Monday, June 27, 2016

Spotlight for A GENTLEMAN NEVER TELLS, an Essex Sisters Novella by Eloisa James

An Essex Sisters Novella #4.5
by Eloisa James

Coming June 28, 2016 from Avon Impulse only 99¢

Eloisa James returns to the delicious world of the Essex sisters with her newest Regency romance novella: A GENTLEMAN NEVER TELLS.

A perfect amuse-bouche of a romance, A GENTLEMAN NEVER TELLS is a witty and sparking standalone novella from one of the brilliant diamonds of romance!

Eighteen months ago, Lizzie Troutt’s husband died in his mistress’s bed, leaving her determined to never marry again….and unfortunately virginal.

Eighteen years ago (give or take a few) the Honorable Oliver Berwick blackened his own soul, leaving him hardened and resolutely single.

When the chance for redemption in the form of a country house party invitation comes his way, Oliver is determined to prove himself a gentleman.

Until he breaks all the codes of gentlemanly behavior…once again.


August 13, 1826
Telford Manor
Fontwell, Sussex

“I would prefer to take supper on a tray.” Lizzie didn’t look up from her book, because meeting her sister’s eyes would only encourage her.
She should have known Catrina wouldn’t back down. “Lizzie Troutt, your husband died over a year ago.”
“Really?” Lizzie murmured, turning a page. “How time flies.” In fact, Adrian had died eighteen months, two weeks, and four days ago.
In his mistress’s bed.
“Lizzie,” Cat said ominously, sounding more like an older sister—which she was—with every word, “if you don’t get out of that bed, I shall drag you out. By your hair!”
Lizzie felt a spark of real annoyance. “You already dragged me to your house for this visit. The least you could do is to allow me to read my book in peace.”
“Ever since you arrived yesterday, all you’ve done is read!” Cat retorted.
“I like reading. And forgive me if I point out that Tolbert is not precisely a hotbed of social activity.” Cat and her husband, Lord Windingham, lived deep in Suffolk, in a dilapidated manor house surrounded by fields of sheep.
“That is precisely why we gather friends for dinner. Lord Dunford-Dale is coming tonight, and I need you to even the numbers. That means getting up, Lizzie. Bathing. Doing your hair. Putting on a gown that hasn’t been dyed black would help, too. You look like a dispirited crow, if you want the truth.”
Lizzie didn’t want the truth. In fact, she felt such a stab of anger that she had to fold her lips tightly together or she would scream at Cat.
It wasn’t her sister’s fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault except her late husband’s, and he was definitely late—i.e., dead.
“I know you feel ashamed to be in company,” her sister continued, energetically digging her own grave, as far as Lizzie was concerned. “Unfortunately, most people are aware the circumstances of your marriage, not to mention the fact that Adrian was so imprudent as to die away from home.”
That was one way of putting it.
“You make it sound as if he dropped a teacup,” Lizzie observed, unable to stop herself. “I would call the fact that Adrian died in the act of tupping Sadie Sprinkle inconsiderate in the extreme.”
“I refuse to allow you to wither away in bed simply because your husband was infatuated with Shady Sadie,” Cat said, using the term by which the gossip rags had referred to Adrian’s mistress. “You must put all that behind you. Sadie has another protector, and you are out of mourning. It’s time to stop hiding.”
“I am not hiding,” Lizzie said, stung. “I take fresh air and moderate exercise every day. I simply like reading in bed. Or in a chair.”
Or anywhere else, to tell the truth. Reading in a peaceful garden was an excellent way to take fresh air.
“Moderate exercise,” her sister said with palpable loathing. “You used to ride every day, for pleasure. We would practice archery on a fine day like this, or roam about the countryside, not sit inside reading.”
“Adrian’s stables were part of the entail, and went to his cousin,” Lizzie said, turning the page. She hadn’t read a word, but she was hoping that a show of indifference would drive her sister from the room.
“Not the mare that Papa gave you when you turned fourteen!” her sister gasped.
Showing masterly control, Lizzie didn’t roll her eyes. “A wife has no true possessions,” she said flatly. “Under the law, they belong to her husband, and Perdita was, therefore, transferred to the heir.”
“Oh, Lizzie,” Cat said, her voice woeful.
“It wasn’t so terrible,” Lizzie said, meaning it. “I went to the auction, and Perdita went to a family with a young girl. I’m certain that she is well cared for and happy.”
“Do you realize that by staying home and wearing black, you give the illusion that you are grieving for your husband?”
Lizzie’s hands tightened around her book. “Do you know what being a widow entails, Cat?”
“Wearing ugly black dresses for the rest of your natural life?”
“It means that I never again need put myself under the control of a man—any man. So, no, I have no interest in joining you at dinner. I know perfectly well that Lord Dimble-Dumble has been summoned to audition as my next husband. I don’t want him. I’d be more likely to come to dinner if you had invited the butcher.”
“I couldn’t do that,” Cat said, in a sudden digression. “Mr. Lyddle has developed a most unfortunate addiction to strong ale, and he’s regularly found lying about in the gutter singing, rather than butchering meat.”
“Who does the butchering now?” Lizzie asked, deciding to take a walk to the village and see this interesting musical event herself.
“His wife. My housekeeper says that she can get better cuts at a lower price these days. You’re trying to distract me with talk of singing drunkards,” Cat said, unfairly. “Let’s discuss your future.”
“Let’s not.”
“We might begin with the fact that you were never in love with Adrian.” Cat began walking around the bedchamber, waving her hands as she waxed eloquent about her late brother-in-law’s flaws.
She was preaching to the choir, so Lizzie stopped listening and just watched Cat pacing back and forth. How could it be that her older sister was positively frothing with life and energy and passion, while Lizzie felt like a tired, pale shadow?
Her hand crept toward her book. It wasn’t the most interesting novel in the world, but it had the inexpressible charm of being new.
Over the last eighteen months, Lizzie had read every novel she owned three times over. She would be quickly bankrupted if she bought more than two books a week, so one of the best things about visiting Telford Manor was access to her sister’s library.
Cat appeared to be hopeless at arranging a refurbishment of the manor—which desperately needed it—but she was very good at ordering novels. And clothing. If Lizzie looked like a black crow, Cat was a chic French peacock.
Lizzie raised her knees, surreptitiously propped her book against them, and slipped back in the story of Eveline, a sixteen-year-old girl being forced to marry an old man. She herself had been twenty when she walked down the aisle.
On the shelf.
Beggars can’t be choosers, her father had told her.
Her book suddenly vanished. “No reading!”
Cat was holding the novel above her head, for all the world as if they were children again. Lizzie used to hope that someday she’d grow up to be as commanding as her sister, but she had given up that idea long ago.
It wasn’t just a question of height. Her sister was the type of person who gathered everyone in a room around her, and Lizzie was the type of person whom they walked over on their way to be with Cat.
That sounded resentful, but Lizzie didn’t actually feel bitter. She would hate to be the center of attention. She wound her arms around her knees and propped her chin on them. “Cat, may I have my book back, please? It was a hard journey, and I’m tired.”
“What do you mean, a hard journey? It can’t have been more than a day and a half!”
“My coach is over twenty years old and the springs are worn out. It bounced so hard on the post road that I couldn’t keep my eyes on the page, and my tailbone still hurts.”
“If your jointure won’t extend to a new vehicle, Joshua or Papa would be happy to buy you a coach.”
Lizzie turned her head, putting her right cheek on her knees, and closed her eyes. “No.”
She heard her sister drop into the chair by the side of the bed. Then she heard a sigh. “Papa is getting old, Lizzie. He made a terrible mistake, and he knows it. He misses you. If you would just pay him a visit . . .”
Why would she visit the father who had turned her away when she ran to him in desperation? The father who had known precisely what a disaster her marriage would be, but didn’t bother to warn her?
An hour or so after their wedding ceremony, Adrian had brought Lizzie, still wrapped in her bridal veil, to his mother’s faded, musty house, and informed her that he had no intention of living with her.
Not only that, but he was late to meet his lover for tea.
It had happened almost six years ago, but she could still remember her stupefaction. She’d been such a silly goose.
“But where do you live?” she had stammered.
“I bought Sadie a house, and we live there,” Adrian had said casually. When she frowned in confusion, he had added impatiently, “Sadie. Didn’t your father tell you her name?”
“Sadie? ”
For the first time—and in her experience, the last time—her husband had been a little defensive, even a trifle ashamed. “I never lied. He knows perfectly well that we will lead separate lives.”
“Perhaps you should explain to me,” Lizzie had said, “because my father unaccountably forgot to mention it. As did you, I might add.”
Adrian had unemotionally laid out the terms of her marriage. It seemed her father had paid a great deal of money to buy his daughter the title of Lady Troutt. For his part, Adrian had wed her for her dowry, and because he needed someone to care for his mother.
“The estate is entailed,” he had told her, glancing around the musty sitting room. “It goes to some distant cousin, along with the title, of course. I told your father that I wouldn’t be averse to trying for a child, once we’ve had time to get used to each other.”
Lizzie had just gaped at him.
“But we can’t bother with that now,” Adrian had told her briskly. “Sadie is upset about this mess, naturally enough. I promised her I’d be home by four. My mother takes her luncheon on a tray. There are a couple of maids, but it would be good if you could bring it in yourself. She complains of being lonely.”
After that, he left.
A few minutes later, Lizzie left as well. She went home.
Only to be sent back to her husband’s house.
There was no point in revisiting her father’s line of reasoning. Suffice it to say that no woman—even one who had abundant sensuality and beauty, which Lizzie did not— was capable of seducing a man who didn’t return to the house for a fortnight.
A man who doesn’t bother to consummate his marriage until he’s suffered a heart seizure and has, as the vulgar might put it, been given notice to quit.
A man who despises his lower-class wife, and never bothers to hide it.

About the Author:

New York Times bestselling author Eloisa James writes historical romances for HarperCollins Publishers. Her novels have been published to great acclaim. A reviewer from USA Today wrote of Eloisa's very first book that she "found herself devouring the book like a dieter with a Hershey bar"; later People Magazine raved that "romance writing does not get much better than this." Her novels have repeatedly received starred reviews from Publishers' Weekly and Library Journal and regularly appear on the best-seller lists. After being a finalist for a RITA—the top award in the genre of romance fiction awarded by the Romance Writers of America—over ten times, she won in 2013.

After graduating from Harvard University, Eloisa got an M.Phil. from Oxford University, a Ph.D. from Yale and eventually became a Shakespeare professor, publishing an academic book with Oxford University Press. Her "double life" is a source of fascination to the media and her readers. In her professorial guise, she's written a New York Times op-ed defending romance, as well as articles published everywhere from women's magazines such as More to writers' journals such as the Romance Writers' Report.

Wednesday, June 22, 2016

Unwrapping a Cover Reveal for SAM, book seven in The Men of Clifton, Montana series by Susan Fisher-Davis

A Men of Clifton, Montana novel #7
by Susan Fisher-Davis

An honest man wants an honest woman to love. But when a lie comes between them, can their love be saved?

Everyone tells Sheriff Sam Garrett to find a good woman and settle down. When he sets his sights on Clifton’s veterinarian, he fears she despises him yet he’s desired her from the first moment they met. She is quite possibly the only woman in town who isn’t attracted to him which might be why he wants her even more.
Tessa McGuire has a secret and she fears anyone learning it, especially Sam who she can’t seem to resist even though she knows she should. After arresting her for outstanding warrants, desire fuels their mutual needs to the point where neither can resist its pull. Once they start seeing each other, she’s happier than she’s ever been but knows she should tell him the truth.
Tessa wants Sam to be happy, but wanting him for her own is dangerous because her secret could change everything… When her secret comes out, Tessa’s life and hopes fall apart, possibly putting everyone around her in danger. What once was a hopeful relationship with Sam comes to a heartbreaking end. Now can she win him back and save what they had?

About the Author:
Susan Fisher-Davis writes steamy, hot, sexy books that women love to read. Her stories always have a happily ever after and isn’t that what romance is about? After starting out with Secret Cravings Publishing, she decided to go indie when SCP closed their doors in August 2015. Now she writes and publishes with Blue Whiskey Publishing.
She currently has two series out, The Men of Clifton, Montana and The Bad Boys of Dry River. Cowboys and bad boys...what more could any woman want? Her newest series, The Callahans, a series about four cousins, begins with A COWBOY FOR CHRISTMAS, a novella, which is now available but the following books in the series will be full-length.
Susan was born and raised in a small town in the western part of Maryland surrounded by the Appalachian Mountains. She moved to Tennessee in 1996 with her husband and two children where she enjoys walks in the woods, fishing, and dreaming about hot men to share with us.

***yours truly created this cover and I'm quite proud of it. xox

Monday, June 20, 2016

Unwrapping a Review/Promo for JUST PEACHY, a Twilight Teahouse Novella by T. J. Michaels

A Twilight Teahouse Novella
by T. J. Michaels

available now at

Meet Desreé Shaw—self-made woman, bona-fide shoe whore, lover of cowboys, kink and karma. Come to Mile High Ranch and Orchards for a visit. She’ll supply the rope.

* * * * *

When Desreé Shaw, a self-made woman, learns she is the new CEO of Shaw Mile High Ranch and Orchards, she heads off to Colorado to take over the family business.

However, upon arrival to her new home, the heiress discovers that there were a few things left out at the reading of her grandparent's will. Not only is the news unexpected...but so is the man who delivers it.

Warning: This title includes sky-clad moonlight run-ins, shoe whore shenanigans and Colorado kinksters.

~*~              ~*~              ~*~               ~*~

My Review:

Reading JUST PEACHY by T. J. Michaels is like enjoying a quickie, or snacking on a delicious, sweet peach or perhaps even better, indulging in a bit peach schnapps. You get a fast read that will capture your attention immediately with just hint of sexy naughtiness and then later, grab hold of you for a very sexy, very hot ride with Desreé and Scot. The characters are wonderful, I totally connected with all of them immediately, and the story is quite complete considering the brevity as it’s just a novella. However, it was enough to tell me that I want very much to delve into the Twilight Teahouse series and learn more about the characters and their world of kink clubs. There’s nothing better than some saucy characters and BDSM styling to capture my attention, and entice me to read a series.

I wish I could tell you more about this story so that I might demonstrate to you how wonderfully T. J. Michaels packed a whole lot of punch into such a small space but if I did that, I might ruin things. All I can say is READ IT!

Happy Reading Everyone!

***I purchased my own copy at the suggestion of the author’s publicist and before you balk at the idea of spending a whole $2 for a novella, trust me—you get your money’s worth. Don’t be spoiled and think only good romance comes in length and for 99¢…good romance is worth any price. I’m sharing my honest and unscripted review, and you know I don’t pull any punches.

About the Author:

USA Today and New York Times bestseller, T.J. Michaels, is also an award-winning author of several romance genres, including paranormal, fantasy, sci-fi and urban fantasy romance.
No matter the genre TJ is penning, her favorite thing to do is build worlds. To take you somewhere extraordinary. To transport you to a place where you can close your eyes and slip into your fantasy...

Friday, June 17, 2016

Q & A Promo for THE WOMAN IN THE PHOTO by Mary Hogan

by Mary Hogan

Available now from William Morrow at

From the author of the critically-acclaimed Two Sisters comes THE WOMAN IN THE PHOTO, a compulsively-readable historical novel of two young women--one America’s Gilded Age, one in scrappy modern-day California--whose lives are linked by a single tragic afternoon in history.

1888: Elizabeth Haberlin, of the Pittsburgh Haberlins, spends every summer with her family on a beautiful lake in an exclusive club. Nestled in the Allegheny Mountains above the working class community of Johnstown, Pennsylvania, the private retreat is patronized by society’s elite. Elizabeth summers with Carnegies, Mellons, and Fricks, following the rigid etiquette of her class. But Elizabeth is blessed (cursed) with a mind of her own. Case in point: her friendship with Eugene Eggar, a Johnstown steel mill worker. And when Elizabeth discovers that the club’s poorly maintained dam is about to burst and send 20 million tons of water careening down the mountain, she risks all to warn Eugene and the townspeople in the lake’s deadly shadow.

Present day: On her eighteenth birthday, genetic information from Lee Parker’s closed adoption is unlocked. She also sees an old photograph of a genetic relative-a 19th Century woman with hair and eyes likes hers-standing in a pile of rubble from an ecological disaster next to none other than Clara Barton, the founder of the American Red Cross. Determined to identify the woman in the photo and unearth the mystery of that captured moment, Lee digs into history. Her journey takes her from California to Johnstown, Pennsylvania, from her present financial woes to her past of privilege, from the daily grind to an epic disaster. Once Lee’s heroic DNA is revealed, will she decide to forge a new fate?

Q & A with Mary Hogan, author of

What’s the story behind THE WOMAN IN THE PHOTO?  How did the book come to be?
I first had the idea for this book 24 years ago! I’m not kidding. In 1992, my husband, actor Robert Hogan, was in an off-Broadway play called On the Bum, also starring Cynthia Nixon and Campbell Scott. The play was set in Johnstown, Pennsylvania, several years after the epic flood. The characters talked about a “lake in the sky” which piqued my curiosity. A few days later, I went to the library to read about such strange geography. That’s when I read the real story of the Johnstown disaster. Wow. I was blown away. What a great story! I held my breath for 24 years worrying that someone would write my book before I got a chance to. There are other books out there about the flood, but nothing like mine.

How did you conduct your research for the book?  Are any of the characters in the book inspired by real-life people?
While on book tour in Pittsburgh for my first young adult novel, THE SERIOUS KISS, I had a free afternoon. So, I rented a car and drove two hours to Johnstown to see it for myself. I could have stayed there for two weeks. There was so much of interest for this Californian girl. Over the years, I would visit twice more. Generously, the President of the Johnstown Heritage Association gave me a day-long tour of everything I needed to tell a compelling tale, including access to the inside of the private Clubhouse which is still standing! Aside from the very real members of the exclusive club: steel titans Andrew Carnegie and Henry Clay Frick, bankers like Andrew Mellon, U.S. Senator and Attorney General Philander Knox, all the characters are fiction.

How was the writing experience for THE WOMAN IN THE PHOTO different from your experience writing your previous novel, TWO SISTERS?
TWO SISTERS was a process of opening up my heart and spilling its contents onto the page. Inspired by the early death of my older sister, I told a tale of family secrets that I knew all too well.  Writing THE WOMAN IN THE PHOTO was a completely different experience. First, I read a gazillion historical novels. Then, I read every book I could find about Johnstown. I even read a novel called, ANNIE KILBURN that was written in 1889 to get a feel for the language of the day. Research, research, research. I was told that women who read historical fiction are fiends about accurate detail. So, my biggest fear about creating a main character who was an upper class woman of the nineteenth century was getting her many corsets right.

Both THE WOMAN IN THE PHOTO and TWO SISTERS center around female relationships.  Why do you think readers are so fascinated by the bonds between female family members?
Ah, yes. Those bonds are complicated, indeed. I have yet to meet a woman who didn’t have a knotty relationship with her sister or her mother. Even when they are smooth, they are bumpy. In my case, my mother and I were very much alike, and my sister and I were very different. So there were a lot of crossed wires. We hurt each other even when we didn’t know it. My dad and my brothers sort of kept their heads down and watched sports. :-)
For me, the best characters are flawed, striving, loving, selfish, feeling, reacting, deep, curious, furious, and worried—mostly—about their hair. In other words: women. 

Is there a particular message you hope readers will take away from THE WOMAN IN THE PHOTO?
One of the themes of this novel is: Is DNA your destiny? Are you born to be who you are? Or, can life itself mold you? I would love for readers to finish THE WOMAN IN THE PHOTO with the sense that we are all on this earth to be kind to one another. To live together. Even on bad hair days.

***My thanks to the folks at William Morrow for permitting me to share this interesting Q & A with the author with my readers, and to Ms. Hogan for allowing us a peek into the inspiration behind the story and the mind of the author - thank you, Mary. 

Nappa Award-winning author of seven Young Adult novels, Mary Hogan’s first adult novel, TWO SISTERS, tells the gripping, emotional story of a family, sisters and secrets. Mary lives in New York City with her husband Bob and their dog, Lucy.


“Mary Hogan expertly uses the tragic story of the Johnstown Food as background for a fascinating tale of two women, generations apart, who defy expectations to find their own paths to happiness and purpose. Awash in historical detail, this book is a real page-turner.”
Melanie Benjamin, New York Times Best Selling author of THE SWANS OF FIFTH AVENUE and THE AVIATOR’S WIFE

“A fascinating snapshot of two women separated by time—each compelling in her own right - who together make for a novel so appealing you can’t stop reading. Well-researched history and modern intrigue, original and heartfelt....a thoroughly captivating novel”
—New York Times Bestselling author, MJ Rose

“Mary Hogan tells a wonderful story of two young women coming into their own…A beautiful work of historical fiction that pulls you into a distant time and place and makes it feel like home. Hogan does a brilliant job at weaving their two stories together to make one fabulous novel about growing up and discovering who you are in more ways than one.”
—NY Daily News

“…An excellent piece of historical fiction…” —Library Journal

“A great historical selection…with relatable and charming characters and an interesting historical event” —Booklist

***Having been to Johnstown, Pennsylvania and seen the monuments and tributes to those who lost their lives that fateful time in history, and for someone like me who has seen her face reflected back in old pictures of relatives generations long gone, this sounds like an exciting and intriguing read. I hope to fit it into my reading schedule soon and bring you my thoughts. - Amy

Happy Reading Everyone!

Wednesday, June 15, 2016

Unwrapping a Review of TORN, a LOST novel by Cynthia Eden

I love a good suspense thriller. When it's also a romance, I get an extra bonus so I got it all in TORN, book four of the LOST series by Cynthia Eden. She never disappoints and this time, she had me on the edge all the way to the reveal of the bad guy…she got me!

***purchased for my own personal reading but sharing my honest and unscripted review

Blurb for TORN:

In New York Times, bestselling author Cynthia Eden’s latest novel featuring the Last Option Search Team (LOST), one agent’s investigation entices a killer into making her his prey.


Forensic anthropologist Victoria Palmer has always been better with the dead than the living. Shutting down her emotions, she lets few people in. But then Victoria’s latest investigation takes her and agent Wade Monroe to Savannah, Georgia. Handsome, dangerous, and more than ready to play dirty on any case, Wade weakens Victoria’s aloofness with just one glance.


Wade knows their recent cases have pushed Victoria beyond her limits. But her skills are crucial to finding a college student who went missing five years ago. Victoria is able to determine she was murdered, and that the killer is still on the loose.

And when the vicious murderer targets Victoria, Wade must do everything in his power to protect her…because he refuses to let a woman he loves be torn from him…again.

~*~               ~*~               ~*~               ~*~

Victoria Palmer, forensic expert for the Last Option Search Team (LOST), has been the victim of both her father and a suspect, and carries a deep, dark secret. She keeps her secret and stays to herself. So when she and Wade Monroe are assigned to a missing person case in Savannah, she fights her attraction to this man who wants to know her better. The sex with him is great but the closer he gets, the more she worries he’s in danger—from her.

Wade Monroe has been attracted to Victoria for quite some time but when he saw her closed up in a body bag and covered in blood, he feared losing her forever so he’s determined to make her his. He knows she’s attracted to him but something—something dark and fearful—is keeping her from opening up to him and giving in to her heart.

Their mission is to follow-up on a woman who disappeared five years ago. Her boyfriend has never given up hope that Kennedy is still alive somewhere but if she isn’t, he needs to know so he can move on with his life. When Victoria and Wade start looking into things once more, it stirs things up just as another girl goes missing. Are the two connected and when Kennedy’s decomposed body turns up right where she disappeared, is this a message to Victoria and Wade? When the killer starts communicating with Victoria and her alone, he tells her he knows her secret but if she trades herself for the missing girl, they can play together. Wade is not going to let anything happen to Victoria, now or ever.

TORN by Cynthia Eden is edge of your seat, nail biting intense suspense that will have you turning the pages eager to find out what happens next and who the bad guy is—and Cynthia doesn’t disappoint. As usual, her LOST characters are intriguing, carrying deep dark secrets, and sexy as hell—Wade and Victoria steam up the pages. The men are protective and in charge, but the women aren’t shrinking violets, not by a long shot. Action packed, the mystery abounds, and Victoria adds a level of angst and introversion that makes you want to reach into the book and hug her. She carries such guilt, remorse, anger, and a need for someone to love her that she is as much a victim as the missing women. Wade is the man to do the job though and do it well. Both broken and guilt ridden, they come together to help each other and that makes this story so much more satisfying even beyond the engrossing mystery.

I highly recommend TORN, book four in the LOST series by Cynthia Eden to absolutely everyone who enjoys a good thriller. As with all of the books in this series, I do recommend starting from the beginning and reading them in order but each can easily be read as a standalone. But please…just read them. This is one of the best series out there and I hope it continues for a long time. TORN rocks! If I were giving stars, I'd give it double.

TORN, a LOST novel by Cynthia Eden, Avon Romance, available in print or ebook formats at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Kobobooks.

Wednesday, June 8, 2016

99¢ Sale Blitz! for LET ME, an O'Brien Family novel by Cecy Robson with #teasers & #excerpt

The O’Brien Family Book Two
by Cecy Robson

available now for only 99¢ at
Amazon | B & N | iTunes | Kobo

Limited Time Only

Once, he was broken beyond repair. Now this MMA contender is fighting to be a better man—for her. RT Book Reviews proclaims that the O’Brien Family series from award-winning author Cecy Robson “has the hottest brothers ever!” And in LET ME, it is Finn’s turn to discover how love can heal the deepest wounds.

A mixed martial arts star on the rise, Finn O’Brien dismantles his opponents with brutal precision. And yet beneath his fierce persona, Finn is raw from a trauma he’s buried for years . . . until the day his deep-rooted rage erupts and lands him in court-mandated therapy. Finn’s not one to bare his soul, but if talking it out means meeting beautiful women like Sol Marieles, he’ll give it a shot.

Sol is working toward her master’s degree in psychology, and already she feels like she’s in over her head. With an important internship on the line and a scary family situation demanding her attention, the last thing Sol needs is Finn around to distract her. The man is ripped and seriously sexy yet it’s his troubled side that warns her to keep her distance. But their attraction is intense, and he clearly has the heat to see how far and fast their passion takes them.

Alone, Finn and Sol have been fighting to find happiness in their lives. Together, there’s no stopping them as they face their greatest challenges—not in the ring, but in their hearts. 


The heavy door to the lobby opens with a loud smack, drawing attention to those waiting to be seen. The counseling center is private and held in high regard. The majority of our clients come from money, but a few of our therapists work pro bono, counseling those from working class backgrounds similar to mine. Some are like Loretta, suffering from eating disorders and mild anxiety issues. But the majority are severely damaged individuals with suicidal tendencies. I catch sight of one of our more heartbreaking cases sitting in the corner beside his father. Poor kid, he can’t be more than fifteen. And there he waits with his wrists bandaged down to his elbows.
I want to walk over and give him and his dad a hug. Both look like they could use one. Those people on the street who offer free hugs to strangers? I’m one of them. I always have been.
Today though, I refrain, staying focused on Loretta. “Good job,” I tell her, knowing how hard she’s trying. “I’ll see you next week.”
I turn my head. I know that voice. Loretta doesn’t bother with a goodbye, leaving me instead with a “Mm, yummy” when she sees who called to me.
“Yummy”. Yes, that about sums up Finn.
Finn O’Brien, damn. You know those cute guys . . . those really hot kind of cute guys? Finn blows them away. I’m not typically attracted to redheads, but I make the exception for Finn. Oh, and Jamie from Outlander.
Finn has the whole bad boy thing going on, tats crawling along his muscular arms, hair buzzed on the sides and short on top. A modern Mohawk, it think that’s what it’s called. Oh, and don’t get me started on that dimple on his right cheek that appears when he grins, just like he’s doing now.
“Hi, Finn,” I say. His brother is with him, the one that looks the most like him. He’s older by a few years, handsome, polished, perfect. Well, if you like that sort of thing. Me? Did I mention how sexy Finn is?
His light blue eyes sparkle as I pass Zorina, the poor girl trapped in her own world following a brutal assault on the train. She pretends to play instruments that aren’t there, reality slipping so far from her grasp, it’s almost out of her reach.
I tilt my head in the direction of Finn’s brother because by now it’s obvious I’m gawking at Finn. “You’re Seamus, right?” I ask.
“No, I’m Declan,” he answers in a deep voice.
Oh, right. The district attorney. “Sorry. I know that Finn has a few brothers,” I offer. I should be impressed seeing how Declan has made quite a name for himself in the political arena, and I am. But Finn is who lures my attention and keeps it, despite my best efforts to appear more relaxed. “What are you doing here?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Waiting for you.”
Declan sighs, moving away from us and reaching for his phone. I grin even though I’m sure Finn is feeding me a line. The last time I saw him was at my cousin Sofia’s wedding. I’d brought my friend Alex as my date and Finn, well, he showed up with some girl with big breasts and very little clothes. And funny enough, I still had a hard time keeping my eyes off him.
“Really?” I ask.
“Yeah. Really,” he answers, leaning back on his heels and making a show of checking me out. “Don’t forget, you still owe me a kiss.”



Cecy Robson is a new adult and contemporary author of the Shattered Past series, the O’Brien Family novels and upcoming Carolina Beach novels, as well as the award-winning author of the Weird Girls urban fantasy romance series. A 2016 double nominated RITA®finalist for Once Pure and Once Kissed, Cecy is a recovering Jersey girl living in the South who enjoys carbs way too much, and exercise way too little. Gifted and cursed with an overactive imagination, you can typically find her on her laptop silencing the yappy characters in her head by telling their stories.


Monday, June 6, 2016

Review Stop on the Tasty Virtual Book Tour for 30 NIGHTS by Christine d'Abo with #excerpt + #giveaway

The 30 series #2
by Christine d’Abo

now available at

Baring your body is simple—but baring your soul might just change everything…

The last thing Glenna O'Donald expected to stumble upon in a cemetery was a pack of index cards. And not just any cards--each one contains instructions for a seriously kinky, no-holds-barred sexual encounter. Glenna, an over-analytical research assistant by day, is suddenly tempted to conduct some nocturnal experiments of her own. Especially when gorgeous university professor Eric Morris offers to be her lab partner.

Soon Glenna begins meeting with Eric once a week to try out the suggestions that intrigue her most. In between those daring nights of sensual exploration are work days filled with laughter and flirting…until Glenna fears she's getting in too deep. For all the pleasure she's giving and receiving, Glenna wants more than skin-on-skin interaction--and Eric realizes he's about to lose the intimate connection he didn't know he needed. Can they find the courage to take this game to the next level?

As hot as it is heartwarming, Christine d'Abo's fresh, witty novel proves that practice makes perfect, and that some games are worth playing…


Having found a set of sex cards, Glenna O’Donald is tempted but too hesitant to suggest them to her fantasy dream man, Professor Eric Morris. Even though he’s the man, she can’t go a day without seeing so she takes the long way through the building so she can pass his office, and she uses his handsome face as fantasy fuel to masturbate by, she still can’t bring herself to say two words to him…after all…he probably doesn’t even know who she is. Or so she thought. When he stops by her office one day and mentions overhearing her discussion with her friend, Jasmine about him and the cards, he shows he is curious about them, and her. He does know who she is, he does know her name, and he’s interested in playing out the suggestions on the cards. Can her life get any better? No, she thought…but then they started their little experiment and her fantasies came to life…until real life began to interfere.

I liked Glenna, Eric, and Jasmine immediately. I loved the setting because it brought back fond memories of my college days and hanging around members of academia that provided wonderful and intelligent conversations. I never had a professor who was as sexy as Eric was, but then I couldn’t have it all. Darn it!

The story started out a little slow and I wondered if I was going to like it since I didn’t know what to expect and was beginning to wonder if it was much tamer than I had hoped but then Eric and Jasmine went to dinner, and the experiment began. I understood the protocol that the two had set up but wanted more for both of them and was glad when things started coming together.

30 NIGHTS by Christine d’Abo is a fun, delightful, steamy as all get out, sexually inspiring story about a woman who needs a little fun in her life, and a man who needs to know that he can still be the kind of man a woman would want in her life. I highly recommend 30 NIGHTS to everyone who loves a girl gets guy when she least expected to romance. I know what it’s like to work too much and play too little so I connected with Glenna immediately and Eric can be my knight in shining armor any time he wants. He’s romantic and sexy, eager to please, and adventurous…just my kind of man. I have to admit, it would be fun to come across my own set of 30 sex cards…even if I found them in a cemetery. You have to read 30 DAYS by Christine d’Abo to understand the origins of the cards. It’s a truly sweet story too.

Happy Reading Everyone!

***galley provided by publisher via NetGalley in exchange for an honest and unscripted review


      “I’m telling you, the staff barbecue is the perfect place for you to talk to him.” She opened her lunch and the smell of kimchi rice filled the room.
    The him she was referring to was Professor Eric Morris. The tall, dark-haired, super-fit sociology professor had a voice that could melt hearts and drop panties with a simple hello. Professor Eric Morris, who had more female students in his class than anyone else on campus. A man who rarely smiled, but when he looked at you there was no doubt he not only saw you, but every thought and feeling that flitted through your head. He starred in far too many of my nightly fantasies for me to admit without sounding like a crazy, obsessed stalker.
    The man, who in the year and a bit that he’d been teaching at the college, I’d barely managed to say two words to, because I was, as Jasmine put it, a coward.
    “I love you like a sister, Jaz. But there is no way I’m going to say anything to him. Ever.”
    It was the Friday before the Labor Day weekend, the last workday before the start of the school year. Most of the professors from the college were gone, taking their last bit of vacation to play golf, read, or do whatever their passions happened to be. I loved working this time of year. The school was quiet. It always felt as though someone had taken a deep breath and were waiting to exhale. A collective pause before the chaos to come.
    This year was going to be especially awesome. Professor Mickelson, my boss, had already been away for three months on his semester-long sabbatical. I still had four more months of only communicating with him via e-mail. Heaven!
    “Are you insane?” Jasmine threw her napkin at me. “This is the perfect time for you to do it. He’ll be there. You’ll be there. Your crazy boss won’t be there. You might even be able to relax and have fun for once.”
    She was my best friend in the whole wide world, but there were times when Jasmine scared the shit out of me. I looked down at my hands and picked at the dry skin around my nail. “I just can’t.”
    “What’s the worst that can happen? He’ll say no. At the very least you’ll have an answer and you can move on to someone else.”
    A grad student chose that moment to come into the kitchen. He didn’t even look at us as he made his way to the coffee machine. I leaned forward to close the distance between me and Jasmine. “I’m quite happy with my fantasies, thank you.”
    “I bet you are. I bet you dream about climbing up his body and licking every inch of his skin.”
    The grad student looked at us wide-eyed before he spun away quickly. I got the impression he was still listening, no doubt wanting to get some dirt that could be passed around the student lounge. Great, like I needed that kind of attention.
    I nodded my head in the direction of our friend. “Can you keep your voice down a bit?”
    “Not if you’re not going to listen to my advice.” She leaned back and crossed her arms, her eyes locked onto mine. “You need to make a move before someone else snatches him up.”
    Now the grad student wasn’t even pretending that he wasn’t paying attention. Jasmine must have picked up on it too, because in the next instant she turned around and glared at him. “Don’t you have someplace to be, Stuart? Like running your tutorial?”
    “Ah, yeah. Yes.” For a moment, I thought his eyes were going to bug out of his head.
    “Then move your ass.” Jasmine pointed at the door and narrowed her gaze.
    I’d never seen a person move that quickly before in my life.
    When she turned her glare back on me, I knew I wasn’t going to be spared anything. “Glenna, I know you don’t believe me, but this is the truth. You are not meant to be alone. You and Eric would be cute together. He’s serious, you’re serious. Just think about what sex would be like with him. Jesus, if I weren’t gay even I’d be tempted to take him for a ride my-self.”
    And there was a mental picture I so didn’t want—my best friend and my crush fucking.
    “I hate you.” I pulled my tuna sandwich out of my container and took a giant bite. “He doesn’t even know I’m alive. Saying hello to him at the barbecue isn’t going to do anything to help get him into my bed.”
    “Well, you can’t expect him to fuck you if you can’t at least have a simple conversation.” She took a big bite of her kimchi and waved her fork around. “Maybe you can get drunk and then grope his ass. Then you’d have to go apologize. There might be groveling. ‘Oh, please Eric, how can I ever make it up to you?’” She batted her eyelashes at me before laughing. “You should see your face.”
    “You’re an asshole. Why are we even friends?”
    “Because I showed you how to shotgun a beer our first week of college.”
    “Only after I saved your ass with that essay.”
    But as she knew, my brain does this thing that as soon as someone puts a thought out there I can’t help but picture how things will work out, all the way to their natural conclusion. In my head, I saw myself at the party. Eric would walk by on his way to the food table or something. I’d “accidentally” bump into him as he passed me and look into his eyes all surprised. Maybe I’d even spill a drink on myself. He’d think he’d done it and would help me clean myself.
    I’m sorry, Glenna. How can I make up for this?
    Oh nothing. It was an accident.
    I can’t stand by while I’ve done you wrong. At least let me give you a clean shirt.
    I’d blush, of course, because who wouldn’t. Thank you.
    Why don’t you take mine? His voice would be that low rumble that always seemed to turn me on. His eyes would be locked onto me, as he’d slowly unbutton his shirt.
    Wow, Eric. Your chest is so firm.
    Would you like to see the rest of me?
    And bam, crazy-monkey sex!
    If only.
    I cleared my throat and quickly took another bite of my sandwich. “I don’t think Eric likes anyone. Or has sex. Or anything. He’s always on his own.”
    “Baby, I’ve seen that man. He’s having sex. As much as he wants, with whomever he wants to do it with. I keep telling you all you need to do is go after him.”
    “He doesn’t know I’m alive,” I said again. And I was essentially a coworker. That went against so many things on my mental “don’t touch” list I couldn’t fathom it.
    “Whose fault is that? Not his. If you want someone then you need to do something about it. Life doesn’t reward the cautious.”
    “Sometimes it does.”
    “You don’t believe that.”
    I hated when she was right. “Maybe.”
    “You’re a research assistant who lives in the world of studies and observations. Talk to him—hell, I was serious about the groping. I’m sure you could chalk this up to some exception-ally hands-on research project.”
    “God, you’re a child sometimes. I don’t need a man to fulfill me when I have a perfectly good vibrator at home to help—”
    “Baby, all you do is masturbate.”
     “—live out my fantasies. I’d be scared that the reality would never live up to the imaginary Eric that I’ve created in my head.”
    It was in that moment that my skin began to tingle. We were still alone in the kitchen, but I could have sworn someone was there. It was probably Stuart standing outside in the hall trying to get some more dirt. Well, he was out of luck because I was done being browbeaten by Jasmine.
    “I need to get back soon. Professor Mickelson left me a pile of books to pull and outline for him. He’ll be chasing me through e-mails if I’m not done soon.”
    Thankfully, she sighed, signaling the end of her teasing. “When does the old goat get back?”
    “He’s off all term, but he’s threatened to come back around the end of October for a check-in. Then I’m sure he’ll have me buried in another bunch of new projects before the next term starts.”
    “I’d better head out too. I have a one-thirty meeting. Apparently, the CS profs want to do a study on online learning again. I have to pull some old case studies so they don’t rehash an old thesis.”
    The echo of our chairs scraping as we stood filled the room. One second I was picking up my garbage and taking it to the garbage can, and in the next, I was face-to-face with the object of my lust.
    Professor Eric Morris stood in the doorway, coffee mug in hand. Well, stood isn’t quite the right description. It’s more like he loomed. He’s probably only a smidgen over six feet tall, but being only five foot four myself, it makes for a huge difference from my perspective. Mind you, being eye level with his chest was no hardship. His dress shirts fit him perfectly, but they couldn’t hide the muscles beneath. As usual, I was paying more attention to his pecs—Were they really as firm as they looked?— rather than his face. That was why I didn’t immediately notice him staring at me. Which he totally was.
    And there was my blush. “Umm, hi, Professor Morris.”
     Woot, go me! I finally spoke to him.
God, his voice! It was a lot lower than any other man’s voice that I knew and had a way of seeping into my body when he spoke. Could the sound of a voice be an aphrodisiac? If so, then I could listen to him read the phone book and probably have an orgasm.
    Jasmine cleared her throat and I realized that we’d been standing staring at each other for longer than was normal. I looked at the garbage in my hand and then at the garbage can directly behind him. “Umm, sorry. I just need to . . .”
    I’d half-expected him to move to the side so I could reach it. Instead, he stayed put, forcing me to step awkwardly around him. I clamped my mouth closed as I moved so he wouldn’t be subjected to the stench of my tuna breath. As I brushed past him, I got a nose full of his aftershave. It wasn’t a brand that I knew, but he smelled awesome and it always made me a bit giddy when he was nearby. I could always tell when he’d been in a room, my nose keenly aware of his lingering scent.
    It was only after I finally dropped my garbage into the bin that Eric moved over to the coffee machines. I wasn’t a close colleague to him and hadn’t worked on any of his projects since he’d come to the school, so I didn’t have much I could say to him. Not that he was particularly easy to speak to with his back to us. I scampered over to the table and grabbed my things. “I need to stop and get some paper for my printer.”
    “Cool.” Jasmine was clearly trying to fight off a laughing fit. “Want to grab a coffee before we go? You look like you could use one.”
    I’m going to kill her. “No, I’m good for now.”
    Just before we left the kitchen, Jasmine piped up. “Have a great day, Professor Morris.”
    “You as well, Ms. Houng, Glenna.”
    Yes, she was going to die in the most painful way possible.
    Somehow I managed to keep my mouth shut until we were out of earshot. “I hate you.”
    “Are you kidding me? For a second I thought he was going to throw you over the table and fuck you in front of me.”
    “You’re high. He doesn’t know me.”
    “Don’t be so dramatic. He knew your name, which means he knows who you are. And you couldn’t see his face the way I did. Not only does that boy know you’re alive, but he’s interested.”
    “Whatever.” She was just trying to get me going. He couldn’t be interested.
    As we were about to turn the corner, I looked back down the hall toward the kitchen. Eric was standing there, coffee cup in his hand, staring back at me.
    He wasn’t interested, was he?
    Until today I didn’t even think he remembered my name.
    We were almost back to the office when I heard my cell phone ringing. I missed it, but when I finally got to my desk and checked, I saw that there were four missed calls from my mom. “Shit.”
    “What’s wrong?” Jasmine turned her seat to face me.
    “Not sure yet. Sec. Hey, Mom. Sorry, I was at lunch.”
    “Glenna, hon.” It took no time to realize that she’d been crying.
    “What’s wrong? Is it Dad?”
    “No, your father’s fine. It’s Great Glenna.”
    I closed my eyes and felt the blood drain from my face. “Oh no.”
     “She’s in the hospital, but the doctors aren’t sure she’s going to make it through the night. Can you come?”
    “Where are you?”
    “They took her to St. Joseph’s.”
    “I’m on my way.”
    Jasmine was on her feet standing in front of me when I hung up. “Hon, what’s wrong?”
    “It’s my great-grandmother. She’s dying.”


Christine d’Abo is a romance novelist and short story writer, with over thirty publications to her name. She loves to exercise and stops writing just long enough to keep her body in motion too. When she’s not pretending to be a ninja in her basement, she’s most likely spending time with her husband, daughters, and her two dogs.


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