A MONSTER LIKE ME by Pamela Sparkman

Heart of Darkness series #2

HELLO STRANGER by Lisa Kleypas

The Ravenels series #4

THE BUTTERFLY PROJECT by Emma Scott

Companion to the Full Tilt series

PLAYING FOR KEEPS by Jill Shalvis

Heartbreaker Bay series #7

UNWRITTEN by Jen Frederick

Woodlands series #5

Cross My Heart by L.H. Cosway

Hearts series #5.75

MOONSHADOW by Thea Harrison

Moonshadow series #1

Sunday, December 5, 2021

Blog Tour with Excerpt: The Christmas Escape by Sarah Morgan


An  uplifting novel of friendship, the festive season, and risking everything for the biggest gift of all... 


THE CHRISTMAS ESCAPE by SARAH MORGAN
Series: Standalone
Publication date: October 26, 2021
Published by: Harlequin
Genre: contemporary romance, holiday

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SYNOPSIS

It was supposed to be Christy Sullivan’s perfect Christmas escape – a dream trip to Lapland with her family and best friend, Alix. But facing a make-or-break marriage crisis, Christy desperately needs time alone with her husband, Seb. Her solution? Alix, along with Seb’s oldest friend, Zac, can take Christy’s daughter on the planned Lapland trip, and they will all reunite there for Christmas Day. After all, what are friends for?

There’s nothing Alix won’t do for Christy, but Christy’s plan to save Christmas is testing their friendship. Especially as Alix and Zac have a difficult history of their own.

As long-held secrets unravel, and unexpected romance shines under the Northern Lights, can Christy and Alix find the courage to fight for the relationships they really want? And could this Christmas escape save the precious gift of each other’s friendship?



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EXCERPT:

   1

Robyn

She hadn’t dared hope that this might happen.

Someone less cynical might have thought of it as a Christmas miracle, but Robyn no longer believed in miracles. She was terrified, but layered under the terror was a seam of something else. Hope. The kaleidoscope of emotions inside her matched the swirl and shimmer of color in the sky. Here in Swedish Lapland, north of the Arctic Circle, the unpolluted skies and clear winter nights made for frequent sightings of the northern lights.

She heard the door open behind her, heard the soft crunch of footsteps on deep snow and then felt Erik’s arms slide around her.

“Come inside. It’s cold.”

“One more minute. I need to think…” She’d always done her best thinking here, in this wild land where nature dominated, where a human felt insignificant beneath the expanse of pink-tinted sky. Everything she’d ever done that was foolish, selfish, risky or embarrassing shrank in importance because this place didn’t care.

Trees bowed under the weight of new snow, the surface glistening with delicate threads of silver and blue. The cold numbed her cheeks and froze her eyelashes, but she noticed only the beauty. Her instinct was to reach for her camera, even though she already had multiple images of the same scene.
She’d come here to escape from everything she was and everything she’d done and had fallen in love with the place and the man. It turned out that you could reinvent yourself if you moved far enough away from everyone who knew you.

Erik pulled the hood of her down jacket farther over her head. “If you’re thinking of the past, then don’t.”

How could she not?

Robyn the rebel.

Her old self felt unfamiliar now. It was like looking at an old photo and not recognizing yourself. Who was that woman?

“I can’t believe she’s coming here. She was three years old when I last saw her.”

Her niece. Her sister’s child.

She remembered a small, smiling cherub with rosy cheeks and curly blond hair. She remembered innocence and acceptance and the fleeting hope of a fresh start, before Robyn had ruined it, the way she’d ruined everything back then.

Her sister had forbidden her to ever make contact again. There had been no room for Robyn in her sister’s perfect little family unit. Even now, many years later, remembering that last encounter still made her feel shaky and sick. She tried to imagine the child as a woman. Was she like her mother? Whenever Robyn thought about her sister, her feelings became confused.

Love. Hate. Envy. Irritation. She hadn’t known it was possible to feel every possible emotion within a single relationship. Elizabeth had been the golden girl. The perfect princess and, for a little while at least, her best friend in the world.

Time had eased the pain from agony to ache.

All links had been broken, until that email had arrived.

“Why did she get in touch now, after so long? She’s thirty. Grown.”

Part of her wanted to celebrate, but life had taught her to be cautious, and she knew this wasn’t a simple reunion. What if her niece was looking for answers? And what if she didn’t like what she heard?

Was this a second chance, or another emotional car crash?

“You can ask her. Face-to-face,” Erik said, “but I know you’re nervous.”

“Yes.” She had no secrets from him, although it had taken her a while to reach the point where she’d trusted their relationship not to snap. “She’s a stranger. The only living member of my family.”

Her sister was gone, killed instantly two years earlier while crossing the road. There was no fixing the past now. That door was closed.

Erik tightened his hold on her. “Your niece has a daughter, remember? That’s two family members. Three if you count her husband.”

Family. She’d had to learn to live without it.

She’d stayed away, as ordered. Made no contact. Rebuilt her life. Redesigned herself. Buried the past and traveled as far from her old life as she could. In the city she’d often felt trapped. Suffocated by the past. Here, in this snowy wilderness with nature on her doorstep, she felt free.

And then the past had landed in her in-box.

I’m Christy, your niece.

“Was it a mistake to ask her here?” It was the first time she’d invited the past into the present. “Apart from the fact we don’t know each other, do you think she’ll like this place?” For her it had been love at first sight. The stillness. The swirl of blue-green color in the sky, and the soft light that washed across the landscape at this time of year. As a photographer, the light was an endless source of fascination and inspiration. There were shades and tones she’d never seen anywhere else in the world. Midnight blue and bright jade. Icy pink and warm rose.

Some said the life up here was harsh and hard, but Robyn had known hard, and this wasn’t it. Cold wasn’t only a measure of temperature, it was a feeling. And she’d been cold. The kind of cold that froze you inside and couldn’t be fixed with thermal layers and a down jacket.

And then there was warmth, of the kind she felt now with Erik.

“Christmas in Lapland?” He sounded amused. “How can she not like it? Particularly as she has a child. Where else can she play in the snow, feed reindeer and ride on a sled through the forest?”

Robyn gazed at the trees. It was true that this was paradise for a Christmas-loving child, although that wasn’t the focus of the business. She had little experience with children and had never felt the desire to have her own. Her family was Erik. The dogs. The forest. The skies. This brilliant, brutal wilderness that felt more like home than any place she’d lived.

The main lodge had been handed down through generations of Erik’s family, but he’d expanded it to appeal to the upper end of the market. Their guests were usually discerning
travelers seeking to escape. Adventurous types who appreciated luxury but were undaunted by the prospect of heading into the frozen forest or exploring the landscape on skis or snowshoes. Erik offered his services as a guide when needed, and she, as a photographer, was on hand to coach people through the intricacies of capturing the aurora on camera. You couldn’t predict it, so she’d learned patience. She’d learned to wait until nature gave her what she was hoping for.

Through the snowy branches she could see the soft glow of lights from two of their cabins, nestled in the forest. They were five in total, each named after Arctic wildlife. Wolf, Reindeer, Elk, Lynx and Bear. Each cozy cabin had floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a breathtaking view of the forest and the sky. The Snow Spa had been her idea and proved a popular addition. The focus here was wellness, with an emphasis on the nature that surrounded them. She and her small team used local resources whenever they could. Guests were encouraged to leave phones and watches behind.

Erik was right. It was the perfect escape. The question she should have asked wasn’t Will she like it here? but Will she like me?

She felt a moment of panic. “The last time I saw Christy—well, it wasn’t good.” The kitten incident. The memory of that visit was carved into her soul. Despite all her good intentions, it had gone badly wrong. “What age do children start remembering? Will she remember what happened?” She hoped not. Even now, so many years later, she could still remember the last words her sister had spoken to her.
You ruin everything. I don’t want you in my life.

Robyn pressed closer to Erik and felt his arms tighten.

“It was a long time ago, Robyn. Ancient history.”

“But people don’t forget history, do they?” What had her sister told her daughter?

Robyn the rebel.

She wondered what her sister would say if she could see her now. Happy. Married to a man she loved. Living in one place. Earning a good living, although no doubt Elizabeth would see it as unconventional.
Christy, it seemed, was happily married and living an idyllic life in the country, as her mother had before her.

What would Elizabeth say if she knew her daughter was coming to visit?

Robyn gave a shiver and turned back toward the lodge.

Elizabeth wouldn’t have been happy, and if she could have stopped it, she would have done so. She wouldn’t have wanted her sister to contaminate her daughter’s perfect life.


Excerpted from The Christmas Escape by Sarah Morgan. Copyright © 2021 by Sarah Morgan. Published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.


ABOUT THE AUTHOR

USA Today bestselling author Sarah Morgan writes contemporary romance and women's fiction. Her trademark humour and warmth have gained her fans across the globe and three RITA® Awards from the Romance Writers of America. Sarah lives with her family near London, England, where the rain frequently keeps her trapped in her office

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Saturday, December 4, 2021

Blog Tour with Excerpt: Meet Me in London by Georgia Toffolo


Fans of Josie Silver's One Day in December and Christina Lauren's In a Holidaze will adore watching Victoria and Oliver's pretend engagement dissolve as their very real chemistry threatens to upend all their carefully laid-out secrets. Set against the most charming London backdrop, Meet Me in London is an irrisistable seasonal treat!


MEET ME IN LONDON by GEORGIA TOFFOLO
Series: Meet Me #1
Publication date: September 28, 2021
Published by: Harlequin
Genre: contemporary romance

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SYNOPSIS

What do you do when your fake engagement starts to feel too real…

Aspiring clothes designer Victoria Scott spends her days working in a bar in Chelsea, and her evenings designing vintage clothes, dreaming of one day opening her own boutique. But these aspirations are under threat from the new department store opening at the end of her road. She needs a Christmas miracle, but one is not forthcoming.

Oliver Russell’s Christmas is not looking very festive right now. His family’s new London department store opening is behind schedule, and on top of that his interfering, if well meaning, mother is pressing him to introduce his girlfriend to her. A girlfriend who does not exist. He needs a diversion. Something to keep his mother from interfering while he focuses on the business.

When Oliver meets Victoria, he offers a proposition: pretend to be his girlfriend at the opening of his store and he will provide an opportunity for Victoria to showcase her designs. But what starts as a business arrangement soon becomes something more tempting, as the fake relationship starts to feel very real. But when secrets in Victoria’s past are exposed will Oliver walk away, or will they both follow their hearts and find what neither knew they were looking for…



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EXCERPT:

    1

OLIVER RUSSELL COULD wrangle a wayward balance sheet back into the black, take failing stores apart and breathe new life into them, make difficult calls on staffing and personnel issues, make his shareholders happy and very, very rich. But he had never managed to curb his mother’s meddling in his private life.

Some things were just impossible.

Earth to Oliver. This is your mother asking about your Christmas Day plans. Will I need to set an extra place at the dinner table? Hint, hint. Your mother xx

Sitting on a stool at the bar in the upmarket wine bar The Landing, Oliver groaned as he interpreted the “hint” as yet another badly veiled attempt to discover his relationship status. Great one, Mum. Way to put pressure on a guy.

Could this week get any worse? He threw his mobile phone onto the sticky, beer-stained counter, gripped the tumbler in front of him and took a sip of a much needed fifteen-year-old Scotch. As the honey-colored syrup oozed down his throat and hit his stomach with a warming buzz he silently counted all the ways things had gone wrong in such a short space of time.

First mistake: allowing his mother to believe he was finally settling down when in reality his love life could only be described as...nonexistent. And now having to think up all the ways he could appease his parents over the holidays without going quietly insane.

Whereas other families had jolly traditions of games and church on Christmas Day, his parents’ idea of fun was to corner him in the living room, pin him down with laser stares and interrogate him for signs of commitment, a potential wife and progeny. A grandchild, or preferably many grandchildren, to spoil and give meaning to their later years, someone to carry on the family name and also an heir to entrust the business to. As an only child Oliver was expected to do so, as his father had done before him.

Trouble was, after his last romantic failure, settling down was not on Oliver’s bucket list. At least, not for a very long time.

Second mistake: in the spirit of keeping the family business afloat he’d agreed to clean up the mess his cousin was making of the new build. Ollie should have let him fall on his sword, but that would have meant his parents suffering too and there was no way he was going to allow that. So, here he was in a rowdy bar in Chelsea at ridiculous o’clock at night—or was it early morning?—having only just finished work, with the prospect of another seventeen-hour day tomorrow and the next day, and the next...

He took another sip of whiskey but almost choked as someone bumped into his hip, jolted his arm and sloshed the Scotch, rich but burning, down his throat.

“Hey, gorgeous.” A woman old enough to be his mother—and even though deep down he loved his mum, Lord knew he didn’t need two of them—appeared at his shoulder and beamed at him. Her eyes were wine-glazed and the lipstick smudged over her mouth almost up to her nostrils made her look like a startled fish. “I’ve got mistletoe, you know what that means, right?”

“That it’s time I left?” Scraping his stool back he stood, steadying the woman as she swayed, and then handed her into the waiting arms of her friends who were all dressed as...well, he wasn’t entirely sure, but there were glitter wings and feathery haloes involved, so he imagined they were supposed to be Christmas angels. In November?

As if knowing all about his work stress and family dilemmas even the music in the bar seemed to mock him. Too loud and too cheery and all about being home and in love at Christmas. He shuddered. No thanks.

Which brought him to his third mistake: choosing the bar from hell to drown his sorrows in. It wasn’t even December and yet here they all were screeching Christmas carols at the top of their tone-deaf voices. Christmas was everywhere. In the glittery tinsel that hung in loopy garlands across the ceiling and the fake tree in the corner. The soundtrack to the evening. The clothes people were wearing. Christmas was hurtling fast towards him and he was running out of time. He had so much to do to fix his first mistake before the doors of the new Russell & Co. department store opened, way behind schedule, but in time for the busiest, and therefore most lucrative time of the year.

He just needed some kind of miracle to make it happen.

On the counter his phone vibrated. He picked up and grimaced at another text, knowing what was bound to be coming but also knowing if he ignored her it would only get worse: Oliver? It’s a simple question. Blink once for yes. Twice for no. Are we finally going to meet your new girlfriend? Your mother xx.

Uh-oh. She was dropping the veiled interest and taking a more direct approach. This was serious.

He flicked a text back:

When your message flashes onto my screen it identifies you as my mother. There is also a little photo of you smiling at me at the top of your texts. You don’t need to tell me who you are.

He added two kisses, because, well, she was his mother: Ollie xx.

A pause while he watched three gray dots dance on his screen and then:

Not a single blink. How do I interpret that? We just want to see you happy. Your mother xxx

By happy, she meant married. As if you couldn’t be otherwise. Although he knew just as many people who were married and miserable as married and happy.

How was he even meant to send a blink by text anyway? He rolled his eyes instead. Nothing confirmed as yet.

Before he could say “Bah Humbug” her reply flashed on his screen:

When will you know? Your mother xx

Oliver: I don’t know.

If he told her the delightful Clarissa had moved on to a more malleable boyfriend his mum would be trying to arrange dates for him.

As if on cue another text arrived:

Is there something you’re not telling us? Is it over? So soon? Again? Oh, Oliver.

He could feel the disappointment coming through the airwaves as her next text quickly followed:

Perhaps I should invite the Henleys over on Christmas Day. I heard Arabella’s back from her Indian ashram trip and SINGLE. And stop rolling your eyes at me. Your mother xx

He couldn’t help but laugh at that, despite his growing frustration. He tried to stay noncommittal. Apparently, according to his ex, noncommittal was a strength of his:

Do NOT set any more dates up for me. Nothing’s confirmed re Xmas. I’ll let you know when I know.

Mum: At the new store opening then?

Just a matter of weeks away. She clearly wasn’t giving up. She never gave up. She wouldn’t give up until she was holding his first child. Or maybe his second—his second set of triplets.

That was the problem; she wasn’t giving up. He just needed to appease her. Or ignore her. So, he chose the latter.

Realizing he hadn’t finished his drink and grateful that the bar staff were now shuffling the off-tune singers outside, he sat back down and resumed his contemplation of the whiskey in front of him. At some point the staff would shuffle him out too, but for now he craved this brief peace and quiet, save for his mother’s infuriating but well-meaning texts and a muted conversation between the servers coming from a little room off to the side of the bar.

He could hear Paul, the guy who’d served him earlier say, “Hey, Vicki, are you OK to close up tonight? I promised Amanda I’d get home early. It’s our anniversary.”

“Of course.” A soft voice filtered through. “You helped me out by taking the early shift so I could teach my class, so I’m more than happy to hang around here for the stragglers. Sara said she’d stay on and help me clear up.”

Stragglers? Was that what he was now? Ollie looked around the bar at the three other solo drinkers—all male, all staring hopelessly into glasses of alcohol. He laughed to himself. Yeah, damned right he fitted that description; moving slowly. He didn’t want to hurry because the sooner he went home, the sooner tomorrow would arrive bringing with it all his problems.

“So how did class go today?” he heard Paul ask the owner of the soft voice. “Any more visits from the local cops?”

Police? Interesting. Ollie leaned forward to hear the mystery woman’s answer.

“Oh, that was all just a misunderstanding. Her brother gave her the iPad, Jasmine didn’t know it was stolen.” A pause. “Um. By her brother.” A rumble of soft laughter that sounded so free and bright had Ollie straining to see who the voice belonged to. It wasn’t the other woman who worked here because she was now collecting glasses from empty tables and her accent was Cockney through and through. This Vicki woman was from somewhere else. Southwest maybe, a tiny hint of something he recognized from holidays down in Cornwall. Laughter threaded through her intonation. “We sorted it out. The police dropped the charges against her.”

“So, one of the kids you’re teaching is harboring stolen goods. Great. You really need to stay away from trouble like that, Vicki.” Paul came back into the bar and started to wipe down the counter with a dishcloth.

The woman followed. “If I stayed away there’d be even more trouble for her, I’m sure. She’s so talented. You should see her designs, they’re stunning. Really fresh ideas. She could go a long way with the right guidance. I’m pulling out all the stops.”

“You’re too good to those kids.” Paul frowned. “Instead of focusing on your own career you’re spending all your energy on a bunch of no-hope teenagers who probably have never even heard the word gratitude.”

The Vicki woman turned and put her hands on her hips, giving Ollie full view of her face. Wow.

She was wearing a dress that looked like it had come straight out of the nineteen fifties; all slash neck and cinched waist in a fabric of cream and scarlet flowers. Her glossy, dark hair was loosely tied into a ponytail that was pulled forward over one shoulder. She had bright red lipstick on full lips—not smudged in the slightest, and the most intense dark eyes he’d ever seen.

In stark contrast her skin was pale; he wasn’t sure whether it was makeup or natural and he didn’t care. Oliver Russell had known a lot of beautiful women in his time, but she was next level. Quite simply, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

That gorgeous red mouth curled into a smile, but a little frown appeared over her eyes. “Paul, honestly, they’re struggling in so many ways. They have so much hope and potential and no one else seems to care. If I don’t help them, then who will?”

“I’m just saying, be careful, that’s all. Your heart’s too soft, Vicki, you’re going to get hurt.”

“It’s a fashion design class for underprivileged kids, Paul. Not target practice in the ’hood. Trouble is, we’re fast running out of opportunities for them to showcase their work. All the design schools have organized shows already and we’re lagging behind. I’m going to have to be creative with my thinking.” Her eyes wandered over the bar and settled on Oliver, just for a moment.

Instinctively, he smiled. She gave him the faintest of smiles back and didn’t look away immediately. A look of surprise flickered behind her eyes. Even from here he could see the flush of her cheeks as their gazes met and, as if someone had flicked a switch, a rush of heat hit him too. Interest. The flicker of awareness. Brief. So brief he checked himself; maybe he’d imagined it?


Excerpted from Meet Me in London by Georgia Toffolo. Copyright © 2021 by Georgia Toffolo. First published in 2020 by Mills & Boon. This edition published in 2021 by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A. 




ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Georgia Toffolo is a broadcaster and TV personality. She has been a firm favourite with the public right from the start of her TV debut, Made in Chelsea, all the way to winning over the hearts of I’m a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here in 2018.

Georgia turned her eye to fashion and has curated two sell out collections with fashion retailer Shein. An ambassador for many British brands, both large and small, Georgia has also collaborated with Dyson, Baileys, Emma Bridgewater, Great British Racing, Foreo and Malibu amongst many more.

Most recently, Georgia has dived into the world of fiction by publishing her debut novel Meet Me in London with publishing house Mills and Boon. This is the first of an original series of four books following a group of lifelong friends and bringing personal anecdotes to life with humour and charm.
 
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Tuesday, November 30, 2021

Review: After Dark with the Duke by Julie Anne Long


Sparks fly when a daring diva clashes with an ice-cold war hero in the newest thrilling romance in USA Today bestselling author Julie Anne Long’s Palace of Rogues series.


AFTER DARK WITH THE DUKE
by JULIE ANNE LONG
Series: The Palace of Rogues #4
Publication date: November 30, 2021
Published by: Avon Romance
Genre: historical romance

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SYNOPSIS

She arrives in the dead of night, a mob out for blood at her heels: Mariana Wylde, the “Harlot of Haywood Street,” an opera diva brought low by a duel fought for her favors. But the ladies of the Grand Palace on the Thames think they can make a silk purse from scandal: They’ll restore her reputation and share in her triumph...provided they can keep her apart from that other guest.

Coldly brilliant, fiercely honorable, General James Duncan Blackmore, the Duke of Valkirk, is revered, feared, desired...but nobody truly knows him. Until a clash with a fiery, vulnerable beauty who stands for everything he scorns lays him bare. It’s too clear the only cure for consuming desire is conquest, but their only chance at happiness could lead to their destruction.

The legendary duke never dreamed love would be his last battleground. Valkirk would lay down his life for Mariana, but his choice is stark: risk losing her forever, or do the one thing he vowed he never would...surrender.


Purchase your copy now!
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Well, where should I start? I've lived in San Francisco for more than a decade, usually with at least one cat. I won the school spelling bee when I was in 7th grade; the word that clinched it was 'ukulele.' I originally set out to be a rock star when I grew up (I had a Bono fixation, but who didn't?), and I have the guitars and the questionable wardrobe stuffed in the back of my closet to prove it.

But writing was always my first love. 

I was editor of my elementary school paper (believe it or not, Mrs. Little's fifth grade class at Glenmoor Elementary did have one); my high school paper (along with my best high school bud, Cindy Jorgenson); and my college paper, where our long-suffering typesetter finally forced me to learn how to typeset because my articles were usually late (and thus I probably have him to thank for all the desktop publishing jobs that ensued over the years).

Won a couple of random awards along the way: the Bank of America English Award in High School (which basically just amounted to a fancy plaque saying that I was really, really good at English); and an award for best Sports Feature article in a College Newspaper (and anyone who knows me well understands how deeply ironic that is). I began my academic career as a Journalism major; I switched to Creative Writing, which was a more comfortable fit for my freewheeling imagination and overdeveloped sense of whimsy. I dreamed of being a novelist.

But most of us, I think, tend to take for granted the things that come easily to us. I loved writing and all indications were that I was pretty good at it, but I, thank you very much, wanted to be a rock star. Which turned out to be ever-so-slightly harder to do than writing. A lot more equipment was involved, that's for sure. Heavy things, with knobs. It also involved late nights, fetid, graffiti-sprayed practice rooms, gorgeous flakey boys, bizarre gigs, in-fighting—what's not to love?

But my dream of being a published writer never faded. When the charm (ahem) of playing to four people in a tiny club at midnight on a Wednesday finally wore thin, however, I realized I could incorporate all the best things about being in a band — namely, drama, passion, and men with unruly hair — into novels, while at the same time indulging my love of history and research. 

So I wrote The Runaway Duke, sent it to a literary agent (see the story here), who sold it to Warner Books a few months after that...which made 2003 one of the most extraordinary, head-spinning years I've ever had. 

Why romance? Well, like most people, I read across many genres, but I've been an avid romance reader since I got in trouble for sneaking a Rosemary Rogers novel out of my mom's nightstand drawer (I think it was Sweet Savage Love). Rosemary Rogers, Kathleen Woodiwiss, Laurie McBain...I cut my romance teeth on those ladies. And in general, I take a visceral sort of pleasure in creating a hero and a heroine, putting them through their emotional paces, and watching their relationship develop on the page. And of course, there's much to be said for the happy ending. :) 

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REVIEW

After Dark with the Duke (The Palace of Rogues, #4)After Dark with the Duke by Julie Anne Long
My rating: 3.5 of 5 stars



I've enjoyed every single installment of the Palace of Rogues series so far. While the newest book is regrettably my least favorite of the four, there were still moments to be swept away by Julie Anne Long's beautiful writing. She has a way of evoking passion and emotion between her characters that's a pleasure to read.

   He was a bloody castle. And she, like a wildflower, 
had been seeking out the chinks between the stones 
from the beginning.

This was a opposites attract romance where the hero and heroine have a significant age gap. In fact, Mariana Wylde is only a few years older than the hero, the Duke of Valkirk's son. She is a disgraced opera singer who was branded the “Harlot of Haywood Street” after a scandalous duel was fought in her honor. The newspapers printed conjecture and lies about her moral character which resulted in her fleeing one night from a sanctimonious mob. She arrived on the doorstep of the Grand Palace on the Thames in desperate straits. Near penniless, friendless, and with no prospects of getting hired by anyone in the near future, she hoped the proprietors would take pity on her and give her a place to formulate a plan. It so happens that England's most revered war hero was currently residing there in order to write his latest book, and her presence is an immediate affront to his honorable sensibilities.

These two rub each other the wrong way from the start. While Angelique and Delilah show her respect and withhold judgment, James believes every slanderous word printed about her in the papers and deems her unworthy. James has built his entire career and reputation around the concept of honor. That honor has made him God-like in the eyes of society and the weight of it has become burdensome. In reality, we are all human with the imperfections that come along with humanity. It's unrealistic to hold ourselves up to this unrealistic standard as an example to others. in the beginning of the book, James comes off as fairly pompous and condescending. Not only has he risen in society by having been given a dukedom, he's cushioned from judgement by the ton over any transgression he could possibly make. Not that he would ever allow himself a moment of weakness in any life decision that would tarnish the sparkling life he has built. Or would he?


Valkirk’s entire allegedly blameless life 
ensured he was spoken of only in hushed, 
reverent tones, and the details of his life 
had been reported as national news, 
safely on the front page of the newspaper. 
Never on the gossip pages.

Mariana's only sin was perhaps succumbing to her passion and taking a lover at a time when only men were free to explore their sexuality without limits. After she ended a consensual relationship that resulted in a duel, she was immediately blamed for the two men's foolish actions and slapped with the sensational label of Harlot. The judge and jury of public opinion was ruthless, setting out to destroy her with no questions asked. It's kind of a sad thing to think about that things haven't changed all that much in modern times. I enjoyed the author's exploration of this theme in the book. It illustrated how malicious gossip and slander could potentially have catastrophic effects on a person's life. If it weren't for Mariana's strong will and bravery in the face of all of the hate aimed at her, she could have easily folded like a deck of cards.Her inner pride didn't allow for self-pity or fragility. It's that strength that allows her to hold her own when it comes to James' disdain.

After one rude exchange between the two of them in which he attempted to shame and embarrass her, he regrets his actions and apologizes. He offers to give her private lessons in Italian as an olive branch which she accepts. It doesn't take long before their attraction starts to bloom. Their attraction eventually leads to clandestine nightly meetings that they both become addicted to despite their heads telling them that it can only end badly. The conflict between the two of them is pretty predictable. He feels obligated to maintain his pristine public image, and going public with a relationship with her would almost certainly decimate the legacy he has worked so hard to build. His life has been built around suppressing his emotions and controlling his desires. Then she comes along and shows him true passion and companionship. He's been undeniably brave on the battlefield, but doesn't know if he can face disapproving public scrutiny. Towards the end of the book, James makes an unforgivably insensitive and careless offer to Mariana that's basically like a knife in her back. You could chalk it up to pure stupidity, but really, for him to say what he said to her would mean that he didn't value her as a person at all. That he was ashamed of her and wasn't willing to show the world that he respected and valued her. By the end, he does redeem himself, and shows her with actions rather than simply words that he was wrong and deeply sorry. I respected him for that.

Some types of loneliness had only one cure. 
He was hers. She was his. 
But the notion of that was unbearable. 
God help him. He just wanted to keep her.

I did have some issue with the lack of natural progression in their feelings for each other. It felt as if one moment they were not attracted in the slightest bit (on his end he found her to be average and unremarkable in looks) and then suddenly they were fantasizing about each other uncontrollably. I needed a little bit more in order to believe this drastic pull between the two of them. Then when it was revealed what he had been writing in his book the whole time it didn't add up to what he had been thinking and saying in regards to her. I wanted to believe it but the mechanics didn't quite fit for me. 

    He had, in fact, never been this hungry for any other woman. 
He had the oddest sensation he was meeting his true self 
for perhaps the first time, and Mariana 
had somehow affected this introduction.

I also felt that the plot was a tad slow in the first half and I had to force my attention to stay on the pages. Maybe that was due to the focus being solely on the Grand Palace inhabitants' interactions and a lack of any relationship building between the hero/heroine. While the humor in JAL's books is always appreciated at some level, after three books the house banter and quirky cast can start to get stale if it's not freshened up. Also, there wasn't really any lead-in to the next book like the ones in the past which have always whet my appetite for the next installment. Not that I'm really complaining really, because this series has been such a resounding success that I would read whatever she puts out, even without a synopsis. Naturally, some books are bigger winners than others, this one just happened to not hit all the right notes. The eighteen year age gap was personally a bit much for me to wrap my mind around, though many particularly love reading books with this trope so it won't be an issue at all for others. I just couldn't stop thinking about the fact that she was basically the same age as his son and therefore in a whole different generation and stage in her life. Their children will be close to the same age as their grandchildren. If you find happiness together, more power to you, but I admit that it's an awkward thing for me to think about.

As always, I'm looking forward to seeing what comes next in the series and I'll be eagerly reading whatever it is, no questions asked. You Were Made to be Mine is due for publication in June of 2022.

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Tuesday, November 9, 2021

Blog Tour with Excerpt: Dark Tarot by Christine Feehan


Light and dark combine as the cards reveal hidden truths in this intoxicating installment in Christine Feehan’s #1 New York Times bestselling Carpathian series.


DARK TAROT by CHRISTINE FEEHAN
Series: Dark #31
Publication date: November 9, 2021
Published by: Berkley
Genre: paranormal romance

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SYNOPSIS

Sandu Berdardi continues to exist only to protect his people. An ancient Carpathian, his entire long life has been dedicated to honor above all else. He knows his time has passed, especially since he has not been able to find his lifemate—the anchor to keep him sane in a world he no longer understands. But just as he truly starts to give up hope, a voice reaches out to him in the night and his world explodes into color.
 
Adalasia enters Sandu’s mind seamlessly, as if she has been a part of him forever. While she can see the shape of things to come in her deck of cards, her gift is both a blessing and a curse. The true course of Sandu’s quest remains unclear, with danger waiting at every turn. She cannot see everything the future holds, but she does know it is a journey the will take together.

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EXCERPT:

     Adalasia’s voice was soft. The notes like music, penetrating right through skin and bone, deeper still, through his heart to pierce his black, black, very tattered, very scarred soul. He could almost feel the way her amazing voice managed to weave together pieces of that broken travesty. He was at his most vulnerable, unable to see properly—and at his most lethal. An unknown male was touching his lifemate. There were enemies close, humans—but enemies nevertheless.
     “We’ve benefited from your guidance so many times, Lasia. I can’t imagine what we would do without you,” the other male said as he slung his arm around Adolf’s shoulders.
     The need to kill receded slowly as Sandu recognized that the two males were obviously a couple. He breathed away the monstrous response that had arisen so strong in him followed by so many other unfamiliar emotions he hadn’t ever had to cope with. Jealousy? Was that a true emotion an honorable Carpathian would feel? It was a little humiliating to think that he would experience such a thing. He stood still, breathing, letting the air move through his lungs, waiting for the terrible crash of unwanted feelings to cycle through and leave him so he could think rationally.
     Sandu allowed himself the luxury of drinking her in while the two men took their leave and moved down the steps and away. He immediately cut off anyone else from entering her shop simply by standing on the lowest step. There would be no way to get around his large body. He heard her swift intake of breath, and then her eyes met his.
     “Adalasia.” He said her name with deliberate gentleness. “Sandu Berdardi.” He gave her the courtesy of his name.
     Her gaze swept the width of his shoulders, his tall, intimidating form, his dark eyes and hard demeanor.      Because he was a man who noted every detail, he caught the slight tremor to her voice.
     “Adalasia Ravasio. How did you find me?”
He ignored the question and gained a step. That put him nearly to her. One more stair and he’d be on the same one with her. She didn’t give way.
     “You can’t be here. You have to go.” She whispered the warning, ducking her head as if she feared someone might overhear or be able to read her lips.
     He gestured toward her sign, the one that said she did readings. “I’ve come for your guidance.” He took another step, forcing her to back up to the shallow porch.
     “I read your cards. There was danger all around you. You have to go while you can, Sandu. You might think this is all silly and a game because I read cards, but I’m not wrong. You have to leave.”
He stepped up onto the porch beside her. She wore a dark, long, olive-colored skirt that fell around her ankles in soft ruffles. Her camisole was very modern, much more so than he would have approved, but now that he was close to her, he could see the way the lighter olive-colored material showcased the swell of her breasts. The laces going up the valley between her breasts drew attention, making him want to explore those curves.
     He put his hand very gently on her flat belly and exerted pressure to back her through the open door. “Are you concerned about the three men and the woman watching you from across the way?” He reached behind him and closed the door firmly.
     Adalasia gave a little sigh and moved around him to open the door and turn the sign around that proclaimed she was giving another reading. “You’re a stubborn man.”
     “It’s best that you realize I have no intention of leaving you behind. If I leave this place, you will be traveling with me.”

From DARK TAROT published by arrangement with Berkley, an imprint of Penguin Random House 

LLC. Copyright © 2021 by Christine Feehan.


ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Christine Feehan is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of many novels, including the Carpathian series, the GhostWalker series, the Leopard series, the Torpedo Ink series, and the Shadow Rider series. Learn more online at christinefeehan.com.
 
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Tuesday, October 26, 2021

Blog Tour: Celebration at Christmas Cove with Excerpt by Carrie Jansen


In this humorous and heartwarming romance, sparks fly between a woman who can't wait to leave a wintry New England island, and a widower who would do anything to stay.


CELEBRATION AT CHRISTMAS COVE
by CARRIE JANSEN
Series: Sea Spray Island #1
Publication date: October 26, 2021
Published by: Berkley
Genre: contemporary romance, holiday

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SYNOPSIS

Travel magazine writer Celeste Bell is in a terrible mood. Not only was her flight to the Caribbean diverted to a Massachusetts island, now it looks like she’ll have to spend Christmas there. Single and still mourning the loss her mother a year earlier, Celeste is desperate to avoid any emotional entanglements and all holiday festivities. She just doesn’t feel like celebrating.
 
But that’s exactly what community center executive director Nathan White and his young daughter, Abigail, want to do. Nathan is entirely focused on making sure that his daughter has a happy Christmas, especially with the knowledge that if he can’t raise money for the community center soon, it will close and they’ll have to leave the island. When he meets Celeste, Nathan begins to feel a connection and wonders if he’s brave enough to risk his heart once more.
 
Thawing their frozen hearts and saving the community center will require a Christmas miracle. But tis the season…

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EXCERPT:


Monday—December 19 

“You’re bumping me?” As a writer for an elite travel magazine, Celeste Bell had virtually flown around the world over the course of the past seven years and she’d never been bumped from a flight. She knew it was bound to happen sooner or later; she just didn’t want it happening now. 

“We paged you three times, but since you weren’t at the gate for initial boarding, we assigned the seat to another passenger,” the agent explained. 

Celeste wasn’t at the gate because she’d had to bring her luggage to the ticket counter after changing out of the ugly sweater she’d worn to her office holiday party earlier that day. This season, she’d been avoiding Christmas festivities like the flu, but since participation was mandatory, she reluctantly donned the most hideous apparel she could find: a fluffy, white sweater with a cartoonish fir tree emblazoned across the front. The tree was crowned with a blinking LED-powered star, and a dozen miniature, multicolored sleigh bells were strung from its boughs with silver tinsel. The sweater bore an uncanny resemblance to a yuletide craft Celeste had made in first grade from a paper plate, cotton balls, glitter and various geometric shapes cut from red, green and yellow felt. Oh, the things she did for the sake of her career. 

“I get it. Symbolism,” Brad, the college intern, remarked. Holding a plastic cup of eggnog in one hand and a chocolate mint brownie in the other, he gestured toward her midsection with his chin. “You chose that sweater because your last name’s Bell, right?” 

The bells were actually Celeste’s least favorite part of the sweater, which was saying a lot. Whenever she walked from her cubicle to her boss’s office or to the break room and back again, their jingling made her feel like a Clydesdale horse—it didn’t help that she’d gathered her long, thick blond hair into a high ponytail—and drew increasingly annoyed looks from her coworkers over the course of the day. 

She intended to switch wardrobes before a colleague drove her to Logan International Airport, but at the last minute, the magazine’s editor in chief, Philip Carrington, tasked Celeste with proofreading Brad’s post about the Boston Harbor Holiday Cruise. And by proofreading Philip meant rewriting. Brad’s draft was so poorly structured, it took Celeste half an hour to reword it, and by that time her coworker was threatening to leave without her. 

When she arrived at the airport, Celeste wheeled her luggage into the restroom so she could change. She removed her heavy winter coat, scarf and gloves, and she stuffed them into her suitcase, along with her socks and shoes. Then, she opened her smaller carry-on and checked to make sure she had a travel blanket with her before adroitly exchanging her slacks and ugly sweater for a casual slate-blue swing dress and crochet cardigan. Finally, she slid her feet into a pair of canvas sneakers. Celeste intended to be ready for the tropical Caribbean temps the moment she stepped off the plane. 

But first she’d have to step onto the plane. 

“Are you sure there aren’t any seats left?” It was an inane question, and Celeste could hear the whine of desperation in her own voice. 

“I can book you on the eleven-thirty-six flight tomorrow morning. Of course, we’ll compensate you for the inconvenience, as well.” 

Tomorrow was December 20. Technically, Celeste didn’t need to be in the Caribbean until first light on December 23. That’s when the Christmas carnival—or simply carnival, as it was called—for the particular island she was visiting kicked off a daybreak street party known as j’ouvert. The trip was a mix of business and pleasure; after taking a couple days to enjoy a much-needed break, Celeste would spend December 23, 24 and 25 attending carnival and describing its highlights in a Christmas Day post on the magazine’s blog. That meant if she didn’t leave Boston until almost noon tomorrow, she’d squander nearly a full day of vacation. Even so, Celeste cared less about that than she did about the weather forecast, which warned that a nor’easter was brewing. If it followed its projected course, the storm could pack a wallop in terms of snow accumulation, and who knew how that might affect air travel for the next few days. She couldn’t risk it. 

“Would you check for flights on other airlines, please?” 

The agent’s fingernails clicked against the keyboard, her expression impassive. After what felt like an eon, she said, “If we hurry, I can book a seat for you on a flight with our partner airline, IslandSky. There would be a brief layover on Sea Spray Island—” 

“I’ll take it,” Celeste said as the woman continued to speak. 

“—then you’d continue to New York City and from there you’d fly nonstop—” 

“Yes, thank you, that’s what I want to do.” Celeste didn’t care about the small print, she just needed to get on that flight. 

A few more minutes of keyboard clicking and then Celeste was off and running, dodging fellow travelers and circumventing airport vendors as she darted toward Terminal C with her carry-on bag in tow, the sweater inside it jingling all the way. As she ran, she recognized it wasn’t really the need for an extra day of relaxation that spurred her on. Nor was it solely that she’d made a professional commitment to cover the carnival. No, what really urged Celeste forward was the fear that if she didn’t leave now, right now, it would be too late and then there’d be no escaping for Christmas. 

And escaping was her primary purpose in volunteering to immerse herself in a Caribbean carnival while all of her coworkers were celebrating Christmas with their families. From the rollicking parades and music, to the lively dancing, vibrant costumes and mouthwatering food, the carnival wasn’t likely to evoke memories of the calm and cozy but joyful Christmases that Celeste used to celebrate. On the contrary, going to the Caribbean would keep her from thinking about how it had been just over a year since her mother passed away. And it would take her mind off the fact that she was still lonely. Still alone. 

Just thinking about not thinking about it made her lungs contract. 

Or maybe it was the exertion of tearing through an overly dry, hot and crowded airport trailing an unwieldy piece of luggage in her wake. As fit as she was, by the time Celeste arrived at her gate she was gasping. Light-headed, she hardly registered that the descending ramp the agent directed her to follow led outside to ground level where the plane awaited her on the tarmac. 

Celeste skidded to a standstill. The realization hit her like a gelid gust of air: it’s a prop plane. When it came to prop planes or Christmas festivities, it was almost a toss-up as to which distressed her more. Almost but not quite. Pressing her dress flat against her legs so it wouldn’t fly up in the wind, Celeste numbly soldiered forward, the end of her ponytail lashing sideways at her face. 

She climbed the four ladder-like steps and entered the dimly lit interior where a flight attendant—or was he the copilot?—reached to take her carry-on for stowing while simultaneously issuing safety instructions. Overcome with either regret or relief, Celeste plunked herself into the seat closest to the door, fastened the buckle around her waist and closed her eyes. She was finally on her way. 

From CELEBRATION AT CHRISTMAS COVE published by arrangement with Berkley, an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC. 

Copyright © 2021 by Carrie Jansen.


ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Carrie Jansen earned an MFA in creative writing and published many poems and short stories before becoming a novelist. An avid bodyboarder and beach walker, she spends as much of the year as she can on Cape Cod, where she draws inspiration for her contemporary romances. She also writes Amish romance novels under her pseudonym, Carrie Lighte.

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