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review SPOILER ALERT! 2017-03-23 19:46
This is Not a HEA!
Roman Crazy - Nina Bocci,Alice Clayton

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If I had been feeling better yesterday and this morning I would have been rage updating all freaking day at Booklikes and Goodreads. This book has ticked me off in so many ways that it's going to have to be a spoiler review because otherwise you won't get why this whole book irked me and was even called a romance. Too bad it wasn't in the New Adult genre so I could at least blame something else on that genre.

 

"Roman Crazy" starts off with Avery Bardot walking in on her husband (Daniel) having sex with his secretary. She thought they were happy all these years (not really, we will get to that in a second) and can't believe she's expected to just ignore what he did in order to get jewelry (per her mother in law). So after having her best friend Daisy on mute during this whole insane conversation, Daisy tells Avery to come to her in Rome and get away from the craziness that is Daniel and Boston at the moment. So far so good right? I liked the beginning and liked Daisy. I stupidly thought the book was going to be differing first person POVs from both Avery and Daisy. Oh, how I wish. 

 

Instead Avery arrives in Rome and is whisked out to meet Daisy's coworkers and comes across a man named Marcello. See several years ago when Avery was abroad studying, she had a crazy hot affair with Marcello. Problem was that Avery was dating Daniel at the time so she was still keeping in touch with him while doing hot and heavy things with Marcello.

 

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So I told myself at this point okay, maybe it will get better. I am not a fan of cheating, but maybe this can get cleaned up a bit. No dear friends, it gets worse.

 

We find out that Avery returned to Boston to break things off with Daniel, but you know, felt comfortable with him again, had sex with him, got pregnant and then promptly ghosted the hell out of Marcello. Daniel proposed, they got married, and they lost their child. I maybe rolled my eyes a million times at this. This all is apparently supposed to be used as reasons why Daniel and Avery were not really meant to be with each other instead of reasons why they both should have saw a damn counselor.


Anyway, tra la la, Avery is back in Italy with Marcello and these two fools start dating. And Avery never tells him that she's technically still married and anything that really went down years ago.

 

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So you are reading this book in disbelief at times because I think Clayton thinks we are supposed to be rooting for these two when all I can see is trouble ahead. And trouble we get.


Of course eventually Daniel shows up and everything is resolved in like 5 seconds there. But, what you don't know is that a woman that Avery saw Marcello with the night they re-met was seeing him the whole time and Marcello has been sleeping with both of them. When Avery finds out to confront him, he calls her a hypocrite due to what she did to him years ago with sleeping with him and still dating Daniel.


I HATE THEM BOTH.


And then Avery runs to Daisy who has the nerve to act like Avery is in the wrong here. I wanted Daisy to tell her that you both are too immature to even date each other and leave each other alone. Nope, Avery goes and apologies and they have some sex and then tra la la, happy ending. There was some other stuff in there, but honestly I hated this book.

 

The characters were not well developed, and frankly I wish that Clayton had just broken this up into a dual POV with Avery and Daisy. I was wondering what Daisy's backstory was since she had left Boston behind. Was she in touch with her family (didn't sound like it). Sounded like she came into her own in the country too. Avery was one dimensional and she sucked. I had to keep reading about how she gave everything up for Daniel, but no one asked her to, she apparently did that herself after the death of their baby. I wish she had been more honest about it and maybe realized she wasn't ready to be with anyone, let alone some damn guy who was sleeping with another woman cause he didn't trust her to ghost him again.

 

The writing was typical Clayton, some raunch here and there. I was just bored and was wishing I could go back and re-read "Nuts" or "Cream of the Crop" again. I honestly got through this one pretty quick. Who knew rage made you read faster? Apparently it does.


The setting of Italy felt stereotypical as hell by the way. Clayton doesn't really add any depth here unfortunately. I have been to Rome and recall being kind of disappointed it wasn't all glamorous people all over. I got that when I got Milan and Florence it felt like. 

 

The HEA ends up with Avery deciding to stay in Italy to work and Marcello giving up a great opportunity cause they are in love. I dry heaved. Mainly though cause I was still sick, but also cause this book. 

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text 2017-03-23 19:24
Reading progress update: I've read 336 out of 336 pages.
Roman Crazy - Nina Bocci,Alice Clayton

Nope. A thousand nopes. Sorry. I love Italy, I love Italian men, this should have been right up my alley. But the whole book felt off. Woman goes to Italy to forget about philandering husband and runs into old love felt hokey as heck. And Clayton doesn't do hokey usually. I found myself wishing for the third book in her new series.

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text 2017-03-23 08:51
Cover Reveal for Infinite Us by Eden Butler
 
 
Title: Infinite Us
Author: Eden Butler
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: May 23, 2017
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
Love is timeless…
 
Nash Nation loves zeroes and ones, over-sized monitors and late office hours. He’s too busy taking over the world to make time for relationships—that is, until his new neighbor Willow O’Bryant barges into his life, and now Nash can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t the first time she’s interrupted his world.
 
Then, the dreams start. And in the dreams—memories.
 
Memories of a girl named Sookie who couldn’t count on love or friendship, never mind forever. Memories of a library and a boy called Isaac and secrets made in private that destroyed his world.
 
The memories seem real, but who do they belong to?
 
When Nash and Willow discover the truth, life as they know it unravels.
 
The bridge between this life and the next is shored up by blood and bone and memory. Sometimes, that bridge leads to the place we’ve always wanted to be.
 
 
 
 
It was the dream. The waking dream again.
There was something tied up in that dream—a memory, the life I knew but had never lived. That was the only explanation.
The dream crawled inside my skull like a centipede. It stayed there, burrowed itself so deep inside my brain that imagination got squashed. Nothing was fantasy anymore. What had been figments of my imagination had grown to something real, something I couldn’t beat away. Something I couldn’t ignore.
It stayed with me during the investors’ meeting, as Duncan talked about projections and media outreach. He spoke and I watched his face, focused like I understood the meaning behind the noise, the unrecognizable words his mouth made. I knew he was expecting me to weigh in with some technical spin, but it was all I could do to keep from completely drifting away.
Lucky for me, he liked the sound of his own voice. Even Duncan and his slick CEO arrogance didn’t distract me from the dream. The sound of his pitch, that salesman shine he thought might impress the investors didn’t do a damn thing to erase what I’d felt. What I’d seen. What I remembered.
The dream stayed even as his nagging turned into a whining drone that made my teeth ache.
“What the fuck was that? You just tuned out. You weren’t engaged at all.”
No. I hadn’t been. Still wasn’t as I fed him some bullshit about a migraine.
“I’ll catch you later, man. I gotta jet.”
He didn’t buy my excuse. Duncan’s eyes narrowed and I swear I felt his stare hot on my neck as I moved out of his office and stood waiting at the elevator. Wasn’t much I could hide from him through that glass wall so I kept my head down, wondering how I’d gotten messed up with that asshole in the first place.
Ah. Right. I had a program and no cash. Duncan had deep pockets and was looking for someone’s coattails to ride. One plus one is always two.
Didn’t much care if he bought the migraine excuse. I felt something right at the base of my skull. A pressure, a dull ache, but I wasn’t sick. I was high.
My brain went into autopilot as I left Manhattan, grabbing the A train to get me to downtown Brooklyn. And the whole way home, with the rocking of the train, the funky smell of the city getting fainter with every stop, and the even worse body odor of all the compressed bodies, the ache in my head grew the closer we came to my stop, that weird memory nagging at me.
That shit wouldn’t let me be.
Over and over in my head, as I huddled tight behind my jacket in the still chilly weather, the memory came clear as a raindrop.
Me and her. Me and the woman I didn’t know. Me as a man I’d never been.
The smell of roses. The thick hint of dust and coffee.
The feel of worn book bindings and the scrap of metal chairs on wood floors.
The taste of honey on my tongue.
The woman wrapped around me, holding tight, like I was her lifeline. Her red hair between my fingers, her nails pulling at my collar. Feeling needed. Feeling free.
A gust of wind blew off my hood, had my eyes watering as I jogged the rest of the way toward my building, barely acknowledging the people grouped around the front entrance. But then the sound of kids screeching cut into my brain, and I finally noticed that Old Man Walker was handing out Jolly Ranchers from the top step; for his grandkids and the others bouncing around, he couldn't get the wrapped candy out of his pockets fast enough.
In that small chaos, compounded by an arguing couple from 3C coming out of the elevator, brushing past the cluster of kids in their red and green puffy coats and their sniffling noses, heels clicking on the tile floor and crackling over the candy wrappers littering the hall, I forgot about the dream. If only for a second.
Until I saw Willow at the mailboxes.
She didn’t look much like the woman in my dream. Her hair was not red, but light brown. The redhead’s had been thick and bone straight. Willow’s was wild, all over the place, as though she could never get it under control.
The woman in my dream had been thin with barely a hint of curve to her shape. Elegant, graceful like a ballerina. Willow was all dips and bends, luscious, her legs strong with well-defined muscle, and a wide, wondrous ass.
Suddenly the rest of the world receded and there was nothing but the movement of Willow’s hair as she dug the mail from her box, the rhythm of her limbs as she swatted at that thick mass of hair, the swoop of her jacket hem against all those round, perfect curves as she turned, her attention on the envelopes in her hand.
The smell of her skin, the jasmine in her hair, seemed to billow around me as I stood motionless in the lobby. She was everywhere, familiar and yet unknown. A stranger/not stranger I had held at arm’s length, but still far more real than my dream, than the memory it was trying to evoke.
Willow stopped short as she noticed me, pausing with the mail held against her chest, a frown appearing on her face. I knew that expression from the last time I saw her, when I lied and told her I didn’t want her, when I had spoken promises that even then I knew I’d never keep.
“Nash.” There was a bite in her voice, the clip of my name, as if she was trying to sound disdainful, yet her voice still held an undertone of something that, if it had a flavor, would have tasted like honey. 
And then the dream, that sweet, stinging memory crashed over me. Déjà vu and fantasy and shit I did not understand hit me like a fever, and I was lost. The redhead kissed my neck. The hint of her soft, liquid tongue against my skin, tugging on my ear, wanting me with a fierceness no one ever had before, overwhelmed me, and I had to close my eyes to keep from being dragged under.
“Nash?” Willow’s voice reeled me back in, and I opened my eyes to see her sweet, concerned expression and the curve of her mouth, the fullness of her bottom lip.
Then Willow... she took the back of her hair in one hand, twisting it into a knot—the smallest gesture that I’d seen her do a dozen times—and suddenly I realized: the woman in my dream had done the same thing. The same motion, the same movement. Just like Willow.
A sharp intake of breath—that was me. Willow had backed up a half step, her face confused, conflicted, and despite what I’d said before, I reached out and slid my fingers tentatively to touch her face, guiding her chin up so I could look into her eyes.
“Nash…”
 
She made the smallest noise, something that sounded like moan and laugh at the same time. It transformed, deepened to a growl when I kissed her. Yet even as my mouth found hers, as my tongue slid along her lip, begging an invitation, one thought consumed me, something I didn’t believe was left over from my dream. One thought that made me brave, made me hungry: this woman belongs to me.
 
 
 
 
Eden Butler is an editor and writer of Mystery, Suspense and Contemporary Romance novels and the nine-times great-granddaughter of an honest-to-God English pirate. This could explain her affinity for rule breaking and rum. 
 
When she’s not writing or wondering about her possibly Jack Sparrowesque ancestor, Eden patiently waits for her Hogwarts letter, edits, reads and spends way too much time watching rugby, Doctor Who and New Orleans Saints football. 
 
She is currently living under teenage rule alongside her husband in southeast Louisiana. 
 
Please send help.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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text 2017-03-23 07:10
Excerpt Reveal - Walk Of Shame
   
 
The City's HOTTEST Cold War!
 
 
WALK OF SHAME
a Love Unexpectedly novel
Lauren Layne
Releasing April 18th, 2017
Loveswept
 

 

Sparks fly between a misunderstood New York socialite and a cynical divorce lawyer in this lively standalone rom-com from the USA Today bestselling author of Blurred Lines and Love Story.
 
Pampered heiress Georgianna Watkins has a party-girl image to maintain, but all the shopping and clubbing is starting to feel a little bit hollow—and a whole lot lonely. Though Georgie would never admit it, the highlights of her week are the mornings when she comes home at the same time as her uptight, workaholic neighbor is leaving to hit the gym and put in a long day at the office. Teasing him is the most fun Georgie’s had in years—and the fuel for all her naughtiest daydreams.
 
Celebrity divorce attorney Andrew Mulroney doesn’t have much time for women, especially spoiled tabloid princesses who spend more time on Page Six than at an actual job. Although Georgie’s drop-dead gorgeous, she’s also everything Andrew resents: the type of girl who inherited her penthouse instead of earning it. But after Andrew caps one of their predawn sparring sessions with a surprise kiss—a kiss that’s caught on camera—all of Manhattan is gossiping about whether they’re a real couple. And nobody’s more surprised than Andrew to find that the answer just might be yes.
 
 
 
 
 
Georgie
 

Tuesday morning

Let’s talk about five a.m. for a second.

Also known as the worst hour of the day, am I right?

Here’s why:

If you’re awake to see five in the freaking morning, it means one of a few things, all of them heinous.

Scenario one: You’re on your way to the airport for an early morning flight. Heinous.

Scenario two: You’ve been out all night, and now your vodka buzz is fading, and you’re just sober enough to realize that the rest of your day will likely involve Excedrin, carbs, and indoor voices. Heinous.

Scenario three: You’ve got a crap-ton on your mind, and you’re lying awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, hating your life. Maybe hating yourself a little bit, I dunno, who am I to judge? Heinous.

Now brace yourself, because scenario four is the most heinous of them all: You’re awake at five a.m. because you’re an uptight prick whose schedule is even more rigid than your posture, and your life is an endless string of working out, the corner office, repeat. You’re also likely the type of person who subsists on protein shakes and kale smoothies, and you have been known to utter the phrase the body is a temple, thus solidifying what we already knew about you.

You have no friends.

But wait, I’m getting ahead of myself.

See, it’s five a.m., and I, Georgie Watkins, am . . . kind of excited about it.

I know. I know. Four months ago I’d have bet my favorite vintage Chanel bag that there was exactly zero chance I’d actually look forward to the ghoulish hour of five in the morning.

And yet here we are.

I guess you could say there’s a scenario five on reasons to be up this early.

“Good morning, Ramon,” I sing, pushing through the revolving doors of the luxury high-rise on 56th and Park, the place I call home.

The concierge/security guard/all-around good guy glances up and gives me a friendly smile. “Ms. Watkins. Good morning.”

Usually the massive front desk is a bustling, busy affair. Starting at around seven, an army of well-dressed concierges will be smoothly facilitating the needs of impatient residents, as tiny dogs let out sharp, high-pitched barks of greeting from their Louis Vuitton carriers.

But that’s later.

Right now, the luxurious lobby is mostly silent, with just the lone overnight guy working the front desk, holding down the fort until the day guys arrive to handle the morning crush.

My new Tory Burch clutch tucked into my armpit, I hold up the box in my hands and waggle my eyebrows. “Brought you something.”

Ramon’s smile grows wider, brown eyes lighting. “My wife says you’re going to make me fat.”

“Tell Marta that the dad bod is totally in style right now,” I say, setting the box of donuts on the counter and lifting the lid. “Unless, of course, you don’t want a maple bacon donut?”

Ramon is already reaching inside the box, shaking his head in reverence as he lifts the sugary treat. “Still warm.”

“Well, technically the shop doesn’t open until five, but I’m such a loyal customer, they let me in a bit early,” I say, surveying the array of donuts and trying to decide if I’m in a chocolate kind of mood or if I want to risk the powdered sugar one.

Since my Alexander McQueen minidress is black (the archnemesis of powdered sugar), I reach for the chocolate as I set my clutch on the counter and fish out my phone: 4:58 a.m.

Two more minutes.

“How’s Marta dealing with the pregnancy of baby number three?” I ask, taking a bite of the donut and shifting attention back to Ramon, who’s already polished off his donut and is contemplating a second. I nudge the box toward him.

“She’s good,” he says. “Excited that we’re finally having a girl.”

“A girl!” I say, reaching across the counter and squeezing his massive forearm. “Congratulations, I hadn’t heard!”

“Just found out yesterday,” he says with a happy smile, apparently deciding that the occasion calls for another donut.

“Oh my gosh, I have the perfect baby gift,” I say, nibbling at a piece of my donut. “I saw this adorable Burberry onesie in Bergdorf’s the other day, with this precious little red bow—”

“Yes, because that’s what every infant needs,” a low voice interrupts. “A four-hundred-dollar piece of fabric that needs to be dry-cleaned. Don’t be ridiculous, Georgiana.”

I don’t have to look at my clock to know what time it is.

Five o’clock.

On the dot.

Not even bothering to turn around, I roll my eyes as my red nails tear off another piece of donut and pop it into my mouth. “Ramon, do you think you could talk to maintenance about adjusting the temp? It just got a little cold in here.”

Ramon’s been working here long enough to know my request isn’t for real. He’s not even paying attention to me. He’s already set his donut aside and has straightened up, practically saluting the newcomer.

“Mr. Mulroney. Good morning, sir.”

“Mr. Ramirez.” The voice is low and serious, a touch impatient, although not quite rude.

You know that adage that you catch more flies with honey? I’m not so sure it’s true. I bring donuts to the front desk guys just about every morning, and they adore me. I know they do.

But they respect him.

Giving in to the inevitable, I finally let my eyes flick to the side, my gaze colliding with a stern brown scowl.

I put on my widest, sparkliest smile, only because I know it drives him crazy.

As always, I see a muscle in his jaw twitch as I flutter my eyelashes.

“Good morning, Andrew,” I say sweetly.

“Georgiana.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Only my late grandmother has ever called me that, and I’m pretty sure that’s because I was her namesake. Everyone else calls me Georgie. Well, okay, not everyone. Ramon and the other guys still insist on calling me Ms. Watkins, but I’m working on it. See: daily donuts.

I smile wider and push the box in Andrew’s direction. “Donut?”

His lip curls. In case you haven’t already gotten a read on this guy, he’s the type that sneers at donuts.

He lifts a boring black travel mug. “Already have my breakfast.”

“Blended-up quinoa sprinkled with a few bits of spinach and pretension?” I ask.

“Whey powder protein shake.”

“Sounds immensely satisfying.”

He takes a sip of the nastiness and watches me with cold brown eyes. “The body is a temple, Georgiana.”

There it is.

Full circle to my above commentary about what sort of people are up and about at five a.m.

 

 
 
Lauren Layne is the New York Times bestselling author of over a dozen romantic comedies.
 
A former e-commerce and web marketing manager from Seattle, Lauren relocated to New York City in 2011 to pursue a full-time writing career.
 
She lives in midtown Manhattan with her high-school sweetheart, where she writes smart romantic comedies with just enough sexy-times to make your mother blush. In LL's ideal world, every stiletto-wearing, Kate Spade wielding woman would carry a Kindle stocked with Lauren Layne books. 
 

 
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review 2017-03-23 07:05
Release Week Blitz - Hard Justice

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NEW YORK TIMES bestselling author Lori Foster returns with the second installment in her explosive new series featuring sexy bodyguards who’ll do anything to protect the ones they love.

 

   

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Grab your copy of HARD JUSTICE here!

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About HARD JUSTICE:

 

Playing it safe has never felt so dangerous…

 

Justice Wallington knows how to harness his strength and intimidating size—skills he put to good use first in the MMA cage, and now as a bodyguard at the Body Armor agency. But no opponent has ever left him feeling as off balance as his new client, heiress Fallon Wade. Far from a spoiled princess, she’s sweet and intriguingly innocent. It’s a risk-free assignment, until he’s required to fake a relationship with her in order to blend in.

 

Sheltered from the world after a family tragedy, Fallon longs to experience life—going to bars, dancing, talking to strangers. Not easy with a huge, lethal-looking bodyguard shadowing her every move. Justice seems like her polar opposite, but pretending to be a couple stirs undeniable heat. And when danger strikes again, it’s not just her safety in jeopardy, but a passion that’s real, raw and absolutely against the rules…

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And don’t miss the first book in the Body Armor Series!

 

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Under Pressure (Body Armor, #1)Under Pressure by Lori Foster
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Leese meets his new charge under less than perfect circumstances. He can see why she needs protection. He just wants her to trust he will keep her safe. Even when it gets ugly.

Catalina has been surviving on her own, and does not feel she needs help. Those that are after her are beyond reach, so what is the point. Now, some hot time, that she could use. There is more to this than just security.

This book was an excellent start to a new series! I loved the characters. How strong the female lead is, how sassy. She knows what she wants. I am surprised the pages did not melt. The book is HOT! This author always gives us her best. I cannot wait to read the next book in the Body Armor series.

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About Lori Foster:

 

LORI FOSTER is a New York Times, USA TODAY and Publishers Weekly bestselling author of more than 55 titles, beloved for her contemporary romance novels revolving around alpha males and the women they fall for. Lori has been a recipient of the prestigious RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award for Series Romantic Fantasy, and for Contemporary Romance. For more about Lori, visit her website at LoriFoster.com, or check out these online locations where she interacts with readers: Facebook.com/LoriFoster, Twitter.com/LoriLFoster, Goodreads and Pinterest.com/lorilfoster. You can also sign up for her monthly newsletter at LoriFoster.com/Newsletter.    

 

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