Wednesday, May 24, 2017
Will be returning June 1st
Due to my mothers recent passing in March I have been taking a break on reviewing and posting but I will be returning June 1st 2017 thank you all for understanding and wait until you see what new books/reviews and giveaways that are coming up!!!
Wednesday, March 8, 2017
Excerpt & Giveaway: MY FAIR DUCHESS by Megan Frampton
An
unexpected duchess proves that behaving
badly isn't exclusive to the Dukedom.
MY FAIR DUCHESS
Dukes Behaving Badly #5
Megan Frampton
Releasing Feb 28, 2017
Avon Books
In Megan
Frampton's most recent installment of The Dukes Behaving Badly series, an
unexpected duchess proves that behaving badly isn't exclusive to the Dukedom.
The Unexpected Duchess
Archibald
Salisbury, son of a viscount, war hero, and proficient in the proper ways of
aristocratic society, has received orders for his most challenging mission:
Genevieve, Duchess of Blakesley. How she inherited a duchy isn’t his problem.
Turning her into a perfect duchess is. But how can he keep his mind on business
when her beauty entices him toward pleasure?
It was
impossible, unprecedented…and undeniably true. Genevieve is now a “duke”, or,
rather, a duchess. So what is she to do when the ton eyes her
every move, hoping she’ll make a mistake? Genevieve knows she has brains and
has sometimes been told she has beauty, but, out of her depth, she calls on an
expert. And what an expert, with shoulders broad enough to
lean on, and a wit that matches her own. Archie is supposed to teach her to be
a lady and run her estate, but what she really wants to do is unladylike—run
into his arms.
Excerpt
1845,
Lady Sophia’s Drawing Room
“There’s
only one solution,” Lady Sophia said, passing the letter to Archie as he felt
his stomach drop. And his carefully ordered life teeter on the verge of change.
“You’ll have to go to London to sort my goddaughter out.” She embellished her
point by squeezing her tiny dog Truffles, who emitted a squeak and glared at
Archie. As if it was his fault.
He
resisted the urge to crumple the paper in his hand. “But the festival is in a
few weeks,” Archie said, hearing the desperate tone in his voice. He did not
want to ever return to London. That was the purpose of taking a position out
here in the country after leaving the Queen’s Own Hussars a year prior. His
family was there, and his father, at least, had made it clear he never wanted
to see him again. What’s more, he did not want to assist a helpless aristocrat
in some sort of desperate attempt to bring order to their lives. Even though
that was what he was doing in Lady Sophia’s employ. But working for her had come
to have its own kind of satisfactory order, one he did not want to disrupt.
“There
is work to be done,” Archie continued, hoping to appeal to his employer’s
sensible side.
Although
in the course of working for her he had come to realize his employer didn’t
really have a sensible side, so what was he hoping to
accomplish?
“Didn’t
you tell me Mr. McCready could do everything you could?” Lady Sophia asked.
“You pointed out that if you were to get ill, or busy with other matters, your
assistant steward could handle things just as well as you.”
That
was when I was trying to get one of my men work,
Archie thought in frustration. To help him get back on his feet after
the rigors of war. And Bob had proven
himself to be a remarkably able assistant, allowing
Archie to dive into Lady Sophia’s woefully neglected
accounts and see into her investments, neither of which she
paid any attention to.
Lady
Sophia placed Truffles on the rug before lifting her head to look at Archie.
Who knew, in that moment, that he was doomed. Doomed to return to London to
help out a likely far-too- indulged female in the very difficult position of
being a powerful and wealthy aristocrat.
Perhaps
it would have been easier to just get shot on the battlefield. It certainly
would have been quicker.
“It’s
settled.” She punctuated her words with a nod of her head, sending a few gray
curls flying in the air. “You will go see to the new duchess and take care of
her as ably as you do me. Mr. Mc-Cready will assist me while you are away.”
Archie
looked at the letter again. “This duchess is your relative?” he asked. That
would explain the new duchess’s equally silly mode of communication. An
“unexpected duchess,” indeed. What kind of idiot wouldn’t have foreseen this
circumstance? And done something to prepare for it?
“She
calls me aunt, but she is not my actual niece, you understand,” Lady Sophia
explained. “She is my goddaughter; her mother married the duke, the duchess’s
father. It is quite unusual for a woman to inherit the duchy.”
“Quite,”
Archie echoed.
“But
it happened, somehow, and since I don’t know anything about being a duchess . .
.” Because I do? Archie wondered. But there wasn’t anybody
else. She wouldn’t have asked Lady Sophia, of all people, unless there was
nobody else.
Or
if she was as flighty and confident as her faux-aunt. A scenario that seemed
more and more likely.
“The
only thing Mr. McCready can’t do is attract as much feminine interest as you
do, Mr. Salisbury.” She sat back up and regarded him. “Which might make him
more productive,” she added. She leaned over to offer Truffles the end of her
biscuit.
Archie opened his mouth to object, but
closed it when he realized she was right. He wasn’t vain, but he did recognize
that ladies tended to find his appearance attractive. Lady Sophia received many
more visitors, she’d told him in an irritated tone, now that he’d been hired.
Bob,
damn his eyes, smirked knowingly every time Archie was summoned to Lady
Sophia’s drawing room to answer yet another question about estate management
posed by a lady who’d likely never had such a question in her life.
Archie
responded by making Bob personally in charge of the fertilizer. It didn’t stop
Bob’s smirking, but it did make Archie feel better.
“And
you will return in a month’s time so you can be here for the festival.”
“Sooner
if I can, my lady.” If this duchess needed more time than a month, there would
be no hope for her anyway. Country life suited him; he liked its quiet and
regularity. It was a vast change from life in battle, or even being just on duty,
but it was far more interesting than being the third son from a viscount’s
family. A viscount who disowned his third boy when said boy was determined to
join the army.
Meanwhile,
however, he had to pack to head off to a new kind of battle—that of preparing a
completely unprepared woman, likely a woman as flighty and often confused as
Lady Sophia, to hold a position that she was entirely unsuited for.
Very
much like working with raw recruits, in fact.
Megan
Frampton writes
historical romance under her own name and romantic women’s fiction as Megan
Caldwell. She likes the color black, gin, dark-haired British men, and huge
earrings, not in that order. She lives in Brooklyn, New York, with her husband
and son. You can visit her on her website, @meganf, and at Facebook.
Thursday, March 2, 2017
Excerpt: HOME AT LAST by Lily Everett
HOME AT LAST
Lily Everett
Lily Everett
Home is where
the heart is…
Marcus Beckett
left Sanctuary Island after his mother’s funeral, and he hasn’t been back
since. Until now. Needing a change from the high-risk, high-stakes life of a
bodyguard, Marcus makes a solitary life for himself running the neighborhood
bar in his hometown. His only mistake? Seducing and then dumping the town’s
sweetheart, Quinn Harper. Marcus knows he did the right thing—a good girl like
Quinn has no business with a broken man like him. But now no one will come to
his bar, and he’s watching his last chance at a peaceful life go up in smoke.
So when Quinn proposes a fake four-week courtship, he can’t refuse…even though
he knows it’s a bad idea.
It’s a romantic charade that will buy Quinn time to distract her mother and father from their own marital problems—and will help Marcus welcome back some paying customers. But what begins as an engagement of convenience slowly transforms into a deeper connection, one that heals both of their hearts. . .and ignites the simmering passion between them. Could it be that pretending to be together is just what Quinn and Marcus needed to give their real love a second chance?
It’s a romantic charade that will buy Quinn time to distract her mother and father from their own marital problems—and will help Marcus welcome back some paying customers. But what begins as an engagement of convenience slowly transforms into a deeper connection, one that heals both of their hearts. . .and ignites the simmering passion between them. Could it be that pretending to be together is just what Quinn and Marcus needed to give their real love a second chance?
LILY
EVERETT is the author of
the Sanctuary Island series for St.
Martin's Press. She grew up in a small town in the foothills of Virginia's Blue
Ridge Mountains and now resides in Austin, Texas, where she writes full-time.
SMP ROMANCE SOCIAL MEDIA LINKS
Twitter: @SMPRomance
Facebook: @SMPRomance
http://smpromance.com/
Twitter: @SMPRomance
Facebook: @SMPRomance
http://smpromance.com/
BUY LINKS:
Quinn had taken the floor for exactly the reasons
she’d said, in addition to the knowledge that however
little she liked to think it mattered, Marcus was ten years older than she was. And he was a secret stress
case who carried all his tension in his back and shoul-
ders. She should know, since she’d nearly sprained her thumbs trying to dig the knots out during a massage that had started out sexy and turned into a to-the-death battle between Quinn and the long muscles lining
Marcus’s spine.
Marcus didn’t need to screw up his back by lying on the floor for eight hours, was her point. Not that she
would ever say that to him. She didn’t have a death
wish.
But as it turned out, the floor was more uncomfort-
able than Quinn had anticipated. And as the hours wore down, so did her resistance to the temptation of the warm,
soft bed
mere inches
from her
stiff, aching
body.
She stared at Marcus’s sleeping form and wondered if she dared.
Then she wondered what the hell was the matter with her. It was a bed. They were adults. Sleeping next to each other didn’t mean they were automatically
going to cross some invisible, arbitrary line. She wasn’t
going to roll over in her sleep and accidentally impale
herself on his penis. They’d be fine.
This is fine, she told herself, getting up off her shaky knees and creeping around to the other side of the bed. The way her knees popped when she stood up was a
deciding factor. Quinn carefully peeled back the cov- ers and slid into the bed beside Marcus.
Quinn held her breath, but he didn’t move. His broad chest rose and fell with his deep, even breaths. He threw off heat like a roaring bonfire; Quinn went from
chilled to toasty in seconds.
Letting her body relax into the softness of the mat-
tress, she drifted peacefully into sleep.
Quinn’s dreams were chaotic, flashes of memories mixed with totally random people from her past and present. She was aware they were dreams, in that vague way that happens sometimes, even when the dreamer is
deeply asleep.
In the dream, she and Marcus were walking through
the woods behind her parents’ house, holding hands. Even Dream Quinn couldn’t suspend disbelief quite enough for that. Marcus wasn’t a hand-holding kind of
guy. So she knew it was a dream, even as he led her deeper into the pine copse, their footfalls muffled by
layers and layers of dried pine needles that released
their evergreen scent as they
were crushed.
Come here, said Dream Marcus, giving Quinn the smile she’d only glimpsed once or twice—the
small, private, completely unguarded smile that made
Marcus look like the carefree boy Quinn had first fallen
for.
She could never resist that particular smile. Not that she wanted to resist. This was only a dream. She could have whatever she wanted, with
no consequences.
Emboldened by her freedom, Quinn followed
Marcus down to lie on a bed of springy green moss. He lay back, arms crossed behind his head and more re-
laxed than she’d ever seen him in real life. Sunlight
dappled his handsome face, patterns of light and
shadow that shivered over his cheekbones when wind
fluttered through the branches overhead.
Her heart swelled with all the feelings she’d been
stuffing down and denying since the day Marcus un- ceremoniously ended their relationship. It wasn’t smart to care about him. She knew that, and Quinn wanted to be smart, she really did.
The trouble was that she’d never learned how to stop
caring about someone. Her poor, bruised heart was as
optimistic and stubborn as her hungry body was when
it
came to Marcus Beckett.
Despair teased at Quinn’s mind, but she pushed it away. This is a dream, she said aloud to remind them
both. Only
a dream.
Beneath her, Marcus smiled again, the smile that promised things like love and forever and the kind of
pleasure she could live on. Thighs tensing with need
where she was suddenly straddling his hips, Quinn felt
the low-down clench of her body around the emptiness only Marcus could fill.
A shudder racked her, sweeping up her frame in a
rush that tightened the peaks of her breasts and forced her mouth open
on a
gasp.
Yes, like that, Marcus murmured, his eyes going hot
and
feral the way she remembered from their first nights of passion. The grip of his hands at her hips ex- cited Quinn. She squirmed a little, wanting to feel it,
hoping it bruised so she could look in the mirror later and see the evidence of
Marcus’s desire for her.
With a smooth twist of his massive torso, he flipped them so that Quinn’s back was arching off the cool moss and Marcus was covering her with his body. Her legs fell open, wanton and wanting, and she relished the stretch of her thighs as he fit himself into the cra- dle of her hips.
His hardness slotted against her softness with a series of rhythmic nudges that stoked the fire inside Quinn higher and higher. In the dream, her panties melted away like
fog, and he
was
naked
too,
and
they were pressed together
so intimately and perfectly and yet, somehow, there was still something in the way, a barrier to Quinn getting what she really wanted. Frus- tration mounting, she reached down between their hot, straining
bodies
and
felt
. . . cotton?
Quinn blinked and suddenly, instead of staring up
at
the waving pine needles of the Lantern Point woods, she was looking at the familiar starburst pattern of the plaster ceiling
in her girlhood bedroom.
Her immediate thought was a dismayed No, let me go back to the dream! But in the next instant, she
realized Marcus was still on top of her, his hard chest and strong arms caging her in. Their legs were tangled
hopelessly in the sheets and they were both still wear- ing what they’d
gone to bed in, but other than that?
The dream
was
real.
Eyes still closed, Marcus twisted his hips, grinding
wickedly against Quinn’s most sensitive spot and scat- tering her thoughts like dried pine needles before she
could figure out what to do. She reacted mindlessly, her body taking over and bowing up hard, her arms going around Marcus’s neck.
Through her haze of heated lust, Quinn saw the exact moment Marcus woke up.
Copyright © 2017 by
Lily Everett and reprinted by permission of St. Martin’s Press.
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