Release Blast & Giveaway: Kiss Me That Way by Laura Trentham

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KISS ME THAT WAY

Cottonbloom #1

Laura Trentham

Releasing May 31st, 2016

St. Martin's Paperbacks

A river divides Cottonbloom in two: the upscale enclave on the Mississippi side and the rundown, rough and tumble side in Louisiana. They’re worlds apart—but nothing can build a bridge like love…

Cade Fournette never had it easy Cottonbloom. He stuck around long enough to raise his orphaned siblings and then hightailed it out West—and never looked back. Even though he’s made a success of himself in Seattle, Cade never lost the toughness and the angry edge that helped him survive down South. His only weak spot: the girl he left behind…

Monroe Kirby came from the wealthy side of town, but that didn’t protect her from her mother’s drinking—or her mother’s boyfriend. It was Cade who did that, on a long-ago hot September night, before he disappeared…along with a piece of her heart. Now Monroe is a physical therapist who can fight for herself, and it’s Cade who could use some conditioning when he makes an unexpected return back home. Will he and Monroe pick up where they left off and finally explore their mutual passion—or will the scars and secrets of the past divide them once more?

“You left Cottonbloom without telling me. Without saying good-bye. I want to know why.”  Monroe hadn’t meant for the words to come out at all, much less with such vehemence.
 
“It was complicated.” Cade broke eye contact. “You were a good kid in a bad situation.”
 
“Weren’t you a good kid in a bad situation?”
 
He shifted toward her, bracing a hand on the dash and laying his other arm over the back of her seat, invading her space. She didn’t retreat. His intensity spurred her heart rate into an erratic gallop, yet she wasn’t intimidated. Perhaps it was only echoes of the past, but he made her feel safe, even when he was the one she should be scared of.
 
“I grew up fast and tough.” His voice contained more than a hint of warning.
 
“You were nice to me,” she said softly.
 
“Don’t fool yourself into thinking I’m nice. I wasn’t then, and I’m sure as hell not now.”
 
He ran a callused finger down her cheek, the rasp igniting her nerve endings like a flint. His hand continued south and wrapped itself in her braid, the slight tug on her scalp sending shivers through her body in spite of the sun bearing down on the truck. Her nipples felt tight, and she hoped her tight sports tank masked her sudden, inexplicable arousal.
 
He pulled her braid, forcing her toward him. She didn’t fight him. He dropped his face next to hers, his coarse beard hair caressing her cheek, his mouth close to her ear. “If I see something I want, I go after it and get it by any means necessary.”
 
“How very Machiavellian.” She tried a laugh, but it came out more like a stuttering sigh. 

His scent hooked her even closer, and her lips grazed the outer rim of his ear.
 
He pulled back, his green-eyed gaze roving her face. She returned the favor, noting the faint brackets around his mouth, the crinkles at his eyes, the thick beard. A full-grown man. Yet was he so different from the boy she remembered?
 
“Ovid.” The movement of his lips jammed the cogs of her brain. The word made no sense. 

Her confusion must have been obvious, because the mouth she stared at tipped up in the corners, deepening the grooves. “The Greek philosopher Ovid, not Machiavelli, actually wrote: The end justifies the means.”
 
“Ovid. Of course.” Apparently, Monroe had slept through that philosophy class at Ole Miss. The fact that high-school dropout Cade Fournette was quoting Ovid made her wonder what other mysteries she might uncover if she went digging.
 
Just when she was ready to grab a shovel, he released her braid and slipped away. His limp was less pronounced as he took the stairs holding the cane parallel to the ground. Although he’d physically released her, she felt bound to him in some other fundamental way, incapable of tearing her eyes off him until he disappeared behind Sawyer’s front door. Even then, she sat, unable to drive away for a long minute.
 
How could the simple brush of Cade’s finger ignite a fire when other men left her cold? As her arousal ebbed, she realized something else. She’d just been manipulated by a master. 

He hadn’t explained why he left.
 
She spent the evening going through the motions of her life, eating when her stomach growled and heading to bed when her eyes felt heavy. A few short hours ago, her life had been tidy and predictable and boring. Cade Fournette’s return had spun her into chaos.

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Don't miss the next Cottonbloom romance 
coming June 2016

An award-winning author, Laura Trentham was born and raised in a small town in Tennessee. Although, she loved English and reading in high school, she was convinced an English degree equated to starvation. She chose the next most logical major—Chemical Engineering—and worked in a hard hat and steel toed boots for several years.

She writes sexy, small town contemporaries and smoking hot Regency historicals. The first two books of her Falcon Football series were named Top Picks by RT Book Reviews magazine. When not lost in a cozy Southern town or Regency England, she's shuttling kids to soccer, helping with homework, and avoiding the Mt. Everest-sized pile of laundry that is almost as large as the to-be-read pile of books on her nightstand.

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Release Blast & Giveaway: Shameless by Gina L. Maxwell

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SHAMELESS

Playboys in Love #1

Gina L. Maxwell

Releasing May 30th, 2016

Entangled: Scorched

People say I’m shameless. They’re right.

I like my work dirty and my sex even dirtier. It takes a hell of a lot to tilt my moral compass, and dancing as a private stripper for horny suburbanites doesn’t even register. Neither does hooking up with them afterward whenever the mood strikes—it’s one of the bennies of the job—but it’s always a one-and-done. I don’t do repeat performances. Ever.

Until I meet the one girl in all of Chicago not interested in dry humping my junk. She’s all I can think about, and that’s a problem, because I made sure she wants nothing to do with me. But I’ve seen her deepest secrets, her darkest fantasies, and they match mine to a fucking T.

I want her. Bad.

Now I need to show her how good it can feel…to be shameless.

Chapter One

Jane

If such a thing as a Landlords of Chicago Convention existed, and said convention had an award for Worst Landlord of a Multi-Unit Building, mine would win by a landslide. A freaking landlord landslide.

Cursing his name for the umpteenth time in the last half hour, I wrap a Band-Aid around the cut in my thumb I’d acquired trying to unclog the pipes under my bathroom sink. God forbid Walter would actually do his job and call a plumber for me.

Since I’d moved into my small apartment in the South Shore area, my hot water heater, oven, and window A/C unit had all taken a crap at one point or another—just a few of the perks of living in a building so old that it predates the invention of the elevator—and each time it had taken Walter weeks to get them fixed.
 
But I’m nothing if not independent and self-reliant—traits born of being the child of workaholic parents. I’d managed to repair my garbage disposal and replace the tank assembly in my toilet by browsing the almighty Google and ignoring all my girly squeamishness at the ick factor of both. Neither instance had been pretty, but it wasn’t anything a hot shower and the satisfaction of a job well done couldn’t wash away.

Unfortunately, my stupid bathroom sink pipes aren’t going to be added to that list of  accomplishments anytime soon. I don’t know if the slip nuts (thank you, Google Images) had been screwed on by the Incredible Hulk or fused in place by the lesser known supervillain Rust Man. Either way, those suckers aren’t budging for a mortal female with minimal experience handling a pipe wrench. (Feel free to insert dirty joke here.)

I glare at the standing water in the sink, hands on my hips, willing it to magically go down. I’m so focused on trying to Jedi-mind-trick the bastard into submission that I jump when my phone rings. Jogging into the living room, I snatch up the cell and answer as I plop onto the couch.

“Hey, you,” I say, greeting my best friend Addison Paige. “Aren’t you supposed to be burning the midnight oil?”

“It’s only seven p.m., but I’m sure I’ll still be here when midnight rolls around,” Addison says wryly. “You writing your paper?”

I laugh. Calling my masters thesis on social work a paper was like calling the Taj Mahal a chapel. I’ve been working on it for two years, and I’m almost—almost—done. Turning it in is the last step in getting my dual degree. Then I can finally get a job in my field and start making some real money instead of the piddly-ass wages I make as an intern and part-time waitress. (And then move.)

“Surprisingly, no,” I say. “I’m still trying to fix the clog in my bathroom sink, but all I’ve managed to do is pinch my thumb. Luckily, I managed to staunch the flow before I bled out all over the floor.”

“Damn good thing, because if you die before I get my fun friend back, I’ll kill you myself.”

“You know what I love about you?” I ask, laying the sarcasm on thick. “It’s that you make complete sense when you threaten me. I think it’s what makes you the best lawyer ever.”

“And I love that you love that about me. And also that you repeatedly tell me I’m the best lawyer ever instead of acknowledging my pathetic peon status. This boys club of a law firm isn’t going to give me my own cases anytime soon.”

“Nonsense. It’s only a matter of time before they see your brilliance and make you a partner,” I say with confidence. “Wait—since when am I not your ‘fun’ friend? I’m fun.”

“Seriously? When was the last time you went out? For fun. Not for school or work or any other life-sucking activity. Like, to a dance club or a bar or a fucking baseball game? I don’t know…anything.”

I open my mouth to respond with a list of all the things I’d done recently that qualified—because surely there is a list—but came up with nothing. I honestly can’t remember the last time I’d gone out to be social. I’ve hung out with Addison, but that was more lunch dates and Netflix than clubbing and cavorting.

“Um…”

“Exactly,” Addison crows.

Okay, so she’s not wrong. It’s been a while since I’ve had a social life and an even longer while since I’ve had a sex life, which makes me grateful she didn’t bring that particular nugget up. My recent hermit status may have slipped my notice, but I’m painfully aware of how long it’s been (for-freaking-ever) since I’ve been satisfied by someone other than myself.

Completing my masters coursework in two years instead of three, and then replacing school hours with work hours, doesn’t leave me with any time to invest in a relationship. I’m all for casual flings or even one-night stands, but the handful of forays hadn’t been worth shaving, much less the Brazilians I’d splurged on. After my last underwhelming sexual rendezvous, I decided that I wouldn’t drop trou for anyone else unless I’m positive it’ll be worth the pain of getting my pubic hair ripped out by the roots by a sadistic woman armed with strips of hot wax. If you’ve ever subjected yourself to that particular brand of cosmetic torture, you know that’s setting the bar for sexual excellence pretty high.

So while I wait for Mr. Mind-Blowing-In-The-Sack, I bought a Hitachi Magic Wand—God bless the misguided man who thought he designed a great neck massager—and became a frequent purveyor of internet porn.

That’s right. I’m a closet porn addict.

Don’t judge me. It gets the job done. With the right video, I can be turned on in minutes. Then, depending on my mood, I’ll either watch several to build the anticipation, or simply dive right in and get myself off in what I call an “express O.” Bing, bam, boom, done.

But like I said, it’s not something I’m ready to share with the class. Not even with Addison. Not because I think she’ll judge me—that girl is all for owning your freak flag and letting it fly—but because I’d inevitably have to answer questions about how often do I watch it (several times a week), and what kind do I like (the rougher, the better), and do I have a favorite porn star (hands down, James Deen). I’d just rather not get into the gory details of how I take the edge off my sexual frustrations, thank you very much.

“What’s it called when the lawyer is being an obnoxious asshat?” I ask my best friend. “Is it contempt? I find you in contempt of court, and I object. Your argument is erroneous. I don’t need a good time right now, I just need someone to fix my pipes.”

“Yeah, your lady pipes,” she jokes. “Things are probably just as rusted shut down there as they are under your sink.”

Actually, since I don’t use a dildo of any kind, it’s highly likely. “Okay, that’s it,” I say, laughing in spite of myself, “I’m hanging up. You need to get back to work, and I need to do anything other than talk to you at the moment.”

Sighing dramatically, Addison acquiesces. “Fine, killjoy. Does this mean you don’t want the number of a handyman who came highly recommended to me?”

I sit up a little straighter, perking up at the words “highly recommended.” Growing up in the digital age as I have, you’d think that I would trust online reviews of products and services. But things on the internet can be bought or faked. I’d much rather take the word of someone I know, and I’m ready to cry “uncle” and be done with this whole situation. “Who recommended him?”

“Rebecca, one of our paralegals. She said he’s worth every cent and more. I believe her exact words were ‘the best ever.’”

That sounds promising, so I grab the pen and pad of paper from the side table. “Okay, what’s the number? I’ll give him a call tomorrow.”

“One sec, I’ve got another call coming in. Hang on.” And with a click the line went silent.

I lean back on the couch, staring at the spidery ceiling paint, following the bigger cracks and admiring how they fan out with reckless abandon. Of course, they probably knew what I knew: no way was I standing on a ladder and painting upside down to fix them. When Addison clicks back over, I tell her, “All right. I’m ready for the number of my miracle plumber.”

“No need,” she replies. “I just called and paid in advance. Consider it an early birthday present. He’ll be there in about an hour.”

“What? It’s too late for anyone to be making house calls on a Friday night.”

“Riiiiight. Because everyone’s shit only breaks between the hours of eight and five on weekdays.” Addison is just as fond of sarcasm as I am. It’s one of the reasons we make such great friends.

“Point taken, but you still shouldn’t have called.” I hate it when she tries to pay for things. Peon or not, she makes a good living as a lawyer and likes to make up dumb reasons why I should let her pick up the tab on stuff. “My birthday’s not even for another six months.”

“So then it’s a half birthday present. Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to look a gift-friend in the mouth? Have some wine, read a book, tweeze your eyebrows. I don’t care, as long as you let the man do what he’s hired for when he gets there, okay?”

“Yes, Mother,” I say with the tone of an audible eye roll. But then I add a sincere, “Thanks, Addie.”

“You’re welcome, babe. Oh, and make sure you call me tomorrow and tell me all the juicy details. Ciao!”

Before I can comment on the ridiculousness of anything involving a middle-aged man with plumber’s crack being “juicy,” she hangs up. Belatedly, I realize I never even got the name of the guy or his business. I almost call her back to ask, but figure it’s not a big deal. The odds of someone showing up coincidentally under false pretenses as a handyman in disguise are pretty much nil.

It’s been a long week, and that glass of wine Addison mentioned is suddenly calling my name.

Blowing out a deep breath, I stand and head to the kitchen where I have an open bottle of red. For once, I’m going to take my friend’s advice: enjoy a glass of wine and a book while I wait for the “best ever handyman” to arrive and do his thing. Now that I know help is on the way, I’m really looking forward to getting my pipes fixed.

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Gina L. Maxwell is a full-time writer, wife, and mother living in the upper Midwest, despite her scathing hatred of snow and cold weather. An avid romance novel addict, she began writing as an alternate way of enjoying the romance stories she loves to read. Her debut novel, Seducing Cinderella, hit both the USA Today and New York Times bestseller lists in less than four weeks, and she’s been living her newfound dream ever since.

When she’s not reading or writing steamy romance novels, she spends her time losing at Scrabble (and every other game) to her high school sweetheart, doing her best to hang out with their teenagers before they fly the coop, and dreaming about her move to sunny Florida once they do.

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Pre- Release Sale Blast: Inseverable by Cecy Robson

Don't Miss this Price....Only for a Limited Time!

INSEVERABLE

Carolina Beach #1

Cecy Robson

Releasing June 21st, 2016

How can you imagine forever with someone who's leaving everything behind?

Callahan, a former army sniper, wants to make an escape from his past and everything he experienced at war, but most of all, just not feel. Feeling leads to pain and he's suffered enough. When he inherits a house on South Carolina's Kiawah Island, he packs his bags, lured by the peace and seclusion he thinks it will bring. But, Callahan never counted on meeting anyone like Trinity . . .

Trinity has always been the cute, and funny one, who most guys overlook inpursuit of her "hot" friends. She became used to being everyone's pal, until the day the young man she was attracted to, was drawn to her in return. He became her first great love, and first crushing heartbreak when she found him in bed with one of her closest friends.

To move forward, and to carry out her commitment to helping those in need, Trinity enlists in the Peace Corps, but not before returning to Kiawah for one last memorable summer. She just never imagined it would be so unforgettable.

Callahan doesn't want to get close to anyone-let alone Trinity. He finds her perkiness insufferable and her attempts to entice a smile distracting. After all, he's in Kiawah to leave all feelings behind. But when it comes to Trinity, who feels everything, it's hard not to feel something.

Neither expected to fall in love. And no one could have predicted how inseverable they'd become.

 
 Prologue
 
Callahan
 
Three days.
 
That’s all I have left until this shit ends.
 
Three days shouldn’t feel like forever, not compared to the eight years I’ve bled to the Army. Thing is, good men have been killed in less time. In as quick as a blink, a squeeze of a trigger, or a small breath right before a grenade blows is all the time it takes to shove someone right out of life and well into death.
 
That’s what makes three days as long as it is. Three days is plenty of time to die.
 
My eyes tear when the wind picks up and shoots grime through the small hole of my lookout point. This blown out piece of cinderblock is only big enough to allow me a view of the street below, but not so small I don’t get smacked in the face with more filth. The tarp flaps above me as I spit out another layer of the dirt-sand mix spackling my teeth. Christ Almighty, I need a swig of the water resting near my elbow. But my thirst, like everything else has to wait.

I have a job to do.
 
I adjust my hips against the cracked cement of my bed, bathroom, and home all rolled into one, thankful that the agonizing ache stretching over the lower half of my body has settled into a now familiar numbness.
 
Out of all the points I’d scouted, and all the accumulated years spent in this position, I should be used to it. 

And in a strange way, it should almost be home. Yet nothing ever has been home.
 
But in three days, maybe something finally will be . . .
 
I shove my thoughts away and breathe as my fellow Rangers stalk along the street. It’s then I see them, a mother and daughter walking straight toward my team. Less than one city block separates them from the men counting on me to keep them alive.
 
The hell? How did they get past the other sniper unreported? Rogers is new on watch. But the quick paces these two are taking should have clued him in that something’s up. I train my scope on their faces; their expressions are blank, unreadable. ‘Cept that’s not what keeps my attention.
 
The little girl can’t be more than five. So why the fuck isn’t her mother holding her hand? I lift my radio and bark a warning, dropping it beside me as I lock my scope dead center on the woman’s head.
 
The radio crackles and Modreski chimes in, yelling at his team to hold their positions. He asks me what my plan is, knowing if something’s caused the short-hairs on my neck to rise, he and the boys damn well need to listen. But I don’t hear him, with a breath and a squeeze of the trigger, I leave a kid without a mother.
 
Just beneath the sleeve of her abayah―the dress completely covering her body―I see it, a detonator that would trigger the explosives likely strapped to her chest. A few Rangers I know―Simons and Boreman, rush forward. I start to mutter a curse, pissed at her for making me shoot her in front of her kid. But the curse lodges in my throat when I see the kid isn’t looking at her mother lying next to her dead.
 
She’s watching my advancing team as she lifts the detonator clasped tight in her hand.  

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CECY ROBSON is the New Adult and Contemporary author of the Shattered Past series, the O’Brien Family novels, and the award winning author of the Weird Girls Urban Fantasy Romance series. A self-proclaimed professional napper, Cecy counts among her talents a jaw-dropping knowledge of useless trivia, the ability to make her hair big, and a knack for breaking into song, despi4e her family’s vehement protests. A full-time writer, registered nurse, wife, and mother living in the South, Cecy enjoys spending time with her family and silencing the yappy characters in her head by telling their stories.

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LET ME

O'Brien Series 

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Review: Rosalia's Bittersweet Pastry Shop by Rosanna Chiofalo

In Rosanna Chiofalo’s touching novel, a unique pastry shop features mouthwatering creations that have the power to change one woman’s life… Food writer Claudia Lombardo has sampled exquisite dishes by the world’s greatest chefs. But when she hears about the remarkable desserts that are created in a pastry shop operated out of a convent in the sleepy Italian hillside town of Santa Lucia del Mela, she wants to write a book featuring the sweets and the story behind their creator—Sorella Agata. But the convent’s most famous dessert—a cassata cake—is what really intrigues Claudia.

Everyone who samples the cake agrees it is like none other they’ve tasted. Yet no one can figure out what makes the cassata so incredibly delicious. Though Sorella Agata insists there is no secret ingredient, Claudia is determined to learn the truth behind the mysterious cake. As she samples each delectable treat—marzipan fruit, rich cream puffs, and decadent cakes—Sorella Agata relates the pastry shop’s history and tells of the young woman, Rosalia, who inspired her.

Kidnapped and separated from her family, Rosalia is subjected to a terrible ordeal—until the nuns find her. As she heals, she learns the art of pastry making, and soon she even finds love with Antonio—an apprentice in the pastry shop. But her heart still aches for the family she lost. And Rosalia knows she will not be whole again until she is reunited with them.

As Claudia unravels the secret of the cassata cake, she discovers a deeper, fascinating story—one that affirms food can do more than nourish the body…it can stir memories, heal the deepest heartaches, and even act as a bridge to those we love, no matter how far apart.

Paperback, 304 pages

Expected publication: May 31st 2016 by Kensington

Terri's Thoughts

I received and advanced copy of this book from the publisher Kensington via Netgalley in exchange for an honest review.  The expected publication date is May 31st, 2016.

I need to be upfront about my thoughts on this story.  I took a risk when I selected this book for two reasons.  First being that the title is very odd.  The second is that the story takes place in a convent.  I could not visualize where the story would take me.

Let me tell you the risk paid off!  I absolutely loved it!  Having literally just finished reading the last sentence, I am currently experiencing that feeling you get when a story really touches you.  You know that feeling that you just can't put in to words?  Where you will find yourself thinking about the story long after finishing it?  Avid readers will know this feeling I talk of, and please, someone tell me a good word for it!

It is no secret that I am a big fan of this type of story.  Where the secrets of today are answered by the secrets of the past.  Where the story slowly unfolds of the past as you anxiously wait to find out what happened to the characters and are almost always certain it will be tragic.

The story of Rosalia was both tragic and uplifting.  While her journey did not take her where I wished it would have, I knew it would not.  The big secret reveal was really not so much to the reader as it was obvious pretty early on, as was the "secret" ingredient.  Regardless, the story captured me and kept me glued to the pages until the story ended.

I have a love/hate relationship with this feeling I currently have.  I say get past the weird title and pick this one up.  As an added bonus there are all sorts of recipes at the end for how to make the pastries mentioned in the book.  Which reminds me, you may not want to pick this up on an empty stomach, the pages are filled with sinfully delicious sounding pastries!

About the Author

Rosanna Chiofalo is a first-generation Italian American whose parents emigrated from Sicily to New York in the early 1960s. She is the author of Bella Fortuna, Carissima, Stella Mia, Rosalia's Bittersweet Pastry Shop, and the novella "Seven Days of Christmas" which appears in the WHEN THE SNOW FALLS collection. She lives with her husband in New York City.

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Book Blast & Giveaway: An Accidental Affair by Holly Blackstone

Enter to Win a Hardcover Copy of AN ACCIDENTAL AFFAIR

AN ACCIDENTAL AFFAIR

Liliana Batchelor Series #1

Holly Blackstone

Released March 2013

Erotic Romance

Two souls meet at a dark railroad crossing… there's no hint this night will be the beginning - and end - of everything.

Lily doesn't exist any more - old Lily, anyway. That night made her different, rewrote her life, tore up everything she thought she knew and understood.

How do you go back to normal after you've met someone who has turned your life upside down? When you fear the passionate connexion but don't want to live for anything else? When those few moments were the most intense and intimate of your life and it was the barest taste of what you could have together?

How do you find the strength to not run away from something that has the power to shatter your heart?

Note: This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language and situations that some readers may find objectionable (including spanking and bondage). Content intended for adults only.

What readers are saying:

"It took forever to find a book last night on my Kindle. To find that perfect Alpha male character. Stuart is the one."

"Really enjoying the strong alpha possessive male qualities of Stuart, Liliana is no simpering girl, their connection and the way the author visualizes that to the reader are really impressive. Did I mention it is smokin' hot?! Really pleasantly surprised with this one, reminds me at times of In Flight series among others."

Drawn again to the view, this time with the sky lit up from the sunset, she walks to the wall of windows. The stones of Edinburgh Castle glow with a kaleidoscope of purple and vermillion hues, the shadows a dark Payne’s Grey. It would be fun to try and paint, she thinks, to capture the colour and movement. The castle looks otherworldly, sitting on the hilltop with the dwindling rays of the day dancing across it.
 
Lily senses a presence behind her, and before she can turn she feels an arm slip around her waist and warm breath is in her ear.
 
“I’m so pleased you’re here”, Stuart says huskily, his arm tightening, pulling her against his body. He kisses her hair, drinking in the subtle scents that waft off of her.
 
She is speechless; once again she is spellbound simply by sharing a room with him. She doesn’t needed to see his eyes; his sultry voice, accent and the warmth of his arm around her instantly make Lily feel wobbly, as if her will is being sapped, as if nothing else matters but that she’s here with him.
 
“It’s beautiful”, she says softly, glad he is there to enjoy the majestic colour, the fiery clouds, the corona of darkness pushing down towards the horizon. It is one of the most gorgeous sights she has ever seen.
 
“It’s nearly as beautiful as you”, he whispers it so quietly she isn’t sure she heard it. Things have moved, this declaration was a surprise. Probably just gratitude, she reminds herself.
 
“You didn’t need to invite me to supper.” She says, still watching the light show outside. “You don’t owe me anything.”
 
His arm tightens around her. “Is that what you think? The invitation was out of gratitude for what you’ve done?” God, how that sounded like the very thing she had been thinking.
 
She doesn’t know what to say. “Answer me”, he demands, and turns her around to face him.
Stuart’s eyes are ablaze. How they can be blue but still fiery I don’t know, she thinks as she looks into them and then scans the rest of him. The tailored navy suit hangs off him flawlessly and his tie is the colour of his eyes. My God… what a perfect man, she thinks before crashing back to reality.
 
She can feel his annoyance. “You said you’d invite me to dinner as a thank you… when we talked in the hospital, the note”, she reminds him. “I just assumed…”
 
“I kissed you last night.” He sounds incredulous. He doesn’t understand how Lily could think this way. He steps closer and looks down at her. “I think you enjoyed it.”
 
“I…”, she has to look away. Liliana knows what is in her eyes; that she craved more but the desire frightens her.
 
“Did you Lily?” His hand moves to her face and turns it back to his. “Look at me. Did you enjoy it?” 

She tries to turn her head again but he holds it firm, his fingers curled around her chin.
 
She feels cornered. “What do you want from me?” she pleads, her eyes looking at his mouth, no, not his mouth, not his eyes…
 
He moves his right hand and cups her face in his palms and forces it upwards - she has no choice. 

Their eyes meet and it is like falling into an abyss with walls of sheer blue ice on either side; nothing else is real but those impossible eyes.
 
“I want the truth, Liliana”, he says her name as if it is a caress. “I can see it in your eyes regardless. But I want to hear it. Did you enjoy it when I kissed you?”
 
“Yes”, it is almost inaudible.
 
“Why are you struggling against me so?” His thumbs are stroking her cheeks.
 
“Who are you?”, she asks, her voice tinged in wonderment.
 
“You’ll find out to-morrow.” She hears a distant bell. “That will be supper. Come.” He offers his arm to her.
 

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Holly Blackstone has been writing stories and poetry since she was seven and has always been an avid reader. She enjoys cooking, painting, reading, blogging, music, writing, dancing and gardening, and lives in the Pacific Northwest, just outside of Seattle. 

Holly enjoys exploring how her hero and heroine grow when faced with adversity, and believes erotica can not only be sexy and sensual, but contain rich characters and tell a compelling story.

She enjoys interacting with readers and discussing her books and what motivates the people in her stories.

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Review: The Book Thief by Markus Zusak

It’s just a small story really, about among other things: a girl, some words, an accordionist, some fanatical Germans, a Jewish fist-fighter, and quite a lot of thievery. . . .

Set during World War II in Germany, Markus Zusak’s groundbreaking new novel is the story of Liesel Meminger, a foster girl living outside of Munich. Liesel scratches out a meager existence for herself by stealing when she encounters something she can’t resist–books. With the help of her accordion-playing foster father, she learns to read and shares her stolen books with her neighbors during bombing raids as well as with the Jewish man hidden in her basement before he is marched to Dachau.

This is an unforgettable story about the ability of books to feed the soul.

Kindle Edition, 576 pages

Published December 18th 2007 by Knopf Books for Young Readers
Genre: Historical Fiction/ Young Adult

Kristine's Thoughts:

I made a deal with myself to  try and read a few of the books on my TBR pile each month on top of my other book commitments. The Book Thief has been on the top of that pile for quite a while. I know, I know! Try not to judge...I'm quite embarrassed that it has taken this long for me to tackle it. I honestly don't have any excuses. I love historical fiction and more importantly books surrounding World War I and World War II. My Mother, Sister and Daughter have all read it as well as numerous of my friends. It was time for me to read it.

I knew I was in trouble after just a few pages. Not only did the story take place in WWII Germany but it was narrated by death. It did not have the makings of a happily ever after. First off, I wasn't sure how an entire book (particularly one that is 576 pages long) could be narrated by death without being completely depressing. I have to say though, that it worked beautifully. Of course there was a lot of depressing content, it was WWII after all, but at the same time there was a lot of beauty within the pages. Not only was the narration of the story unique but so was the writing and together it made for one of the best books that I have read in quite some time. The descriptors in this book were so vivid that I felt like I could reach out and touch them. It was pure 100% talent at its finest.

I won't go into detail about the plot because this book has been reviewed millions of times. I will say, however, that the synopsis did not do it justice. It was far bigger and greater than how it was described. Some of the best characters were also found within the pages of this book that I adored. Leisel Meminger was an amazing young girl with a love for books. How could I not love her and the people she loved like Max, Rudy and Papa to name just a few.

I won't lie and say that it was all rainbows and unicorns althought there was a lot of colour. There were times when I had a lump in my throat and a few times the tears ran down my face. I really can't properly put into words how moving and enjoyable this book was for me. After reading hundreds (yes hundreds) of books surrounding WWII you would think that they would all start to read the same. This was absolutely not the case. This was a uniquely beautiful story that would be suitable for readers of all ages. There really isn't anything that I can say other than it is a must read. I wish I hadn't waited so long to read it myself.

I loved every heartbreaking page of this book and won't soon forget it.

About the Author

Markus Zusak was born in 1975 and is the author of five books, including the international bestseller, The Book Thief , which is translated into more than forty languages. First released in 2005, The Book Thief has spent a total of 375 weeks on the New York Times bestseller list, and still remains there eight years after it first came out.

His first three books, The Underdog, Fighting Ruben Wolfe and When Dogs Cry (also known as Getting the Girl ), released between 1999 and 2001, were all published internationally and garnered a number of awards and honours in his native Australia, and the USA.

The Messenger (or I am the Messenger ), published in 2002, won the 2003 Australian Children’s Book Council Book of the Year Award (Older Readers) and the 2003 NSW Premier's Literary Award (Ethel Turner Prize), as well as receiving a Printz Honour in America. It also won numerous national readers choice awards across Europe, including the highly regarded Deutscher Jugendliteratur prize in Germany.

It is The Book Thief , however, that has established Markus Zusak as one of the most successful authors to come out of Australia. To date, The Book Thief has held the number one position at Amazon.com, Amazon.co.uk, the New York Times bestseller list, as well as in countries across South America, Europe and Asia. It has also been in the top five bestsellers in the UK and several other territories. It has amassed many and varied awards, ranging from literary prizes to readers choice awards to prizes voted on by booksellers. It was the only book to feature on both the USA and UK World Book Night Lists in 2012, and has now been adapted into a major motion picture. 

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Book Blast & Giveaway: Incapable by Marie Skye

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INCAPABLE

Incapable Part One

Marie Skye

Re-Release May 25th, 2016

Emmalin

Gone.

Everything I ever had is gone. Ripped away, taken before I was ready. So I just hid. Hid in the shadows, hoping to disappear, blending in, fade away. I didn't want to be found, and I sure as hell didn’t want, to be discovered.

But one man did. He saw me. Saw right through me.
He's overbearing, egotistical, and did I mention a total asshole?
When I'm with him, I want to scream, Punch him,
And then have him rip my clothes off.

I gave him one night.
He wants more.
And so do I.
I'm his.
Grayson Mandrake owns me.

Grayson

I take, because I can.
I claim, because I can.
She was mine the moment I saw her,
And I will destroy her soul to keep her. Have her. Own her.

I'm ruthless,
And relentless,
A total asshole.
And I will do anything for her.
Emmalin Ross is mine.

We rode back to headquarters discussing how the rest of the day was going to pan out. I tried prying some information out of Chace regarding him and Isabella, but he remained tight-lipped. As we stopped at Glenda's desk to retrieve messages before our meeting, our attention was diverted to a woman walking out of Grayson's office. 
 
Her designer heels made her at least 5'10, and the V-neck dress she wore, which barely held her breasts in, matched the blood-red lipstick she wore perfectly. She spotted Chace and strolled over as if she was on a runway. She looked me up and down as if I was no more than trash before placing her hand on Chace's chest and purring.
 
"It's been a while.”
 
Chace took a half step in front of me, as if blocking me from view. Grayson came walking out of the office, his hair a mess and collar mussed. It didn't take much to put together what had been going on here. He stopped at Glenda's desk. 
 
"Please have security escort Mrs. Stewart out of the building." 
 
She withdrew her hand from Chace and turned, a scowl creasing her brow. "Is that necessary, Grayson?"  
 
He looked past her and made immediate eye contact with me. He glanced at Chace, almost as if he were silently pleading. 
 
Chace lightly grabbed my arm. "You have that meeting." 
 
I pulled my arm away. "He means well, right?" 
 
The blonde stood there and watched us back and forth before widening her grin. "Wait, is this her?"
 
"I would choose your next words wisely, Ashley," Grayson said through gritted teeth.
 
 Just then, the elevator dinged and security entered. I wasn't going to wait around for the drama and strolled right past all of them to the conference room.
 
Sitting there, I willed myself not to cry. I felt like such a damn fool. I didn’t know how much time went by before someone else came in, and I realized I had a job to do. 
 
Right before our meeting was to start, Grayson walked in. I immediately diverted my eyes, and noticed how everyone sat straighter in their chairs, as I willed mine to swallow me whole. He stood directly behind me. 

That masculine scent overpowered everything as he leaned over.
 
"Ms. Ross, may I have a moment of your time?" 
 
Keeping my eyes on the doodle I was drawing, I answered, "No." 
 
He paused. "I'm sorry?" 
 
I cleared my throat, and I glanced across the table at Edith, who only gawked at someone saying no to the CEO of the company. "I said no, Mr. Mandrake. No, you may not  have a moment of my time. You may, however, request to schedule a moment of my time, and I'll be sure to pencil you in at my earliest convenience." 
 
Holy shit! Did that just come out of my mouth? Okay, keep it together. You are officially speaking out of anger. Hold your ground. I dared a glance around the room. All eyes were on us. Well, this was embarrassing. I looked back up at Grayson, and his eyes were dark and smoldering. They narrowed at me, and I thought I saw a hint of a smile, but I was pretty sure that was wishful thinking on my part. 
 
He placed his hand on my shoulder, his eyes never leaving mine. "On second thought, I think I'll stay for the meeting after all.” Of course, the chair next to me was free. He slid in closer than one needed to, not respecting boundaries at all. I tried turning my chair in the opposite direction, but a firm grip on my thigh stopped me instantly. 
 
Pursing my lips, I turned toward the beginning of the presentation as much as I could, or as much as Grayson would allow me. Just when I thought there was a possibility this might go well, the lights dimmed. Grayson’s ironclad grip started traveling up my thigh. I made a mental note to start wearing pants. I tried everything to get my chair to move without causing a distraction. His fingertips grazed the outer edge of my panties. He wouldn’t dare do this here. I was torn between trying to be pissed at him and trying to keep myself from being turned on. 
 
As I attempted to shut my legs again, I swore I heard him smirk. 
 
 Hooking a leg around my ankle, he pried my legs apart before pushing the lace of my panties aside and lightly grazing over my clit. I jumped immediately upon contact. 
 
So he was going to do this here. I was trying to retain my composure, and just when I thought I had it under control, he slipped two fingers past my folds, and I suddenly gripped the table. In the distance, I heard my name being called. 
 
I glanced at the front of the room where Edith stood with Kevin, looking my way. I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?” My voice came out higher than I intended.
 
Edith started speaking again, but I didn’t hear a word that came out of her mouth the moment Grayson’s thumb started circling my clit. I was focusing hard on trying to keep my breathing under control. 
 
All of a sudden, Grayson started contributing to the conversation while continuing his agonizing torture, while I sat there and bit my bottom lip to prevent myself from moaning. Every time a question was directed toward me, Grayson intercepted and I would nod in agreement. I was so close, and he knew just what to do. 
 
“Well, I think this should call for an early dismissal for the day if everyone agrees, and if everyone is satisfied with this proposal?” Grayson flicked my clit and pleasure shot through me as I tried to stay as still as possible. He looked around the room as everyone nodded in response to the early dismissal. “Ms. Ross, for clarification, were you satisfied?” 
 
That bastard. I nodded, since that’s all I could do. Everyone started to clear out of the room, but I just sat there. 
 
When I finally got up and headed for the door, he grabbed my arm. 
 
“I’m pissed at you. You had no right to do that.” I tried jerking my arm away, but he gripped it harder
 
 He cocked his head. “Is that so?” 
 
“Are you kidding me right now?” 
 
“No, I’m not kidding you right now.” He thrust me against the wall, his erection digging into me, and I found myself grinding into him. “You refused me, and in your defiant attitude, said you would pencil me in. Not only did you manage to piss me the fuck off, but you made me so fucking hard, I was prepared to throw you over this damn table and fuck you in front of everyone. So now we’re going to talk my way. I think it’s time I introduced you to orgasm denial. I’m going to fuck you, redden your ass, and then fuck you again, and maybe then we can talk.”
 
I opened my mouth to talk.
 
“Don’t say a word. I don’t want to hear a fucking word out of your mouth.” He dragged me out of the conference room.
 
As pissed as I was, I was unbelievably turned on. 

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Marie Skye currently resides in Austin, Texas. She's always wanted to be a writer, and one day decided 'why not?' She's a sucker for all things romance, but also loves those stories that are dark and twisted, and makes you think to yourself "what would people say if they knew I read stuff like this?" They would be jealous. Visit her on Facebook, her Facebook Group or Website. 

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