Saturday, October 25, 2014

Virtual Book Tour for What A Lady Demands by Ashlyn Macnamara

Readers of Julia Quinn, Eloisa James, and Sabrina Jeffries will love Ashlyn Macnamara’s novel about a smoldering new love that is threatened by past betrayals.

Viscount Lindenhurst cannot seem to find a governess who meets his impossible standards—until Cecelia Sanford becomes the first woman to interrupt the widower’s brooding in years. Lind had returned home from the Napoleonic wars, broken in body and soul and longing for his wife’s embrace, only to find her changed. Before they could reconcile, an accident struck their son and claimed her life. Now enter Cecelia, with her soft curves and sharp tongue—a tempting distraction, it is true, but not a welcome one. Past the usual marrying age and haunted by a scandal of her own, Cecelia soon finds herself caring for both the child and the man. The viscount is brittle and even abrupt at times, yet she cannot deny the attraction that stirs her body in his presence. Moved by the deep sense of abandonment that tortures his soul, Cecelia aches to fully awaken Lind’s heart from its rancorous slumber—if she can just keep their pasts from destroying a second chance at love.


Cornwall, 1813, before all hell broke loose
At the tender age of fifteen, Cecelia Sanford knew she was too young to be observing a nearly naked man. Especially when said man was nine years her senior and a close friend of her brother’s. Most especially when said man was Richard Blakewell, Viscount Lindenhurst.
The sight of him clothed caused an odd heaviness to settle in the pit of her belly. Clad in almost nothing but golden skin set aglow by the rays of the rising sun . . . The heaviness turned hot and liquid. It made her blood simmer and her own garments constrict about her body.
As she watched, he kicked free of his trousers. Her mouth went dry. Muscles rippled along his back and buttocks, perfectly proportioned like the statuary she’d seen once in London. Only, those statues were cold and dead. Marble fig leaves covered their most interesting parts.
Not Lind, as her brother referred to him. Lind was now gloriously naked. If only he’d turn a bit more and reveal the final mystery.
Except then he might catch her spying on his early morning swim, and that wouldn’t do at all. Like the rest of the household, which was sleeping away the effects of a late night, she was supposed to be in her bed. But footsteps in the corridor had awakened her—booted feet and not the furtive padding of the servants. His feet, as she’d seen the moment she stuck her nose outside her bedchamber door. She couldn’t help but wonder why he was abroad so early, and so she’d dressed hastily and trailed him to the pond.
He splashed into the water before she could catch a glimpse of anything better. She ought to go back to the house before he noticed he wasn’t alone, but something about him drew her. Something more than his dark good looks, vivid green eyes, and that odd half-smile that tugged at his lips when he deigned to give it. Something more than even the sight of his perfectly sculpted back and rounded hindquarters that caused her palms to itch with the desire to squeeze. Something more than the brief view of the dark hair scattered across his chest—so masculine. So adult. He possessed a fascinating darkness that called to her to plumb its depths, and an air of forbidden danger blanketed him.
Oh, no. She most definitely should not be here, but she could not uproot herself and turn back. In fact, if a particular direction compelled her feet to dislodge themselves from the stony path, it was forward. Toward the pond.
Toward Lind, who now knifed through the frigid water.
If someone should come across her, she’d be ruined before she was even old enough to mingle in polite society. Part of her wanted to be ruined. And that wicked side of herself wanted Lind to be the author of her ruination. Lind and no other.
He stood, the water now waist high, eyes closed, face raised to the sun. With both hands, he pushed back the hair plastered against his head. Biceps flexed on a pair of arms worthy of a Greek statue. Droplets slipped across flawless skin. Her fingers tingled at the thought of replacing those drops, tracing the path downward, and somewhere deep inside, an aching throb began a merciless beat.
More than anything, she burned to know where that liquid, vital awareness led. She needed the knowledge like she needed air. And like the proverbial curious cat, that urge eventually led her into trouble.

Because the next man who piqued her curiosity was clearly not a gentleman.

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Ashlyn Macnamara is the author of What a Lady Craves, A Most Devilish Rogue, and A Most Scandalous Proposal. She lives in the wilds of suburbia outside of Montreal with her husband and two teenage daughters. When not writing, she looks for other excuses to neglect the housework, among them knitting, reading, and wasting time on the Internet in the guise of doing research.

Author Links: Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads 


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Tuesday, October 21, 2014

ARC Review of Slow Hand by Victoria Vane

A very sexy cowboy and a damsel in distress! How can you not be hooked? I read this book in one night. The Montant setting was perfect. Wade and Nikki are great characters with nothing in common but somehow this makes the story more believable. I loved the back and forth dialouge between them. I laughed out loud several times. The sex scenes were very hot!!! I do not usually read Contemporary and never Westerns, but I really enjoyed this book and cannot wait for the next one.

Review of Never Marry A Viscount by Anne Stuart

Anne Stuart has done it again. This book was wonderful from beginning to end. I did not read the first two books in the series but I will now. Her writing is lyrical, compelling, and so beautiful that you never want it to end. The plot was full of suspense, surprises and very satisfying. Alexander and Sophie are great protaganists that made me laugh and cry. The love story was truly stunning and the sensual scenes were gorgeous.. I have been Anne for years because she is a superb writer and the historical detail in her books are one of the best in the genre. Do not miss this one!

Sunday, October 19, 2014

Wicked Designs
by Lauren Smith
Series: The League of Rogues, #1
Genre: Historical Romance
Publisher: Samhain Publishing
Cover Designer: Kim Killion
Release Date: January 7, 2014

The League of Rogues takes what they want—but have they taken on too much?

For too long Miss Emily Parr has been subject to the whims of her indebted uncle and the lecherous advances of his repulsive business partner. Her plan to be done with dominating men forever is simple—find herself a kind husband who will leave her to her books.

It seems an easy enough plan, until she is unexpectedly abducted by an incorrigible duke who hides a wounded spirit behind flashing green eyes.
Godric St. Laurent, Duke of Essex, spends countless nights at the club with his four best friends, and relishes the rakish reputation society has branded him with. He has no plans to marry anytime soon—if ever. But when he kidnaps an embezzler’s niece, the difficult debutante’s blend of sweetness and sharp tongue make him desperate for the one thing he swears he never wanted: love.

Yet as they surrender to passion, danger lurks in Godric’s shadowed past, waiting for him to drop his guard—and rob him of the woman he can’t live without.

Warning: This novel includes a lady who refuses to stay kidnapped, a devilish duke with a dark past, and an assortment of charming rogues who have no idea what they've gotten themselves into.

Godric’s chest shook with silent laughter as he drank in her sweet taste—innocence like fine brandy, addictive and intoxicating. Joy heated his blood and warmed his heart. She’d come back for him, rescued him.

Her hands clenched his biceps, fingers digging into him the more he kissed her. By the time he’d lifted his head to gaze down at her, she was panting, and her hips rubbed instinctively against his own.

He was transfixed by the delicate blush of her cheeks, and the slightly upturned nose that created an impish charm.

Yet he sensed she feared him a little.

Emily had never been with a man, never been kissed until he’d captured her. A more practiced woman would have known what to do. He enjoyed the little instruction he’d given her. The temptation she presented was too much to resist. He moved one hand up to cup her cheek, his thumb stroking the line of her jaw. Raw desire churned in the violet pools of her eyes, a hint of frustration added a shimmer that made him smile. She didn't like that she enjoyed kissing him.

He found her reaction to him fascinating. Other women would gaze at him with slumberous eyes, and leisurely return his kisses, or in Evangeline’s case, bite him back. Emily’s eyes were bright and full of wonder tinged with anger. There was an eagerness in her lips, a searching in her hands as she stroked his shoulders. It was as though she was determined to enjoy herself, even if she didn’t like him. He liked the rebellious spirit in her. She was taking what she wanted from him. If she demanded he stop he would, even if it killed him. But until then he’d steal as many kisses as he could.

Godric wanted to spend days with her, explore her soft curves and find new ticklish spots. He wanted to bow down and worship at the altar of her sensual innocence. She was every bit the wanton, wild creature for which he’d spent years searching. He’d finally found her, and he would have her beneath him, atop him, against the wall, bent over the bed… Oh, the possibilities.

He hadn't known a woman could taste like this, feel like this. He felt like a damned villain, having faked his drowning, but he’d wanted to see if she would return. His friends could have found her in Blackbriar easily enough, none of the shopkeepers would keep her presence a secret from him had he been searching for her.

But she had come back. The second she’d dragged him from the lake, he’d wanted to kiss her more than he’d ever wanted to kiss any woman. Right on the muddy bank, soaking and cold. He would warm her with his passion and his gratitude. The wet skin of her thigh was smooth. The muscles there stretched against him as she tightened her leg. She had the legs of a rider. Lord, how he wanted those legs wrapped around him the same way.

Soon. He promised himself he would take her a thousand times, in every way, ride her until she couldn't walk, yet leave her begging for more.

Lauren Smith is an attorney by day, author by night, who pens adventurous and edgy romance stories by the light of her smart phone flashlight app. She’s a native Oklahoman who lives with her three pets: a feisty chinchilla, sophisticated cat and dapper little schnauzer. She’s won multiple awards in several romance subgenres including being an Breakthrough Novel Award Quarter-Finalist and a Semi-Finalist for the Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley Award. Lauren loves hearing from readers and can be contacted through her site at

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