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text 2017-09-21 13:05
Blog Tour: Heel Lead by Dawn K. Henderson with Excerpt and Giveaway

 

Today’s stop is for Dawn K. Henderson’s Heel Lead. We will have info about the book and author, and a great excerpt from the book, plus a great giveaway. Make sure to check everything out and enter the giveaway.

Happy Reading :) 

 


 

 

Because life is one big ballroom – and all we can do is dance… Former UK dance champion Caroline Elliott has two burning passions in her life: her sexy, young Spanish lover Antonio, and the weekly Ballroom dance class she teaches to a diverse group of enthusiastic locals in the small English town of Castleham where she lives. But Caroline has a problem. The numbers attending her class have dwindled, and unless she can somehow breathe new life into it, she will have no choice but to close it down. A dance display at the local Arts Festival might just be the perfect opportunity to showcase her students and pull in those much-needed new members. How difficult could it be? With the date of the display approaching, however, illness, affairs and relationship break-ups threaten to crush Caroline’s hopes. As she battles to keep rehearsals on track and soothe her students’ rampant nerves, she must also conquer the demons of a long-ago tragedy in her own life. Will she be able to let go of her fears and step into the spotlight once again? Heel Lead is an emotional, passionate and poignant story that entertains while it tugs at your heartstrings. In this short yet compelling novel, author Dawn K. Henderson presents a captivating tale of the power of love, dance and the ties that bind us.

 

 

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Chapter 1

The Dance Class

 

Two, three, cha-cha-cha. The music chirruped gaily, pumping out the familiar notes of an old pop song. ‘Ouch! For God’s sake, you clumsy idiot.’ Stuart had trodden on his wife’s toe again – the third time that evening already – and she was laying into him big time. Caroline winced in sympathy. Poor Stuart, she felt sorry for him. Angela could be a right harpy at times and was no elegant swan on the dance floor herself. And while it painfully true that her feet were often subjected to Stuart’s abuse, to be fair it wasn’t always his fault. Angela needed to move more quickly. Caroline shook her head. Angela and Stuart loved their dance classes, they had told her so often; it just never seemed like it with all the conflict it created between them. If only Angela would replace those open-toed sandals with a closed-in shoe, her feet wouldn’t suffer half as much from Stuart’s mis-steps. But she had pointedly ignored Caroline’s frequent suggestions that she do so, claiming she didn’t like the full shoe, and eventually Caroline had given up trying. Angela! Caroline had tried hard to like her, really she had. But, to be blunt, the woman really wasn’t very likeable. She was sharp-tongued, critical, and quick to take offence, with a physical appearance to match her character. Although she wasn’t old, only in her late thirties, her severe hairstyle – always pulled back into a tight bun – and permanently cheerless expression made her look considerably older. Caroline did her best not to judge; she had heard rumours of a tragedy in Angela’s past that the woman had been unable to move on from, and in an unguarded moment, Stuart had hinted at it too, a haunted look momentarily darkening his features. What the tragedy had been remained a mystery. Stuart bore the brunt of his wife’s constant ill-humour with endless tolerance, letting the verbal blows fall, rarely retaliating, and then only with the gentlest of reproaches. He was popular with the rest of the class, friendly and approachable with a smile for everyone in his warm eyes, and yet… In their depths drifted the unmistakeable shadow of an enduring sadness. Who knows what really lies beneath the faces and façades of anyone, even those we think we know well, Caroline pondered, watching them across the room. Angela’s complaining had fallen into a grumpy silence, though she was still looking daggers at her husband and limping exaggeratedly. The other couples were still cha-cha-ing around the room – four tonight, even less than usual. While at first sight, they seemed an unlikely bunch to be Ballroom dancing, after years of teaching, Caroline had learned not to judge by appearances. Take Trash and his wife Donna for instance. Of course, Trash wasn’t his real name but Reginald, the one given on his birth certificate, really didn’t suit the huge bulk of a man and he had been known as Trash for as long as he could remember. When he had first registered for her class, he had sworn Caroline to secrecy to never reveal his true identity. Of all the couples that came along to her class, Trash and Donna were perhaps the most incongruous and unlikely. Built like – to put it politely – the proverbial brick outhouse, Trash was a biker to his bones. Unruly sandy hair, now fading to the colour of washed-out nicotine and decidedly thin on top, reached below his shoulders, and had been pulled back into a rough ponytail for class. His face sported a beard of the same colour and length. He invariably wore tatty, faded blue jeans and an equally well-worn black T-shirt with the slogan ‘Ride or Die’ emblazoned across the front, the blood-dripping words entwined around a garish image of a scarlet skull from whose eye sockets heavily-fanged snakes stretched to breaking point over his impressive belly. His wife, Donna, barely reached his shoulder. Her dyed raven-black hair was chopped short, revealing heavily studded earlobes, and matching studs graced her eyebrows, nose and top lip. Caroline had never seen her in anything other than unrelieved black, usually jeans, T-shirt and a hefty leather belt. She was pretty, a little plump with curves that any woman would envy, in all the right places. The last bars of the Cha-cha faded. Next came a Waltz. Caroline revised the latest steps she had been teaching and started the music, returning to her study of Trash and Donna. She smiled as she watched them. They were probably the best dancers in the class. Despite his size, Trash was unexpectedly light-footed, and he floated across the floor, his huge bulk seemingly weightless as he guided Donna with a gentle but firm touch. Both of them felt, rather than heard, the music and its rhythm, and lost themselves in its magic; it was the secret ingredient essential to becoming a really good dancer that they both naturally possessed. Caroline had lost count of the times that technically able pupils of hers had failed to progress simply because they had been unable to get out of their heads and dance with their hearts. And of course, she thought with a touch of unwelcome envy, as she watched the couple glide around the room’s perimeter into a graceful Whisk, Wing and Telemark, Trash and Donna adored each other. The connection between them created a spark that was wonderful to watch, and forged an almost telepathic bond as they danced.

 

 

 

Dawn K. Henderson: Storyteller, poet & author   Goddess in training and ballroom diva (at least in her imagination)   12 years ago, Dawn walked into her first Ballroom dance class and the love affair began. Since then she has tango’d and quickstepped, waltzed and rumba’d through life. Although at the time of writing Heel Lead, she is without a permanent dance partner, she is fortunate enough to have good friends who lend her their men occasionally – she usually hands them back undamaged.   As D. K. Henderson, she is the author of The Skull Chronicles series of metaphysical adventure novels .   She lives and writes in the mystical, magical county of Wiltshire, England surrounded by crop circles, the ancient & mysterious stone monuments of Stonehenge and Avebury, and her own family of crystal skulls. When she isn't wandering the ancient downlands that inspire her novels and poetry, you'll probably find her pottering in the garden, foraging in the hedgerows or attempting a nifty Cha cha or elegant Waltz on the dance floor.  

 

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Follow the tour HERE for exclusive excerpts, guest posts and a giveaway!

 

 

Source: snoopydoosbookreviews.com/blog-tour-heel-lead-dawn-k-henderson-excerpt-giveaway
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text 2017-09-20 13:05
Blog Tour: The Dragon in the Garden by Erika Gardner with Excerpt and Giveaway

 

Today’s stop is for Erika Gardner’s The Dragon in the Garden. We will have info about the book and author, and a great excerpt from the book, plus a great giveaway. Make sure to check everything out and enter the giveaway.

Happy Reading :) 


There is magic beneath the mundane and in The Dragon in the Garden, Siobhan Orsini witnesses it all. No lie can fool her, no glamour or illusion can cloud her Sight. She sees through them all and wishes she could close her eyes. Returning to face her past, Siobhan inherits her grandparents’ house in California’s wine country. She encounters a talking dragon, a hot fallen angel, a demon lord, a Valkyrie, and, oh yes, her ex-boyfriend. And that is just in the first twenty-four hours.   It’s time to find out why she has this power.   Siobhan seeks out the Oracle and learns that only her Sight can help mankind navigate the travails of an ancient war. Our world is the prize in a battle between the dragons, who would defend us, and Lucifer’s fallen angels, who seek to take the Earth for themselves. Using her gift, she will have to make a choice that will decide humanity’s future.

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Before I could run, Ian caught one of my arms with a painful twist. Unlike earlier, his expression exuded neither neutral nor curious. It had turned predatory. The hatred in his eyes, no longer veiled, burned. Something had changed. I swallowed hard. My mind raced. The conflicting kaleidoscope of images filled my vision. I struggled to move, but stayed immobile in his impossibly strong grip. Terror built then exploded inside me. Ian roughly grabbed my shoulders and spoke intently, “Haroa. I see you, Watcher.” “Lo, Innon!” I spun at the powerful shout, breaking Ian’s grasp and the visions’ hypnotic spell. The man I had helped yelled at Ian in fury. “No, Innon!” Ian stepped back. His face contorted with rage. “Turel, I found her. I see her. This is my right.” The dark-haired man folded his arms. He radiated authority. “No, for now I see her and there are laws that will not be broken. The human Haroa shall be present. She is in my Sight and in Our gaze. You will submit or pay forfeit, Innon.” The two men locked stares. I gasped as the man called Turel began to glow. The light, the sunshine in his eyes suffused his entire being. Shifting waves undulated above him. The area above his back and shoulders concealed a pocket in reality. As Daisy once hid her bulk from my five-year old self’s eyes in the garden, Turel masked his wings. Turel’s light grew brighter, more dazzling than a morning sunrise. He barked a command. “Hit’alem, Innon, I say begone.” Ian shot one more covetous glance at me and disappeared. “Holy shit.” Tim sat up and stared at us, his face dazed. I shielded my eyes with one hand as I stared at the glory of an angel revealed. Turel cupped one hand under my chin, tilting my face to meet his gaze. He kissed one of my cheeks and then the other. His expression softened as he regarded me. “Siobhan Isabella Orsini, my blessing is on you,” he intoned. How did he know my name? “My name is Turel. I am one of the Two Hundred Fallen. We are the Observers of this war. You have my blessing and my protection as foretold. May you always see true. Shalom.” He pressed his lips to my forehead. “I can offer my blessing and my protection over your home,” he offered. “Do you wish me to include your garden, too?” I opened my mouth, but for once, nothing came out of it. I tried again. “What?” “I say unto you, do you want me to include the garden?” Thinking of Ian in my yard earlier, I found my voice. “Yes, I need my garden protected.” Turel winked at me. “Good girl."

 

Erika is a sixth generation San Franciscan of Irish descent. She attended the University of California at Davis and completed degrees in Medieval History and Biological Sciences. A lifelong lover of books and a scribbler of many tales from a young age (her first story was completed at age five) she turned to writing full-time in 2011.   On a personal level she loves spicy food, twilight, dark chocolate (with sea salt-yum!) and nickel slots at Vegas. Erika lives for time with friends, a nice glass of red wine, “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” & “Doctor Who” and good conversation. Her favorite things to do are running, cooking, reading, needlework, gardening… and of course, writing. Erika's music of choice is heavy metal. To pick her out in a lineup you should know that she is very short, fairly loud, and has dark eyebrows. The rest, as her hero Anne McCaffrey once said in her bio, “is subject to change without notice”.   Erika resides in Northern California with her incredibly hot husband, their three amazing kids, and their chocolate Labrador named Selkie. To reach Erika regarding her books, wine recommendations, or to debate which Iron Maiden album is the best (clearly, it’s Brave New World)

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Follow the tour HERE for exclusive excerpts, guest posts and a giveaway!
 
 
Source: snoopydoosbookreviews.com/blog-tour-dragon-garden-erika-gardner-excerpt-giveaway
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text 2017-09-20 12:40
Blog Tour: Releasing Henry by Sarah Hegger with Excerpt and Giveaway

Today’s stop is for Sarah Hegger’s Releasing Henry. We will have info about the book and author, and a great excerpt from the book, plus a great giveaway. Make sure to check everything out and enter the giveaway.

Happy Reading :) 


A light in the darkness . . .     The youngest son of Anglesea, the once idealistic Henry has survived the Holy Pilgrimage, but lost all his deeply held beliefs in honor and nobility. Captured in battle, he is sold as a slave into the home of Alif Al-Rasheed, a wealthy Genovese merchant who has converted to Islam. Bereft of faith, imprisoned in a foreign land, Henry has lost hope in his ability to love again—until he lays eyes on his captor’s beguiling daughter.   A marriage of opposites . . .   To Henry, Alya is a beacon of beauty he cannot ignore. But the heart of this proud daughter of Cairo will not be won so easily. Divided by religion, language, and culture, Ayla has little in common with the disillusioned Englishman—and yet he has vowed to protect her life in exchange for his freedom. As they embark on a perilous journey to safety, their bond will grow—and be tested—in ways neither can anticipate. For their greatest challenges will arise where Henry least expects. With threats conspiring to divide them, will he find the strength to stand by Ayla—and together will they find a common ground on which to build a future?

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A mix of dust, goat, and spices of a hundred evening cook fires infused the air. Cumin, coriander, and cinnamon twined together and made English’s mouth water. Sunset splashed the sky above Cairo in burnt orange, growing brighter closer to the fiery ball sinking behind the soaring minaret. He tried to remember the name of that mosque, but his head didn’t work like it used to. After herding a small flock of goats into their pens for the night, he ended his working day with the soft click of the latch. From the city beyond the walls came the wail of a muezzin calling the faithful to prayer. “Allah is great; Allah is great.” The inner courtyard emptied as people sought their prayer mats. “I bear witness that there is no divinity but Allah.” English bore witness to no divinity, and he did not pray. At one time, in another land and to another god, he might have. Drawn to the heat the stones gathered during the day, he pressed his aching back to the wall and waited. Like him, she did not pray. The girl on the wall. He knew her name as Alya, had heard it called often enough, but to him she remained the girl on the wall. Curtains fluttered at the open doorway on the roof balcony. Here she came. For certain, she remained unaware of him concealed in the deepening shadows and watching. To be caught with his eyes on her now would mean Bahir and his whip. Still he waited, would not move from this spot until he saw her. There. A slim figure shrouded by her hijab.

The girl on the wall stopped at the parapet and faced the street. She pushed aside the niqab, which concealed all but her eyes. Then, she lifted her hijab and shook her hair free. It spilled down her back as she raised her face in a silent blessing to the day that passed. Dying sunlight rushed to pay tribute to her loveliness. Her hair dark and lustrous as the wood of the wild cherry that grew in a thicket he had once walked, her skin like crushed almonds. Not that he could see from this distance, but her eyes above her niqab were lighter than he would have expected. A mix of green and brown that he had only glimpsed in passing before she hastily lowered her head. He wouldn’t call her beautiful in the way of other women now hazy in his mind. Her chin held too firm a jut, her nose slightly hawk-like. The strong slash of her cheekbones bore testament to her mixed blood. She had a strong face, fascinating, and in her private moment on the rooftop her elemental fire drew him like a starving man to a feast. Her very essence called to that barely living part of him that remembered life in abundance. In her evening ritual, she discarded the modesty she showed during the day. She believed the rest of the household to be at prayer and in these forbidden moments before she would be called in, or admonished by the older woman who always accompanied her, English became a man again. * * * * “Come in, Alya.” Nasira beckoned from beyond the curtains. The old woman knew Alya well enough to end her prayers early and drag her back inside before anyone else saw her. Creases on Nasira’s craggy features meant another lecture on the way. As Alya reached the point on the rooftop garden where her hoarse whisper could be heard Nasira started. “You show your face like a street woman.” Nasira shook her head. “What will people think when they see you like so?” “Nobody sees me.” Alya pushed the gauzy curtains aside. A stiffening evening breeze sent them dancing around her. “I only do it when nobody else is about.” “Somebody is always about.” Grabbing a brush, Nasira motioned for Alya to sit. “Especially now.” “Why especially now?” Nasira’s tone gave Alya pause. She tried to turn and look at her. Nasira rapped her on the head with her brush. “Stay still. Your father has called for you to attend him after prayers.” “He did?” They always ate the evening meal together.

Huge frown creasing her brows, Nasira nodded. “There has been trouble, habibti. In the suq today.” Trouble in the suq hardly deserved the look of doom Nasira’s face. Trouble blew perpetually through the suq. One merchant squabbled with another, buyers quibbled over prices, and the constant thieves threaded through the place like snakes, always looking for the chance to strike. “What happened?” “I will let your father tell you, but it is bad. Bad.” Nasira lowered her head in obeisance. “Enna lillah wa enna elaihe Rajioun.” “Did someone die?” Alya swung about on the stool, wincing as Nasira’s hold on her hair tugged at the roots. “You ask too many questions.” Nasira grabbed her shoulders and turned her about again. “Your father will tell you all you need to know.” Her nurse should know better than to think she would leave it there. “But someone did die?” “Come.” Nasira bustled to her clothing and grabbed a fresh tunic. “I sent the boy for water, you must wash and attend your father.” A new tunic meant the news her father bore was weighty. She washed and dressed quickly, flinging her veil over her shoulder as she trotted out of her chamber and down the stairs to the small, inner courtyard shaded on one end, where her father and she shared their evening meals. The table lay set for their meal but her father sat beside a small pond, staring into the water. His skin was so darkened by the sun, a stranger could never tell he had not been born in this land, but had come from somewhere beyond the sea. “Alya.” Holding his hands out, he smiled and drew her forward for a kiss on both cheeks. “Nasira tells me you have been on the roof again.” “The sunset was particularly beautiful today.” She could always get around him with a bit of teasing. He smelled as he always did of silk and spices, and fruit tobacco from his hookah. Tonight, he turned from her and went back to his study of the pool. “You need to be careful, Alya.” “What happened in the suq?” Father dressed, ate, spoke, acted and even prayed as a son of this land, but he had raised her differently. Nasira warned his indulgence of her would come to no good, but Alya had always been encouraged to speak openly with her father. “A merchant was killed.” Father trailed his fingers through the water. Flashes of light glimmered beneath the surface as fish darted away from him. “A foreign merchant. He was murdered.”

“Why?” Alya sank to the low stone lip of the pond. Her father acted not as himself this evening. Dread prickled across her skin and sunk deep into her belly. “What are you not telling me?” “The tension between the local merchants and the foreigners grows worse.” With a sigh, he sat beside her and rubbed the back of his neck. “And the Sultan does nothing to aid the foreigners. What, with the same battle taking place in his palace, his hands are tied.” “But why?” “You know why?” Father looked up at her. She had her eyes from him, a mix of green and brown that marked them clearly as not from here. Alya nodded, she did know why. “The army of unbelievers.” Even now, years after the Nile had risen and forced the invaders to flee, the distrust lingered. “You must be more careful than ever.” Father captured her hand and squeezed. “Eyes are everywhere and looking for a way to discredit us.” When dripped with venom from the wrong tongue, her simple act of freedom on the walls at sunset could take on the worst of connotations. She nodded. “I will be more careful.” “Let us enjoy our dinner.” Father smiled but the worry lingered. “And then I must see Bahir.”    

 

Born British and raised in South Africa, Sarah Hegger suffers from an incurable case of wanderlust. Her match? A Canadian engineer, whose marriage proposal she accepted six short weeks after they first met. Together they’ve made homes in seven different cities across three different continents (and back again once or twice). If only it made her multilingual, but the best she can manage is idiosyncratic English, fluent Afrikaans, conversant Russian, pigeon Portuguese, even worse Zulu and enough French to get herself into trouble. Mimicking her globetrotting adventures, Sarah’s career path began as a gainfully employed actress, drifted into public relations, settled a moment in advertising, and eventually took root in the fertile soil of her first love, writing. She also moonlights as a wife and mother. She currently lives in Colorado with her teenage daughters, two Golden Retrievers and aforementioned husband. Part footloose buccaneer, part quixotic observer of life, Sarah’s restless heart is most content when reading or writing books.

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Source: snoopydoosbookreviews.com/blog-tour-releasing-henry-sarah-hegger-excerpt-giveaway
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text 2017-09-18 13:05
Blog Tour: Mated In Treason by Christa Paige with Excerpt and Giveaway

 

Today’s stop is for Christa Paige’s Mated In Treason. We will have info about the book and author, and a great excerpt from the book, plus a great giveaway. Make sure to check everything out and enter the giveaway.

Happy Reading :) 


Welcome to the world of the Kan Asma Vampires. The Kan Asma are genetically modified humans who've become vampires. For centuries, the Kan Asma lived symbiotically with their human neighbors until the government recognized something had increased their life spans. Scientists and militia stormed their quiet Abkhazian village and betrayal followed. Many vampires experienced brutality and torture. Others died from experimentation. After a perilous journey, the surviving Kan Asma fled their homeland and settled in West Hollywood, California. The refugees cling to their sacred traditions, holding their mating rites above all others because without them, their numbers would diminish. There is no love or emotion in their Council-determined matings. Now, their quiet lives have suddenly been turned upside down. Lines have been drawn between the wealthy aristocrats and an uprising determined to halt the unfair ritual keeping wealth and power out of reach. Those who are lucky to find love in these matches are very few, and they will have to fight with everything they have in order to claim their mates or suffer a broken heart for eternity.

When the kraliyet bodyguard ended up in her hospital bed after an explosion left him in critical condition, Nadia tried to warn herself not to fall in love with him. After all, she's no vampire Cinderella, and happily-ever-afters didn't happen to low-born females of the Kan Asma. But her heart wouldn't listen, and soon she wanted to claim Gunnar as her forever mate, even if it meant taking him the only way possible, as a husband in a disgraceful human ceremony.   Gunnar fell in love with his nurse the moment he saw her smile. He yearned to claim her as his, but the Council would never allow him to mingle his powerful blood with a female from a poor family. The penalty for an unsanctioned mating is a death sentence. He doesn’t care about the threats and possible consequences of making her his. Though, due to the high probability of genetic incompatibility, he can't complete their blood-bond without knowing if it might take her life. Losing her would be worse than torture.   Their only hope lies with the treasonous Faction hell-bent on destroying the very people Gunnar calls family. Determined to find a way to be mated, Gunnar seeks out the leader of this hidden uprising. Together, Nadia and Gunnar must break every law and rite of their vampire culture to become bonded for life. Gunnar will play a deadly game of subversion or pay a blood price that would sever him from their people and put a bounty on his head. They must survive a dangerous infiltration of the Faction, because they’ll do anything to be together, even if it means being mated in treason.

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The door swung open and he stood in the threshold. Strong and intense, her essence called to him on an elemental level. “Nadia.” His voice gruff, he said her name on a mere growl around long fangs that pricked his lower lip.

Surprise lined her forehead, her eyes narrowed, and breath wrenched from her chest. She stood from her chair and swiped the back of her hand across her cheek. Red tinged her eyes. Moisture tracked from the corners and spilled down her cheeks. Misery hit him square in the chest like a dull, rusty blade. Needing privacy, he shut the door and locked the deadbolt. “Why are you crying?”

She shook her head. The long length of her ponytail fell over her shoulder as she glanced away from him. Her eyes lost focus and she stared at the dingy wooden cabinets hanging from the far wall.

“Tell me, kjaere.” Gunnar pressed his lips together. Great, now he was using terms of endearment in his mother’s native tongue. He really had lost his frickin’ mind.

Crossing her arms about her, she shivered as if cold but the temperature in the room was tepid and controlled. “Nadia, let me help.”

With a loud exhalation, she threw her arms up in apparent frustration. Then, she propped her hands on her hips and paced the short length of the room. “You can’t.” She swiped away another tear. “No one can.”

“Did Izak do this?” he spat, needing to understand. God please don’t let it be about that sentinel playboy. “Or Andros?” Either way he had to be prepared for her reply.

“He told me I could have something impossible. Something I want so much.”

Gunnar steeled his composure, flexing his muscles and gritting his jaw. “Who,” he prompted. Inside he quaked with possessiveness and aggression. Get a grip on yourself, idiot.

A short nervous exhalation followed as she turned and faced him. “Andros.”

One step brought him closer, just to the edge of the oblong table sitting in the middle of the room. He leaned into his palm, the cool wood of the table helped to keep him from losing his temper right there. “What did he say, Nadia? Tell me. Maybe I can make it happen.”

She shook her head again and the tip of her tongue slid out, moistening her lips in a long sweep. The tips of her blunt, white teeth chewed on the corner of her mouth. She turned those soulful eyes on him. “I want—” Her breath faltered and her chest rose with a tense inhalation. Twisting the hem of her shirt in her fingers, she focused on the wall behind him, breaking off their connection.

Time stilled as her lips parted and closed again. She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth. “You.” She pushed into his mind, and he could feel her apprehension, fear, and overwhelming need.

He closed the distance between them, grabbed her face with both his hands, ignoring the metal on his arm. Sliding his fingers along her jaw, he cupped the nape of her neck and pulled her forward. He bent his head, stopped fighting against everything he knew he wasn’t supposed to do, and gave into everything he wanted.

Strict professor by day. Romance author by night. Lover of all things alpha-male twenty-four hours a day. Christa Paige is a multi-published author in several genres. Her passion for love stories spans many tropes. She writes sensual, romantic tales and sweet love stories. In her free time, Christa, likes knitting and has a yarn stash that keeps growing. (Especially if it is bamboo.) She has a love/hate relationship with running but can’t turn down a themed 5k race. Her beagle babies are her running partners. She never tires of watching a Star Wars marathon or rereading Lord of the Rings. There’s a special place in her heart for the Regency Romance. Mr. Darcy is her favorite Regency hero, especially when he is wearing Hessians and a cravat.

Christa's series The Blood-Vine published by Liquid Silver Publishing, Kissin' Cops published by Liquid Silver Publishing, Women Who Serve (Book 1 Coming soon), Kan Asma Vampires published by Hartwood Publishing.

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Source: snoopydoosbookreviews.com/blog-tour-mated-treason-christa-paige-excerpt-giveaway
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text 2017-09-18 12:40
Blog Tour: Seeds of Intention by Andrea Thome with Giveaway

Today’s stop is for Andrea Thome’s Seeds of Intention. We will have info about the book and author, plus a great giveaway. Make sure to check everything out and enter the giveaway.

Happy Reading :)


Is it more important to have roots, or wings?

Garrett Oliver has just settled into his job as heir apparent to one of the most renowned master gardeners in the country. After a difficult few years, he’s found a home and a renewed purpose at a famed resort in the secluded Smoky Mountains. The stars seem to be aligning for Garrett as he plans a future with his college sweetheart and envisions a simple life with her in the mountains of East Tennessee.   Willow Armstrong, fresh off a painful breakup, is coming home to Knoxville to care for her ailing father. She finds herself in the right place at the right time, landing a dream job alongside Garrett—as his boss. As they are thrown together by their work, an undeniable magnetism grows between them, despite the fact that Garrett is ready to start a future with someone else.   Circumstances persist in drawing them closer, and an unexpected opportunity in Colorado prompts Willow and Garrett to wonder if a life together out west might be beyond anything either of them had dared to imagine.

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I'm a former broadcast journalist, having covered both sports and news during my career. (That's how I met my husband; I interviewed him on MLB opening day in 1995, and the rest is history.) I temporarily retired when we had our children, so I could be home with them full-time while they're young. We have a fourteen-year-old daughter, a nine-year-old son, and two cats that we spoil rotten.   This seemed like the perfect time in my life to jump back into doing something I love; writing and telling stories. No one was more surprised than me when I ended up with 65,000 words in my lap last spring! I called it Walland, and it was published in August of 2016. My second book, Seeds of Intention will be published on September 5, 2017, and as we speak, I've started to write a new book, the third in the Hesse Creek Series.   In my spare time, I love photography and travel, preferably at the same time. My novels are inspired by favorite places I've traveled, each of which have left vivid footprints on my imagination. I believe a book can be steamy and sexy, while still keeping it classy. I also love to infuse my characters with great senses of humor.

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