Monday, March 31, 2014

REVIEW: LEGAL AFFAIRS: AFFIRMATION

Things are off, and I can’t quite put my finger on it. Some things, however, are the same. For example, the sex with Matt is just as nuclear and consistent as it always has been.

Still… I feel like I’m holding onto Matt with my fingertips, like he’s on the verge of slipping away and I don’t know what to do.

When I started these Legal Affairs, I had no way of knowing the depth of feeling that would become involved. I had no way of knowing this man could shatter my existence.

I don’t want to be hurt, so I’m grasping hard and I can only hope that he wants me enough to hang on just as tight.

Published March 21st 2014
Source: eArc received from author in exchange for honest review
Purchase a copy: Goodreads | Amazon

Our Review---I'm sure if you've been reading this series you've picked up that the titles are a really great guide for what you're getting yourself in to ..and this one is no different. You have no idea how nervous I was to start this. The end. Number six. It would be resolved one way or the other, and I honestly didn't know which was it was going! 

This installment resumes with a more tense Mac and Matt. There's just something off about Matt and even though he denies it, Mac can still feel it. She tries like hell to figure it out, fix it, confront it...leave it be..and finally the shit hits the fan...and, well...it's not good. EFFING MATT. Poor Mac. She is in a very tough position. She works for him and longs for him and is incredibly hurt by him. 

OMG. Have I ever wanted to strangle then tie up and lick a main character. He is ridiculously frustrating. He is all alpha male that found his equal and partner, but has no idea what in the hell to do with this information. He's been burned. He likes his life....so where does that leave us....in utter hell and agony right up until the very end. Sawyer Bennett has finely crafted the technique of torturing the hell out of me, while making me like it...and I liked this story! 

This final book does give us the HEA we all crave but we have to work a little to get there. I really have enjoyed this series and could totally see a spin off with some of the other characters. Macy. Macy needs a story! But until that happens, we are getting an installment it seems from Matt's point of view. I would definitely like to know what that boy was thinking the whole time! 

Shelley: 4 Stars
Courtney: 5 Stars




USA Today Best-Selling author, Sawyer Bennett, is a snarky southern woman and reformed trial lawyer who decided to finally start putting on paper all of the stories that were floating in her head. She is married to a mobster (well, a market researcher) and they have two big, furry dogs who hog the bed. Sawyer would like to report she doesn’t have many weaknesses but can be bribed with a nominal amount of milk chocolate.


BOOK PROMO: LIV'S EXISTENCE BY B.L. MOONEY



First in a two part series.
Olivia
Ten years. Countless miles.
I thought I had run far enough away that he’d never find me. The man who destroyed my sense of safety and introduced me to the evils of the world came back looking for forgiveness. How can I forgive him when I haven’t forgiven myself? I look at his fiancĂ©e and wonder how she could love a man so cruel. However, the closer I look at her, the more I realize that maybe she doesn’t love him after all.
What has he done to her? I have to find out.
Abigail
Many tears. Countless men.
I thought I’d found the one man who wouldn't break my heart. Two weeks before our wedding day, he came clean with his dirty past and shattered our future. He’s asking me to still love him, but how can I love a man so cruel? I look at the woman he destroyed, and I feel compelled to do everything I can to help her. I know what it’s like to be broken by this man.
Can I help her to live life again instead of just existing? I have to find out.
Ages 18+ due to adult situations and violence. Some situations may be difficult for some readers.
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Excerpt
“Why did you call me that? Who told you that name?” I just looked at her in total disbelief that she could willingly be with someone like him—and she obviously was if she knew that name.
“He told me.” She seemed to hesitate before continuing. Maybe she was afraid I’d go running back into the stall. Shrugging one shoulder, she said, “He told me everything. That’s why we’re here . . . to confront the past.”
Anger, rage, and hatred all bubbled up to the surface. They were all strong emotions, and they were threatening to explode out of me. I wanted to hit her for acting so nonchalant about the whole thing, as if it were no big deal. Mostly, I wanted to hit her because she just confessed she knew everything and was still planning a wedding. Then again, were they really getting married or were they there just to terrorize me? If she wanted to be the bitch that married the devil, so be it. I sure as hell wasn’t planning the wedding for them.
“What about what I want?” I started yelling and walking toward her. “I don’t want to confront anything, just as I didn’t want that ten years ago! How dare you come in here and act all concerned about my well-being when you know what he’s done, what he’s taken. Does he want to clear his conscience before he gets married? Does he want to hear me say I forgive him? You can both burn in hell!”
To her credit, she never backed, away and every step I took toward her only seemed to cement her foundation of strength. I wished I could’ve found an ounce of that will and strength. As the tears started falling and the uncontrollable shaking started again, I was helped to the sofa before I crumbled to the floor. Accepting help from the woman that was going to marry the one person I despised most—and terrorized my peace of mind daily—was a very difficult thing to do, but the alternative of lying on the restroom floor wasn’t an option I wanted to seek.
There were many things I had to give her credit for at that moment, such as her willingness to pull back when I curled up on the sofa. I could tell she wanted to console me in some way. She held her hand out several times and hovered over my shoulder, but never touched me longer than getting me to sit down. She wasn’t yelling at me that it was my fault or denying anything I said. She allowed me to yell my accusations without throwing any back at me to disarm me.
The biggest credit I had to give her was the fact she knew when to walk away. “I’ll leave you for now, but you’ll have questions.” She held out her business card, but I couldn’t take it. After laying it on the sofa next to me, she started for the door. “My cell is on the back. Call day or night. I’ll answer everything you want to know. It’ll only be me you deal with from now on. No one else will contact you again.” She hesitated. “I’m sorry about doing this in public. I really thought he was right when he said you needed people around the first time you saw him. I’m not sorry we came, but I do wish we had taken it to a more private setting.”
Unsure of what that comment meant, I slowly sat up, leaving her card on the sofa where she had laid it. I felt drained, and having nothing else to say, I just stared at her with my arms crossed. The room felt tense and awkward, but we both held each other’s gaze. I didn’t see the evil in her eyes as I did when I looked at Adam. Her eyes held compassion and understanding. At that moment, I could tell she really wasn’t a bad person, and I couldn’t hate her—no matter how much I really wanted to.
Several times throughout our short interaction, I watched as she almost lost her composure. Each time I had hoped she would’ve lost it just a little bit more, but she was always able to regain it quickly. She was shaken to her core just as I was, but she didn’t have memories flooding her and terrorizing her as I did—that were ripping me apart. Not wanting to give her any satisfaction, I resolved to take her card only after she left. I knew I’d call her to get answers that I desperately wanted, but I wanted her to squirm a little, as I’d had to do that night.
 
MeetTheAuthor
B.L. Mooney started writing when the voices and storylines in her head ran out of room. They were getting too cramped and neither B.L. nor the characters could take it anymore, so she did the only thing she could do--she made room. She always knew she wanted to write, but vowed to make time for it later. Now that she's made time for writing, most everything else falls to the wayside. That seems to suit the characters that keep popping up just fine.
B.L. lives in the Midwest and her other talents include in-demand cookies, a very dry sense of humor, and stealth eavesdropping. Some mannerisms, attitudes, or twists come from random sentences picked up while passing by strangers. So speak up the next time you have something to gossip about. You never know, it may just end up on the pages of the next book you read.
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Sunday, March 30, 2014

REVIEW: LEGAL AFFAIRS: REPARATION BY SAWYER BENNETT

Matt Connover is like a new person. Caring, romantic and thoughtful. No worries though… he’s still sexy as hell.

He has changed in every way that I have ever dreamed of, and he did it because he wants me. It’s like a fairy tale of sorts.

Except… like with every fairy tale, there is a villain. One who threatens to disrupt the harmony we have created together.

Is what we have strong enough to survive? I truly believe that perhaps I can find love within these Legal Affairs. I’m just not sure Matt believes it.

Published March 7th 2014
Source: eArc received from author in exchange for review
Purchase this novella: Goodreads | Amazon

Our Review---
In this edition Matt and Mac give me so much hope. They seem happier and things so smoother than they've gone the entire series. Of course this makes me suspicious because the next edition is the end..so sure we must have some conflict, right? Right. Of course. Right. It is too good to be effing true for us to have such happy times so early. Shoot me. Please, just put me out of my misery! 

Mac gets first hand evidence of why Matt is so closed off when it comes to relationships..and let me just say..wow. No effing wonder. :( I was sad. I want to just blurt out what it is. But I can't. It is heart breaking...a new side to Matt is seen in this one for sure y'all. 

Lots of things are coming together in this installment. Now just to see what Sawyer does in the final novella!! The review to it is up tomorrrrrooooowwwww. The end may kill me. Oh wait, I'd already asked for that. I need to stay in misery until I finish this beast! 

Shelley: 4 Stars
Courtney: 4 Stars


USA Today Best-Selling author, Sawyer Bennett, is a snarky southern woman and reformed trial lawyer who decided to finally start putting on paper all of the stories that were floating in her head. She is married to a mobster (well, a market researcher) and they have two big, furry dogs who hog the bed. Sawyer would like to report she doesn’t have many weaknesses but can be bribed with a nominal amount of milk chocolate.


BOOK PROMO: INDULGING IRELYN BY D.L. RAVER


Synopsis

Warning: Don't read this book if you hate f**ked up alpha males, strong female leads, hot sex, and a kismet love story six years in the making. Oh yeah and a plot twist that will leave you reeling.

NFL quarterback, Zolt Hamil was America’s heartthrob until a career ending injury changed his life. Years later, he’s picked up the pieces and carved out a new path for himself. But the mental and physical scars of that day have left him moody and reclusive, and his only relief is indulging in pleasure and pain with his many one night stands. Though many women have tried, Zolt refuses to care about any of them. Only one woman has his heart; a hallucination of a young, sable-eyed, blonde beauty whom he conjured that painful day on the football field.

On the first day at his new job at a law firm in Scottsdale, Arizona, Zolt comes face to face with his hallucination, Irelyn Wilkes. Their fateful connection, and explosive passion for each other pulls them together, and this time, Zolt refuses to let her slip from his life.

But Irelyn has her own demons to fight and her controlling boyfriend is one of them. He doesn't take kindly to other people playing with his toys, and he’ll stop at nothing to keep her by his side.

Can Irelyn and Zolt defy the odds and find a way to be together? Or, will the events set in motion years ago keep them apart forever?


Chapter #1

I ran my hand along her naked arm as I moved toward the bindings that had her securely fastened to my wrought iron, four-poster bed. She’d been tethered there for over thirty minutes, and now that the sex was over, I imagined her arms and legs were probably beginning to ache as the adrenaline left her body.
Miss No-Name Brunette rubbed her arms and legs after I released her. I didn’t need or want to know her name. I’d never see her again so what was the point.
She watched me gather my clothes; her eyes roaming appreciatively over my body.
“So, John, when can I see you again? You’re amazing.” She licked her plump lips as her eyes traveled over my naked body, stopping when she noticed the nasty scars on my left shin. Small gray eyes darted to mine, and I saw the pity setting in. Pity was a deal breaker for me.
“We can’t,” I said and threw her clothes on the bed.
“Why?” Her bottom lip jutted out in disappointment. “Didn’t you enjoy yourself? You seemed to be having a great time.”
“It was fine, uh—”
“Nancy. My name is Nancy.”
I shrugged. “Right. Nancy. I don’t do repeat performances. Ever.”
“But—”
“Don’t take it personally. It’s just the way things are.”
Her eyes narrowed, and she scowled at me. Then, she climbed off the bed and pulled on her clothes. “I don’t understand. Are you married or something?”
“Nope. Not married or anything else that concerns you. I’m just not interested. Tonight was great. Really. I enjoyed the shit out of myself. Fucking you was exactly what I needed. Thanks.”
“How am I supposed to get home? I left my car at the club,” she whined.
“There’s a cab waiting to take you anywhere you want. I’ve already paid the fare.” I shrugged again. This was the bothersome part of operating this way. They always wanted to see me again, and my answer was always no.
“I should have known when you wouldn’t kiss me there was something wrong with you. I bet your name isn’t even John. Do you even live here?” Whatever-her-name yanked on her shoes, and then stood with her arms crossed over her chest.
“No, I don’t live here. And, darlin’, my name is whatever you want it to be.”
“Asshole.”
“Come on, now. We both had fun.” I flashed her my megawatt smile. “I’m pretty sure you came at least three times. It’s all good, and now, it’s all over.”
I walked to her side and gently took her arm, guiding her to the door.
“But I let you restrain me!” She stamped her foot as I opened the front door.
“You did and wasn’t it fun? Maybe you can find a man that will be as adventurous. Now, off you go, Sally. Bye, bye.”
“Nancy!” she shouted as I closed the door on her. I could still hear grumbling as she walked away.
 “Ugh.” Leaning against the door, I let out a long sigh. It would be a while before I could go back to that club. Too bad it ended the same every time. But I understood why. Women saw me as a catch. I knew I was attractive. It wasn’t conceit, either. It was a fact of life that all men of the Hamil family were hot.
My first year in the NFL, I was on the cover of Sports Illustrated as the Sexiest Man in Football. That cover, and the other endorsements I had, made me a nice amount of cash, so I was totally good with being an object of desire. Since they didn’t really know me, they didn’t know that I was nowhere as attractive on the inside.
I went back to the bedroom, washed and put the toys away, locking the drawer. Then, I stripped the bed, piling the sheets on the floor for the maid service to take care of.
I left, not knowing when I'd come back. Could be the following day. Could be two weeks from now. But tonight, I’d been out of fucking control—chomping at the bit to blow off some steam. In fact, I still hummed with energy.
Fuck!
My shadow-self pressed in on me for days. When I got like this, only one thing helped: acting out. So, I’d gone to the club in search of the first remotely available Nancy, Sally, or whoever, that didn’t revolt me. Nancy had been an easy mark. I hadn’t been there ten minutes before I’d bought her a drink, and we were out the door, heading to the apartment I kept specifically for this purpose. I was always happy when I found a woman willing to dabble in a little bondage. I wasn’t heavily into the BDSM scene, but knew how to wield pain for the ultimate pleasure.
If I stopped and thought about it, I’d be forced to acknowledged just how screwed up my life had become. So I didn't. I didn't think about all the nameless women I had fucked in the last six years, and how I hadn't been in a relationship since the injury. These exchanges served a purpose. Beyond that? Well, there was nothing beyond that.
But that didn’t mean I had become so jaded I’d forgotten how to get a woman off. I enjoyed women. Loved the soft curves of their body, and loved making them come. There was nothing hotter than watching a woman writhe and squirm as I fucked her closer to orgasm. The sound of her screaming what she thought was my name was music to my ears, but that was as far as it went.
The reality was, I was a mess, and I didn't want that advertised.
Actually, I was far worse than just a mess; I was fucking broken.
Sometimes, I wondered if I was even capable of having a normal relationship. Truth was, I waited for someone that didn't exist. A woman my pain-wracked brain conjured that day on the football field. To make matters worse, she wasn’t even of age. She was a young woman, maybe fifteen or sixteen, with the most beautiful sable-brown eyes and blonde hair I’d ever seen. Her face was sweet, kind, and compassion filled. I realized how creepy this sounds. I wasn't a sick fuck who preyed on young girls, and I had no idea why my mind created her. But all I knew was, if I ever discovered she was real, I’d do anything to have her.
I rubbed my aching leg, and then climbed into my Viper. God, I loved this car. She was all power and beauty, and driving her made me happy. I revved the engine and closed my eyes, loving the purr, and sometimes roar of her V10.
Once on route 101, I opened her up, pushing her past the century mark on the speedometer. It was crazy to be weaving in and out of traffic on the main freeway. I was asking to be pulled over, but again, I didn't care. In fact, I pressed her harder and watched as the needle climbed to 110. The concentration it took to control this machine exhilarated me. Still wound up and looking to banish my shadow-self the only way I knew how, I pushed her just a little more. Why fucking for over an hour didn’t do the trick, I had no idea. But if I didn’t burn this energy off before I got home, sleep would be out of reach. It wouldn’t do to start a new job at one of the country’s most prestigious law firms red-eyed and tired. Once home, I intended to take a long, hot shower, and then smoke a few bowls. Hopefully, I’d emerge tired enough to sleep. For a while, maybe I’d find peace until the nightmare returned that plunged me into my own personal hell.
A hell that I was used to. A hell that only she brought me out of.
The morning announced itself in its usual fashion. I jolted awake screaming, and drenched in sweat—the images as clear as the day they happened.
“Fuck!” I yelled to the empty room.
Pushing myself back against the headboard, I rubbed my leg, trying to make the pain go away. The image of her lovely face and those amazing sable-brown eyes chased the nightmare away, but my body still buzzed with the memories.
I looked over at the bong and lighter on my bedside table and sighed. Just once, I wished I didn’t have to numb myself to start the day.
Before giving in, I ran my hand over my damp collar-length hair, removing the waves sticking to my moist neck. I used to keep it short for this very reason, but I liked the way it looked longer.
As I always did, I picked up the bong and lit the bowl with the lighter. The glow of the burning weed, and the sound of the bong gurgling as I took a hit immediately calmed me. I inhaled deep and held the smoke in my burning lungs.
My long exhale sent a plume of smoke into the dawn-lit room. It floated for a second before dissipating, leaving behind the tangy smell of burning weed.
With my eyes closed, I slowed my heart rate and rapid breathing. The high kicked in, and I already felt the calm take over. I hated being so weak, and hated that what happened almost six years ago continued to affect and define my days. I used to be the epitome of discipline. Not anymore.
If I could let go of the self-blame, then maybe the dreams would abate. But night after night, I replayed the game and its never changing end.
At twenty-two, I had been one of the hottest quarterbacks in the NFL, playing for the Arizona Cardinals. The year prior, we’d made it to the NFC Championships, losing by a field goal.
The next year, we were back in the same position, with the golden ticket to the Super Bowl within our reach. The only thing standing in our way was the Philadelphia Eagles. I snarled as I thought about that team. I always snarled at the thought of them.
Two minutes remained on the clock, and we were on the ten-yard line on third down. I dropped into the pocket, searching the field for an open receiver. I danced this way and that as if my movements might slow the clock. With no receiver available, I sucked in a breath and decided to go for it. What I should have done was thrown it out of bounds and stopped the clock. That would have been the smart move—the safe move. We had one more chance. I had to make it happen. The year had to end in a run for the Super Bowl.
Running like a man on fire with the ball cradled against me as if I carried a newborn baby, I headed for the end zone. But I wasn't a running back, that wasn't what I had been trained for. Stupidly, I ran with my head down instead of up. As a result, I didn’t see the three-hundred pound linebacker heading my way. I was the man with the ball, and I had left the protection of my offensive line, which made me fair game.
The next thing I knew, I was laid out on the ground in extreme pain. When I looked down at my left leg, I was surprised—and not—to see it angled in an unnatural position. I knew then that I was well and truly fucked.
I tried to scream, but my voice failed me. Pain and the smell of the turf below me was all there was.
The hit was dirty, straight up. Later, I found out a bounty of $5,000 had been issued for any player that took out one of my knees. I hoped he got a bonus because he’d gone above and beyond his mandate. Not only did I miss a season, my football career was over. Instead of taking out my knee, his helmet, and the power behind it, he hit my shin and shattered my tibia and fibula.
I remembered lying on the ground as the trainers and medical staff attended me. Chaos had broken out around me. Players fought, and coaches and referees argued.
I needed to find peace from the commotion; needed to concentrate on something other than the excruciating pain coming from my leg. I turned my head and found a pair of big, sable-brown eyes, surrounded by golden-blonde hair, staring at me. She was beyond beautiful, and her eyes were mesmerizing. I had conjured an angel.
In my hallucination, we shared an instant connection. When all around I saw pity and remorse, in her eyes, I found solace and compassion—a kindred soul to my loss. The need to help, and her inability not to, showed in the tears falling down her face, and the trembling of her full red lips. My heart still clenched whenever I thought about it.
As conjurings go, I had created a whopper. When I thought back on it, I knew there was no way she could be real. The average person wouldn’t have been allowed to get so close to an injured player on the field. Hell, my girlfriend, who’d been sitting in the stands, wasn’t allowed on the field. It still baffled the shit out of me that my mind had created such a vivid image.
I could still see her brushing tears from her eyes in my hallucination, and I remember her taking a small step forward. I wanted her to come closer, to touch me. That was where the hallucination ended, stopped by a new streak of pain that had traveled through my leg, sending me into momentary blackness. When I opened my eyes, my blonde-haired beauty with soul-filled eyes had disappeared. All I had left was the image of her that pulled me from my terror every morning. I figured she’d probably be around twenty or twenty-one by now if she were real. I’d admit, that even today, I looked for those eyes in every blonde I encountered.
Pathetic. Yeah. Too fucking pathetic.
I sighed and took two more hits off the bong. Maybe one too many, but at least now I felt more balanced, controlled, and ready to start the day.
What the world saw now was a man who graduated from Harvard Law School, summa cum laude, and worked for almost three years at a top law firm in Boston. Some of the country's top law firms had courted me, and I had my pick of firms. But I decided to come back to Arizona, the place where my life changed forever.
Gingerly, I climbed out of the bed and headed for the pool. I didn’t bother putting on swim trunks; swimming naked was awesome. After a few stretches, I dove into the pool and swam laps for an hour. Swimming kept me in shape, though not the shape of an NFL football player. Those days were gone.
Finishing my laps, I headed for the shower, feeling excited, like something huge would happen today. The last time I had this feeling, something huge happened all right. I looked at my leg and scowled as sudsy water washed over my angry scars.
I dried off and walked into my closet, surveying the suits I had to choose from. I was somewhat of a clotheshorse—always had been. Today, I picked a black Hugo Boss suit, white shirt, and black, silk tie. In the mirror before me, I watched a professional, seemingly together man tie his tie. It was a lie of course, but one I was used to.
Once dressed, I went to the kitchen and packed up a brownie in a plastic bag to take with me. I'd gotten good at baking brownies. But these weren't just any chocolaty treats. These had a kick. ClichĂ© I know, but hey, whatever got me through the day. Whether I’d partake in it depended on how the day went. Obviously, smoking at work wasn’t a good idea. But every now and then, the pain became unbearable. If a handful of ibuprofen didn’t do the trick, the brownie would. I refused to take pain meds. Those things did a number on my brain.
I put the brownies away, and all the paraphernalia of my coping mechanism, and locked them in a cabinet in the pantry. I didn't need Hannah, my housekeeper, finding them. She probably wouldn't care, but I did.
Thinking of Hannah made me laugh. I'd only met her twice, but we had developed an odd, sometimes hilarious, texting relationship. I really liked her. Her cooking was amazing, and she kept my home perfect.
Her work was about to increase, and I was thrilled. My brother was bringing my dog, Ben, home to me. He had been with Brody in Colorado for the last two months while I got settled. I couldn't wait to see both of them. Thinking about it made me giddy. I knew Ben would love it here. There was plenty of room for him to run. Bernese Mountain dogs needed lots of exercise. I almost didn’t get him because of that. Now, I couldn’t imagine my life without him. He got my ass outside and stopped me from being such a hermit. If I thought about the fact that my best friend was a dog, I would get bummed. But then again, fuck it! I loved my dog, and I had missed him terribly.
I doled out my handful of vitamins and four ibuprofen into my hand, and then popped them into my mouth. From the fridge, I pulled out a bottle of OJ, taking large swigs from the bottle.
Let the day begin, I thought as I walked down the hall to the door. The sound of my designer shoes on the travertine floors reminded me of the sound of cleats on concrete. It made me smile, but the memory was bittersweet, and I pushed it aside. Behind bittersweet was pure malice, an emotion I couldn't allow myself. Not today.
Grabbing the keys to my Viper, I headed out the door.
Watch out Arizona, Zolt Hamil was back.


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COMING THIS SPRING...

BEING ZOLT

Saturday, March 29, 2014

NEW RELEASE: PLAY BY KYLIE SCOTT [REVIEW]

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Title: Play (Stage Dive, #2)
Author: Kylie Scott
Genre: New Adult Contemporary Romance
Release Date: March 25, 2014

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Kylie Scott returns with the highly anticipated follow-up to international bestseller LICK.
 
Synopsis
Mal Ericson, drummer for the world famous rock band Stage Dive, needs to clean up his image fast—at least for a little while. Having a good girl on his arm should do the job just fine. Mal doesn’t plan on this temporary fix becoming permanent, but he didn’t count on finding the one right girl.

Anne Rollins never thought she’d ever meet the rock god who plastered her teenage bedroom walls—especially not under these circumstances. Anne has money problems. Big ones. But being paid to play the pretend girlfriend to a wild life-of-the-party drummer couldn’t end well. No matter how hot he is. Or could it?  

OUR REVIEW:

I thoroughly enjoyed the getting to know the latest member of Stage Dive, Mal, and the girl who snags him, Anne. He is a crazy nutter--or at least he wants us to believe that. He jumps from subject to subject and sort of creates a manic, playful environment wherever he goes. He's exactly what Anne needs after always having to look after, fix, or be taken advantage of by others. She's a great match for Mal (at least after her momentary star-struck daze) because she is sassy and honest and has a genuine concern for his well being. Yep. Crazy nutter indeed. He is exuberant and full of life, and a little bit hard to handle because of his self imposed rock god status. And while you can tell that there is something more going on with him he made the entire book so much freaking fun. I kid you not...I laughed or smiled every single time he had dialogue. It was tight and perfect, and the pace of the story was wonderful. The writing was incredible. I loved Lick, and I think I might have almost loved Play even more! 

This novel isn't trying to take us down a serious road of issues; it's pure rock star fantasy. It's light and funny and a great escape from the everyday drudgery of our lives. The sexual tension is great and the reveal of their back stories came at just the right moment. From the moment I started it, I found myself picking it up every opportunity I had and feeling sad when I had to put it down. In less than a 12 hour work day I started and finished it and already ready for book 3. This is why I love novels about bands. Especially when the entire band gets put into a companion series. They are all so present and such huge parts of their lives, but each one has their own individual tale to tell. I have almost no words (you know I'm going to give them to you anyways) for how much I enjoyed it! Like Shel said, it is by far not as serious or angsty as David and Ev's story....but it is just as meaningful and well crafted, that I too could not put it down. I stayed up way too late reading it when I was really needing to sleep! (Who needs sleep? Not me apparently) 

I cannot wait to see what Kylie Scott comes up with next. Her writing, humor, dialogue...you name it...it was spot on! We definitely are forever fans over here! 
/fangirl gushing

Shelley: 4 1/2 Stars
Courtney: 5 Stars

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Lick (Stage Dive, #1)
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About the Author
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USA Today Bestselling Australian Romance Writer.
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Friday, March 28, 2014

RELEASE DAY BLITZ: LOVE LINES BY S. WALDEN


Arrive to work at 7:58 A.M. sharp. 
Check. 
Count forty-seven steps to cubicle. 
Check. 
Arrange pens in their red-blue-black-green-purple order of importance. 
Check. 
Apply hand sanitizer before opening email. Double check.

And that’s just the first few minutes of her work day.

Thirty-one-year-old proofreader Bailey Mitchell is a slave to her tics. She inherited Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder from her father, and it’s done nothing but inhibit her love life. She’s run the gamut of boyfriends—none of them willing or able to cope with her condition.

Enter 32-year-old Reece Powell, her new coworker at Beach Elite Marketing Firm. He’s more than willing to cope. He finds her habits cute and quirky . . . for now. Reece wins her over, and life coasts along for them until Bailey experiences a devastating blow. Tragedy exacerbates her OCD, and Reece realizes her tics aren’t so cute and quirky anymore. Just like all the others, he has the choice to leave.

But Reece isn't like all the others.

The Wilmington Saga
Follow the stories of Wilmington, NC residents as they fall in and out of love, mend and break hearts, grow, change, lose, win, and experience what it means to truly live in this small coastal community.




Graphic credit: Michelle @ Give Me Books

“Annie!” I squealed, running and scooping her up before she had the chance to escape. I rained kisses all over her face. She was clearly confused, but she seemed to like it. The evidence? She dropped her doll and squeezed my neck.
Erica stared at me through narrowed eyes. “No one, including me, likes my children that much. What is going on?”
Annie giggled on cue, like she understood her mother’s words. I laughed outright.
“Your momma’s silly, isn’t she? Isn’t she?” I asked, poking Annie’s sides.
“Oh my God, who are you?” Erica demanded. “Where’s my BFF who promised me she’d never have children so I could live vicariously through her? I swear to God if you’re pregnant…”
“Calm down,” I said over the top of Annie’s head. She twisted in my arms signaling she was over my show of affection. I placed her on the floor beside her discarded doll. “How would I even be pregnant?”
“Sex. It’s called sex,” Erica replied. She finished folding the last of Little Noah’s shirts, then tossed it in the laundry basket.
“Don’t say s-e-x in front of the baby!” I chided.
“B, she doesn’t know what sex is.”
“She’ll repeat it.”
“Who cares?”
“Oh, so you want to be the mother with the kid who knows the bad words?” I asked.
“Bad word?” Erica asked, laughing.
“You know what I mean,” I said. “You want to be the mother who all the other mothers gossip about? Like about how bad your parenting skills are?”
Erica placed her hand on her hip. “Yeah, I do. Fuck ‘em. Fuck all those mothers. Fuck their playdates and mommy groups and fucking Melissa and Doug puzzles. Fuck their running strollers and baby couture and breastfeeding advice. Fuck their—”
“ERICA!”
“What?”
I looked down at the floor, but Annie was gone. She’d walked away somewhere, no doubt the kitchen since that seemed to be her favorite place to play.


S. Walden used to teach English before making the best decision of her life by becoming a full-time writer. She lives in Georgia with her very supportive husband, who prefers physics textbooks over fiction and has a difficult time understanding why her characters must have personality flaws. She is wary of small children, so she has a Westie instead. She is the USA Today bestselling author of Going Under. When she's not writing, she's thinking about it.

She loves her fans and loves to hear from them. Email her at swaldenauthor@hotmail.com and follow her twitter feed at @swaldenauthor.

Website | Blog | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads


Thursday, March 27, 2014

ONLY THE GOOD DIE YOUNG BY KK HENDIN


Only the Good Die Young Synopsis:
The first year of college is supposed to be about parties, parties, and getting the hell out of Texas. Instead, Milcah Daniels is spending her eighteenth year in and out of Houston's hospitals. Her hair is falling out, they’ve cut off her boobs, and if she makes it to nineteen, she’ll consider it a personal miracle.
Breast cancer really has a way of messing with a girl’s social calendar.
When Milcah’s temporarily discharged from the hospital, she’s determined to get a tattoo for every medical procedure she’s had. Her quest leads her to Skin Stories, a new tattoo parlor a block from her apartment. And to it’s infuriatingly sexy artist, Callum Scott.
Callum is everything Milcah wants, and everything she shouldn’t have now. A new relationship when the official prognosis is one to five years is a terrible idea. But Callum doesn’t know about the breast cancer, and Milcah’s not running to tell him.
But when the doctor says things are actually looking positive, her entire life turns upside down. How is she supposed to start living again when she’s finally learned to accept her death?
EXCERPT:

“I guess I’ll be seeing you around,” Callum says, flashing me a smile.
“Yeah.” I turn around and leave his office before I say anything stupid.
Mar, the girl in the front, smiles at me as I walk toward the door. “Do you need to schedule a follow-up now?” she asks, leaning against the desk.
I am inexplicably jealous of the fact that she gets to spend so much time in the same building as Callum, and I wonder what the hell has happened to my brain. Apparently, when they removed my boobs, they removed my common sense, too.
“Not yet,” I say, determined to be extra nice to her because the insane part of me wants to hate her. “But I’ll give you a call when everything’s figured out.”
“Great,” she says. “Have a great day.”

“You too,” I say, and walk out of the tattoo parlor, only slightly perplexed how nothing in the tattoo parlor was what I thought it would be.

KK Hendin Bio:
KK Hendin's real life ambition is to become a pink fluffy unicorn who dances with rainbows. But the schooling for that is all sorts of complicated, so until that gets sorted out, she'll just write. Preferably things with angst and love. And things that require chocolate. She’s the author of the NA contemporaries HEART BREATHS and ONLY THE GOOD DIE YOUNG.

She spends way too much time on Twitter, where she can be found at @kkhendin, and rambles on occasion over at www.kkhendinwrites.blogspot.com.