Max turned his own gaze to the observatory and curled his fingers over the lawnmower’s handle. A shadow crossed his face and something that looked like pain flashed in his eyes. But when he refocused on me, it was as if he’d flipped a switch. His expression was void of emotion, his stunning eyes vacant. “Yeah, that might be a little difficult,” he said in a cool, detached voice, “since my father’s dead.”
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Photos from Simon_sees, Dmitry Karyshev
