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review 2017-09-22 13:10
Blog Tour - The GRIP Remix

Grip Remix Banner.jpeg

 

“...one of the most engaging and well-written romance books I have read...It's like nothing you've read before. It touches the issues no one talks about in our community. And it's a MUST-READ."  

--LJ Shen, Amazon Bestselling Author

 

 

GRIP, Kennedy Ryan’s sexy, emotional Amazon Bestseller,

is available now for only 99¢!

Scroll all the way down for an excerpt and to enter the

$25 Gift Card Giveaway!

 

GRIP COVER SALE

 

 

Resisting an irresistible force wears you down and turns you out. I know. I've been doing it for years.

 

 

I may not have a musical gift of my own, but I've got a nose for talent and an eye for the extraordinary. And Marlon James - Grip to his fans - is nothing short of extraordinary.

Years ago, we strung together a few magical nights, but I keep those memories in a locked drawer and I've thrown away the key. All that's left is friendship and work.

He's on the verge of unimaginable fame, all his dreams poised to come true. I manage his career, but I can't seem to manage my heart.

 

 

It's wild, reckless, disobedient. And it remembers all the things I want to forget.

Read GRIP today for only 99¢ or FREE in Kindle Unlimited!

Amazon US ➜ http://amzn.to/2gsx1mB

Amazon UK ➜ http://amzn.to/2gz387W

Amazon CA ➜ http://amzn.to/2vADPJn

Amazon AU ➜ http://amzn.to/2gsH3Em

Add to GoodReads ➜  http://bit.ly/2k1T1rL

FLOW, the FREE prequel, MUST BE READ before GRIP!

Amazon ➜ http://amzn.to/2lAhSSC

Amazon UK➜ http://amzn.to/2xSpMMS

WATTPAD ➜  http://w.tt/2kUo8Yk

STILL, the sexy and emotional final installment of The Grip Series,

releases September 24th!

Preorder STILL Today!

Amazon http://amzn.to/2jAkJNT

Amazon UK http://amzn.to/2f4kxSa

Amazon CA http://amzn.to/2wmWoRR

Amazon AU ➜ http://amzn.to/2xcBEuD

Add STILL to GoodReads: http://bit.ly/2vBiUWN

 

 

GRIP SERIES REMIX SALE

 

Click here to enter the $25 Amazon Gift Card Giveaway  

 

 

Excerpt:

 

“Neither of us has been in a serious relationship in years.”

 

“That doesn’t mean anything.” I stand and slide my feet into the Jimmy Choos. “You haven’t exactly been waiting around, have you?”

 

“Damn right I haven’t been waiting around.” He doesn’t get up, but his firm hold on my wrist stops me from walking away. “I’m not Rhyson.”

 

I look down at him, frowning my confusion.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Remember when Kai put Rhyson in the friend zone?”

 

Of course I do. For a long time, my sister-in-law Kai denied the attraction between her and Rhyson.

 

“Yeah, so?”

 

“When Kai wasn’t checking for Rhys, I assumed he had to be sleeping with other girls.” Grip shrugs. “I mean, he and Kai were just friends. But, nope. He said he only wanted Kai and didn’t sleep with anyone else.”

 

“Then you’re right.” I tug at my wrist, but he holds on tight. “You’re definitely not Rhyson.”

 

“It was months, Bristol. She shut him out for months. Not years.”

 

“I’m not shutting you out.” I release a tired breath. “I’m living my life, and you’re living yours.”

 

“Right.” He nods and turns his mouth down at the corners. “So, if you won’t be with me, then I’ll fuck whoever the hell I want. If you have a problem with that, you know what to do about it.”

 

For a moment, our eyes tangle in the dimness. His words sink into my flesh like briars. Every word out of his mouth only proves that I’m right to get out of here. That I’m right not to give in. If I ever gave him a chance and he fucked around on me . . . I’ve seen what that looks like. It looks like a woman as strong as my mother reduced to pathetic, teary drunkenness.

 

“It’s none of my business.” I shift my eyes away from him and to the glittering city skyline just beyond the rooftop.

 

“It’s none of your business until you say it is.”

 

I force myself to look back.

 

“Don’t hold your breath, Grip.” I say my next words with deliberation. “I mean, it’s not like I’m sitting around saving it, either.”

 

He pulls me forward, and I press my hand to the hardness of his chest so I don’t fall into him. My knee supports me, pressed against his on the couch.

 

“Are you poking me?” One strong hand wraps around the back of my thigh, anger marking his expression. “Do you want to know if it bothers me when you fuck other guys?”

 

I just stare at him unblinkingly. He presses my leg, urging me forward until I’m fully on the couch, fully on him, one knee on either side of his legs, facing him. Straddling him.

“It makes me want to set the world on fire.” His words come softly, but the truth roars in his eyes. “To think of you with them.”

 

Find the GRIP Series On Audio!

FLOW ➜ http://bit.ly/FLOWAudiobook

GRIP ➜ http://bit.ly/GRIPAudiobook

Join the GRIP Discussion Group:

https://www.facebook.com/groups/1891983067712410/

 

Visit the Spotify Playlist for GRIP: 

http://bit.ly/2lWrHdS

 

If you prefer, the iTunes Playlist for GRIP:

http://apple.co/2lWI9ur

 

 

Image-1.jpg

 

Click here to enter the $25 Amazon Gift Card Giveaway

 

 

 

 

Grip (Grip, #1)Grip by Kennedy Ryan
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Bristol and Marlon AKA Grip's story continues in this amazingly touching and yet intense story. Grip has been chasing her since that very special moment back in college. The best Spring Break of their lives.

Grip has all but given up, since the better part of a decade has past and still she will not give him an inch. He has tried to move on - but at what expense? Can the heart really forget what his head tells him he must?

This book was everything I was looking for, and more. In typical fashion, this author gives us an intense relationship filled with twists and turns. With a little suspense thrown in. I loved it. Even though I cried and laughed my way through it. This was made better with some of our favorite characters and surprises thrown in.


***This early copy was given in exchange for an honest review.



This story is continued from the FREE prequel, FLOW. You can get yourself a copy and see more information, including my review at http://bit.ly/2lc5qXh!

View all my reviews

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kennedy Ryan

About the Author:

 

 

Kennedy Ryan is a Southern girl gone Southern California. A Top 100 Amazon Bestseller, Kennedy writes romance about remarkable women who find a way to thrive even in tough times, the love they find, and the men who cherish them. She is a wife to her lifetime lover and mother to an extraordinary son. She has always leveraged her journalism background to write for charity and non-profit organizations, but enjoys writing to raise Autism awareness most. A contributor for Modern Mom Magazine, Kennedy’s writings have appeared in Chicken Soup for the Soul, USA Today and many others. The founder and executive director of a foundation serving Georgia families living with Autism, Kennedy has appeared on Headline News, Montel Williams, NPR and other outlets as a voice for families living with autism.

 

Connect with Kennedy:

 

Order Signed GRIP Series Paperbacks:

http://kennedyryanwrites.com/signed-paperbacks/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/KennedyRyanAuthor/

Reader Group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/681604768593989/

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/kennedyryan1/

BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/kennedy-ryan

Amazon: http://amzn.to/2x0qCtC

Twitter: https://twitter.com/kennedyrwrites

YouTube: http://bit.ly/2gsAGkp

Website: http://kennedyryanwrites.com

 

 

 

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text 2017-09-21 15:18
Treasured by a Tiger (Eternal Mates #14) by Felicity Heaton (Tour) ~ Giveaway/Excerpt

 

  

It was almost her turn on the stage.

 

Sickness brewed in Lyra’s stomach and her legs trembled beneath her weight, but she refused to let fear overcome her. She tugged at the heavy metal collar around her neck, rattling the chain attached to it, and cursed. Her heart thundered at a dizzying pace that made it difficult to breathe.

 

Gods.

 

She needed to get away.

 

It was pointless though. There was a huge gulf between what she needed and what she knew was going to happen. She needed to be realistic, and not allow her fear to consume her. She had to keep her head.

 

Even if she did manage to get the collar off, and the shackles that bound her wrists, she wouldn’t be free. She would still be locked in a cage built of the strongest metal in Hell.

 

Lyra paced the small space, struggling to breathe through the panic as it started to sink its claws into her heart and her mind, conjuring vile images of her future, visions that tore at her strength, making it easier for the fear to take hold.

 

To strip away her control.

 

She sucked down another trembling breath.

 

She needed to be strong.

 

It was hard when she was falling apart inside.

 

The number of eyes on her grew, pushing at her fragile restraint, making her want to lash out at the other captives as they watched her.

 

She hated the sense of expectation that laced the warm air and pressed down on her.

 

These people expected her to be strong. Fearless.

 

She might be a hellcat, one of the most powerful and vicious of the shifter species that called Hell their home, but she still had a heart.

 

She still experienced fear.

 

The thought of what was about to happen to her was terrifying.

 

She clawed at her cuffs and her collar, her throat growing tight and her strength wavering for a heartbeat before she snatched hold of it and clung to it again, not letting it bleed from her.

 

She cursed the collar.

 

The magic in it sapped her strength, making it impossible for her to break free of her bonds, the drain it caused far stronger and more devastating than the one she felt from the shackles around her wrists. Those were just the back-up plan, a last resort in case she broke her collar somehow. They would inhibit her enough that she wouldn’t be able to break them open, but they wouldn’t stop her from snapping the chain and gaining enough freedom to sink fangs and claws into every male present.

 

Everyone responsible for what had happened to her.

 

She tugged at the ring of cold steel around her neck and growled.

 

Damn collar.

 

She let her left hand hang from it, her fingers looped over the top of the ring, and fought for the strength to push back against the feelings welling up inside her, the despair that would allow weakness to invade her heart and her body.

 

It would break her.

 

She closed her eyes and cursed again.

 

Aiming it at herself this time.

 

Gods, if she hadn’t been such a fool, none of this would have happened to her. She would be home, living the life she loved. Her need to track down others of her species had been a moment of weakness, brought on by loneliness, and she should have weathered it as she had every other time it had swept over her. She should have stayed far away from Hell.

 

Hindsight was a bitch.

 

She had longed for company, and now she longed for the solitary life she had left behind.

 

Her moment of weakness had only proven that she was better off alone.

 

Lesson learned.

 

Never trust another hellcat.

 

Lyra tugged at the collar, her strength flowing from her again, despair swift to roll in to take its place, eating away at her.

 

A collar a male hellcat had placed on her.

 

She shouldn’t have trusted him. Her mother would roll in her grave if she could see her now. Her aunt would roll right along with her. They had raised her better than that. She had been such an idiot, believing herself stronger than both of them, thinking that what had happened to them wouldn’t happen to her because she was more intelligent, had learned from their history and seeing the scars that ringed their necks every day of her life.

 

She had been a damned fool.

 

All males of her kind were the same.

 

They wanted to collar any female they met, using it to force them to become their ‘mate’. It was the reason most females of her species despised their male counterparts and had long ago decided to do without them, to find their fated ones instead of allowing a male to collar them.

 

So, the males of her species had grown vicious, driven to dominate the females in response to the rejection, determined to claim what they viewed as rightfully theirs.

 

She opened her eyes and looked towards the glow that filled the air in the distance to her left, where the stage had been set up and a low hum of chatter drove back the silence of Hell.

 

Was there a male of her kind in the audience, waiting to bid on her?

 

Eager to have her at his mercy?

 

Was she about to face the same dark fate as her mother and aunt had?

 

She shuddered at the thought of any male having that sort of power over her.

 

Owning her.

 

“You.” The deep voice sent a tremor through her and she whipped her head around and bared her fangs at the huge bare-chested male.

 

The demon smirked at her, his broken pale horns flaring a little from behind his ears, pushing through his shaggy mane of sandy hair. He always got off on her threatening him. The sick bastard enjoyed taunting her.

 

The dark-haired demon next to him just stalked forwards, keys jangling in his hands as he searched for the one that would unlock her cage.

 

Her heart kicked into overdrive again, pulse slamming hard.

 

She backed away.

 

Her bottom hit the back of the cage, the metal bars cold against her bare flesh, and she bared her fangs again, hissed through them at the two males, warning them away.

 

The brunet demon ignored her and unlocked her cage.

 

The blond flicked his wrist, extending the baton he held. “Be nice now.”

 

He grinned at her, revealing short fangs, a glimmer of arousal in his pale eyes. He wanted her to do the opposite to his words. He wanted her to fight him.

 

Gods, she wanted it too, but she wasn’t about to give the bastard the satisfaction of fighting with her.

 

A loud roar sent silence sweeping across the black lands.

 

And a shiver down her spine.

 

It wasn’t one of her kind.

 

But there was such anger in that roar, such strength and power, and it lit a fuse inside her.

 

She exploded from the cage, launching at the two males, everything she had held bottled up inside her blasting through her, driving her into a rage.

 

She was on the brunet demon before he was even aware she had moved, her bare body slamming into his. Her left foot skidded on the loose dirt as she drove forwards, putting all her remaining strength into shoving him backwards and off balance.

 

As she landed on his chest, the captives in the cages around her began shouting, some of them calling to her to free them while others screamed for the guards, their fear of being punished because of something she had done driving them to alert the bastards who held them in chains in the hope they would avoid a beating.

 

Lyra sank her claws into the demon’s shoulders and struck hard with her fangs, lodging them deep in the side of his throat. He roared and bucked up, but she held on, refusing to release him as he tried to shake her off him. She snarled, a red rage pouring through her, controlling her actions. 

 

She didn’t feel it when the sandy-haired demon struck her across the back with his baton. She didn’t feel it when he sank his own claws into her arm and pulled. Didn’t feel it when the male beneath her managed to shove his fist hard into her stomach.

 

She felt only the high of battle, the roar of victory in her ears, and the sheer elation that came with the taste of blood on her tongue.

 

The pale-horned demon finally managed to yank her off his colleague.

 

To his detriment.

 

Her fangs ripped through the side of his neck, gouging a deep hole in his flesh. Blood spurted across the black ground, and the male fumbled, desperately seeking the strength to cover the wound. The blond tossed her through the air and she shrieked as she hit the cage, the top bar of it slamming hard into her lower back, sending pain ricocheting through her.

 

By the time she had hit the ground, the dark-haired demon was still, his eyes staring blankly into the dark beyond.

 

The blond turned towards her, a growl on his lips.

 

Lyra roared and sprang at him, hitting him square in the chest with all of her weight. He didn’t fall. He grabbed her right arm and spun with her, flung her across the clearing and into the side of another cage. The occupant screamed and shoved at her, pushing her away.

 

She scowled at the female and spat blood on the floor.

 

Foolish bitch.

 

There was no currying favour with their captors now. 

 

Not if the unholy cacophony she could hear coming from the direction of the stage was anything to go by.

 

Someone was ripping through the crowd, and most likely their captors. Someone who wanted blood on their hands as badly as she did.

 

She hunkered down and growled low, and the demon backed off as blue flames flickered over her hands. 

 

The need to shift was strong, driving her to obey it, but she couldn’t, not with the collar on.

 

The male knew it. She saw it the moment he remembered, saw all that fear that had been building in his eyes drain right back out of them again as he cockily smiled at her.

 

Lyra wiped that smile right off his face.

 

In a lightning fast move, she closed the gap between her and the dead demon, and snatched the baton from his belt. She flicked her right hand out, extending the weapon, and roared as she swept it up in a fast, hard arc aimed at the blond’s head.

 

He growled and dodged backwards, her baton cutting harmlessly through the air a few inches in front of his face. 

 

She strafed left when he swung at her with his own baton, coming close to striking her with it, and threw herself into a roll when he struck again, diving beneath his blow. She came to her feet behind him in a crouch and sprang forwards, leaping high into the air. He turned, a frown on his face as he looked at the ground where she had been.

 

Lyra grinned as she came down on the bastard’s head.

 

She brought the baton down, a sliver of satisfaction rolling through her when it struck hard enough to crack his skull, and he grunted and dropped to his knees. She kicked off him and pirouetted, coming back around to face him. 

 

He shook his head, his eyes widened as he spotted her baton coming at him again, and he swiftly brought his arm up to shield his face. Another satisfying crack sounded as she connected with his wrist.

 

How many times had he beaten her with his baton?

 

How many times had he smiled as he did it, taking satisfaction from hurting her?

 

Gods, that left her cold. She was no better than he was.

 

It didn’t stop her though. She could hate herself later, when she was free, and this male was dead.

 

She pressed her left hand against the tip of the baton and drove forwards, into the male’s arm, shoving him sideways. He lashed out at her again, his baton striking her thigh and then her knee. Heat swept through her, numb at first but then fiery hot, blazing along her bones.

 

“Fucker,” she snarled and grabbed his baton before he could strike her with it again.

 

She wrestled with him as he tried to twist it free of her grip, his face contorting into vicious lines as he growled at her, flashing his fangs. His busted horns curled further, a flare of aggression, and his eyes brightened, glowing gold around his pupils.

 

He yanked his arm backwards, and she went forwards with it, refusing to release his weapon. She slammed into him, her bare breasts pressing against his chest, and pulled her arm back, trying to get the damned baton off him. She was going to kill him with the fucking thing. It would be a fitting end for him. Dying by his own weapon.

 

She was so focused on getting the baton off him that she didn’t notice his other fist coming at her face until it was too late. Pain splintered across her nose and blood poured from it, hot as it ran over her lips. She growled, grabbed his arm and twisted it hard.

 

He roared as the bone snapped.

 

Lyra grabbed her baton with both hands, shoved it against the front of his throat and pressed forwards, driving him down into the dirt. She settled all her weight on his chest, her knees pinning his shoulders, and pushed downwards on the baton. His eyes grew wild as he struggled beneath her, kicking his legs and growling.

 

His baton smacked her hard in the side.

 

She snarled, grabbed it and twisted it free of his grip.

 

And brought it down hard.

 

 

 

Treasured by a Tiger

 

(Eternal Mates Romance Series Book 14)
Felicity Heaton

 

Despised by his tiger shifter pride as an abomination, Grey has ventured far from home, deep into the bowels of Hell in search of answers about the machinations of Archangel, the mortal hunter organisation who held his twin captive. With no knowledge of the realm, and little skill with the local languages, he quickly finds himself at a dead end—until he crosses paths with a beautiful hellcat female who rouses his darkest most dangerous instincts.

 

Lyra has been a fool, falling for the charms of a male whose only desire was to make a fast buck by selling her. Shackled and collared, her strength muted by magic, she awaits her time on the stage at a black-market auction, but before it can come, all hell breaks loose and she seizes a chance to escape—and runs straight into a majestic warrior who steals her breath away and tempts her like no other as he battles alone to free everyone.

 

When Lyra offers her services as a translator to repay Grey for saving her, will he be strong enough to resist the needs she awakens in him and spare himself the pain of her inevitable rejection when she discovers the truth about him? And when the powerful male in charge of the slave ring starts a bloody hunt for Lyra, can she escape another collar and find the courage to trust the tiger who is capturing her heart? 

 

 

BUY LINKS

Amazon.com | Amazon.co.uk | Amazon.ca | Amazon.com.au
iBooks USA | iBooks UK | iBooks Canada | iBooks Australia | iBooks New Zealand
Barnes and Noble | Kobo Books | Google Play 

 

 

 

GRAND GIVEAWAY

Enter the grand tour-wide giveaway to win a $25, $50 or $75 Amazon Gift Card at the Treasured by a Tiger book page. This giveaway is international and open to everyone, and ends at midnight on September 24th. Enter now HERE.

 

 

 

 

 

Book 1: Kissed by a Dark Prince (Only 99c at all retailers!)
Book 2: Claimed by a Demon King
Book 3: Tempted by a Rogue Prince
Book 4: Hunted by a Jaguar
Book 5: Craved by an Alpha
Book 6: Bitten by a Hellcat
Book 7: Taken by a Dragon
Book 8: Marked by an Assassin
Book 9: Possessed by a Dark Warrior
Book 10: Awakened by a Demoness
Book 11: Haunted by the King of Death
Book 12: Turned by a Tiger
Book 13: Tamed by a Tiger
Book 14: Treasured by a Tiger

 

Felicity Heaton is a New York Times and USA Today international best-selling author writing passionate paranormal romance books. In her books, she creates detailed worlds, twisting plots, mind-blowing action, intense emotion and heart-stopping romances with leading men that vary from dark deadly vampires to sexy shape-shifters and wicked werewolves, to sinful angels and hot demons! If you’re a fan of paranormal romance authors Lara Adrian, J R Ward, Sherrilyn Kenyon, Gena Showalter and Christine Feehan then you will enjoy her books too.

 

If you love your angels a little dark and wicked, the best-selling Her Angel series is for you. If you like strong, powerful, and dark vampires then try the Vampires Realm series or any of her stand-alone vampire romance books. If you’re looking for vampire romances that are sinful, passionate and erotic then try the best-selling Vampire Erotic Theatre series. Or if you prefer huge detailed worlds filled with hot-blooded alpha males in every species, from elves to demons to dragons to shifters and angels, then take a look at the new Eternal Mates series.

 

If you want to know more about Felicity, or want to get in touch, you can find her at the following places:

 

WEBSITE | BLOG | FACEBOOK | TWITTER | GOODREADS | INSTAGRAM

 

Source: angelsguiltypleasures.com/2017/09/treasured-by-a-tiger-eternal-mates-14-by-felicity-heaton-tour-giveawayexceprt
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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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Buy Link 

 

Amazon 

 

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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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.

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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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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.

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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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a Rafflecopter giveaway

 

Follow the tour HERE for exclusive excerpts and a giveaway!

 

 

Source: snoopydoosbookreviews.com/blog-tour-releasing-henry-sarah-hegger-excerpt-giveaway
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