Saturday, January 30, 2016

Jillian's Job by Fran Lee


Heat Rating

She is so done, it’s her birthday weekend and Jillian is flying off to Aspen to rescue that ass-hat she calls a boss. This is the last time because she is done with not having privacy or a life. First she is going to put a small dent in his credit card for messing with her birthday weekend.

When Mike’s personal assistant comes at his request to rescue him from the Barbie wanna be, he never expected her to show up with an engagement ring or looking like she was ready for seduction. When Jillian tells him to ‘take his job and shove it’ he does the only thing a man in his position can do to keep his best employee… He marries her while she is drunk out of her mind.

Jillian’s Job is well written in that it had no editing error that I could find but then as I think on it that is the only truly positive thing I feel I can say about this story. The Characters are pretty two dimensional with no real substance, especially Mike. Jillian has her family and that helps flesh out her character but it leaves Mike in the dust. There was nothing that jumped out to impress upon me just how unhappy Jillian was with her job. Yeah, there were hints that Mike liked Jillian and that she clearly had it bad for him but no emotions jumped off the page.

I chose tore-read this book because I knew it was a short read and I liked it the first time I read, or at least I thought I did until went onto Good reads to see if I had rated it. I apparently gave it a two-star rating and as I think of that previous rating and my current feelings from this read and you know I think my feelings on the book are the same Two and half years later. This makes me wonder why I kept Jillian’s Job in my library.

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Book Blurb Rating

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Book's Blurb
What good is a dream income, access to a private jet, all the perks that go with being Mike Furie’s ├╝berproficient personal assistant, if Jillian has no life? She wants a life with a man in it. And staying with overbearing, totally sexy, self-serving bachelor Mike will lead nowhere.
A trip to Aspen to “rescue” Mike from the clutches of the latest woman seeking to sink her claws into him, an excess of champagne to fortify her, and she tells him what she thinks of his high-handed tactics. She’s quitting. Again.
So how the hell did she end up in bed with him in a Tahoe honeymoon suite, naked? Why can’t she recall how her signature got on that marriage license?
Mike discovers talents he never knew Jill possessed. Now he has her right where he wants her. And he wants her again…and again. In his bed and under him. But it’s not all about the lust, and if he gets his way, Jillian won’t be leaving his side or his bed—ever.

Friday, January 29, 2016

Lisa Edward has re-done the cover for her book, Songbird Caged, and it's amazing!!!! Could there be a hotter cover model?




Title: Songbird Caged
Author: Lisa Edward
Series: Songbird Trilogy #2
Cover Model: Dez K

Blurb
Tara has made a promise. 

A promise to wait six months for Riley to come home from his tour of duty, so they can be together. 

But as secrets and lies are uncovered, it leads Tara to question their commitment, and she is finding it difficult to keep that promise.

The distance between them is growing, and only one person can fill the void, Tara’s best friend Cole.

As Cole tries to support Tara, he is struggling with demons of his own, that threaten to tear him away from the life he has built for himself.

After devastating news is received, who will be there to pick up the pieces?

*On Sale for $.99 January 29th - January 31st*
Buy now



Other Books in the Series

Songbird: Book #1

Songbird Freed: Book #3

Amazon Author Page: http://amzn.to/1PiFk0A


Wednesday, January 27, 2016

TASTY BOOK TOUR: JILTING THE DUKE (The Muses' Salon #1) by Rachael Miles





JILTING THE DUKE
The Muses' Salon #1 
Rachael Miles
Releasing on January 26, 2016.
Zebra Shout

Broken Promise,
Broken Heart

Aidan Somerville, Duke of Forster, is a rake, a spy, and
a soldier, richer than sin and twice as handsome. Now he is also guardian to
his deceased best friend’s young son. The choice makes perfect sense—except
that the child’s mother is the lovely Sophia Gardiner, to whom Aidan was
engaged before he went off to war. When the news reached him that she had
married another, his ship had not yet even left the dock.

Sophia does not expect Aidan to understand or forgive
her. But she cannot allow him to stay her enemy. She’s prepared for coldness,
even vengeance—but not for the return of the heedless lust she and Aidan
tumbled into ten years ago. She knows the risks of succumbing to this dangerous
desire. Still, with Aidan so near, it’s impossible not to dream about a second
chance…




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My dearest Sophia,
      On the anniversary of my death, I write from beyond the grave to remind you of my love—and your promises.
      If you have not already set aside your mourning, it is time. It does not honor my memory to bury yourself away. Cast off your sadness and live, if not for yourself, then for our son.
      You have promised to return to society. When you do, men will vie for your hand, whether to gain your beauty or your wealth. Naturally you will consider Ian’s interests when you choose a husband, but I enjoin you: only marry a man who respects you, your education, and your intelligence.
      You have promised to provide Ian with a male guardian, a surrogate father to aid him as he grows to manhood. You know my choice. No one will take his obligations more seriously than Aidan. His very name as guardian will offer Ian the protection I cannot; it will provide Ian with alliances and connections he will need in manhood. At the same time, I know this guardianship raises specters you are unready to face. So, I have lifted the burden of your promise and invoked the guardianship myself. Unless Aidan refuses—and he will not refuse—he will share our son’s care until Ian reaches his majority. You may not forgive me for this decision, but I hope with time you will see its wisdom.
      Your other promises I leave to your heart and conscience to fulfill.
      I would like to believe that I could protect you and Ian from beyond the grave as I have done in life. But that is likely the wishful thinking of a man who has valued you, and your friendship, more than almost any other relationship in his life.
      All will be well. Remember this, and that I have loved you and our son.

Tom

            Sophia turned her head toward the garden, toward the bed of pansies, marigolds, and forget-me-nots, and wept.
           
            Some time later, Dodsley brought her a note on a silver tray. Breaking the dark wax seal, she found one sentence in the middle of a large expanse of white paper. An expensive use of paper, she thought, before the words registered.

“I shall call upon her Ladyship tomorrow at two. Forster.”

            Perfectly appropriate, with an ease of command suitable to his rank. The note a superior would send to a subordinate. There was no suggestion of their past intimacy and no hint of future amicability. No suggestion he’d seen her only hours before. With one signature, Forster—as Sophia steeled herself to think of him—established the limits of their relationship.
            But he also prompted her to action.
            Within fifteen minutes, she had called for her carriage, sent a message to Ian’s tutor that she would return by dinner, and changed into appropriate dress for the forty-five-minute carriage ride to the home of her sister-in-law.
            Ophelia Mason lived in the rural village of Kensington, some six miles away. Sophia wished she had someone to confide in other than Tom’s unrufflable sister. Sophia needed a friend who hadn’t loved Tom deeply and who wouldn’t care that she had sometimes resented her husband for ignoring her wishes. But she couldn’t think of any woman outside of Tom’s sisters whom she knew well enough to burden with her troubles.
            As she climbed into the carriage, musty from lack of use, she wished that she could take a horse instead, but full mourning disallowed it. On a horse, she could feel the wind in her face. Her first horse, a Spanish gray mare named Cob, had been a present from her uncle. Though too old for the hunt, Cob had loved to run, and Sophia, riding astride like her cousins, would let the horse run long and fast. Suddenly, she remembered Aidan racing beside her. She had held Cob back enough to let Aidan think he’d won, then she’d spurred the horse forward to victory. At their goal, she hadn’t known to play coy, to wait until he helped her down. On dismounting she found him already beside her, laughing, calling her his “self-sufficient Sophia” and claiming the victor’s kiss, even though he’d lost.
            She opened the curtains of the coach to watch the town slip into countryside, her thoughts turning back to Tom’s guardianship plan and how she’d only agreed because she had no choice.
            Three weeks before his death, Tom had handed her tickets to take her and Ian back to England. She’d refused. “We can’t leave you, Tom, not when . . .”
            “Not when I’m dying.” Tom never had any trouble speaking the truth. Placing his hands on her upper arms, he’d made her look into his eyes. “The Carbonari talk revolution and nationalism all around us. As long as I am alive, my friendships with the Bourbon ministers protect us. But support for the Italian nationalists grows each day, as does sentiment against Ferdinand’s British and Austrian allies. You and Ian must go home.”
            “No.” She’d held her hands up in refusal. “Revolution is years away. Our friends will warn us when it’s time to leave. And Ian will not understand. Both you and I know the pain of losing a father so young, how we would have traded anything for another year, or another day. . . .” She’d let the words drift off. Watching Tom slip away had taken all her strength.
            “Death is never easy.” Tom had spoken softly. “Ian must learn his own country, not this mongrel society we have created for him.”
            Sophia bristled. “Our life here is a hybrid, like our roses. From our Italian friends, he has learned to live joyfully; from our English friends, he has learned to be circumspect.”
            “Then we will go together.” He’d pulled out a third packet of travel papers. “In six-week’s time, we will have the best weather and the quickest winds; we should be in England within ten days.”
            “If the trip doesn’t kill you, the climate in England will. Either way you cut short our time. Propose some other plan.” Her hands tightened behind her back.
            He’d watched her silently, then explained his four requirements. Each one, a promise she had to make.

Be established in London within a month of my death.
Live in London for at least part of each “season.”
Take up your place in the bon ton.

            At the third requirement, she’d objected. “I was an orphaned parson’s daughter; I don’t have a place in society to take.”
            “Yet Ian will need you to know and be known. In London, you were admired for your poise and your bearing. Here, invitations to your dinners were much prized. Set your mind to this, and you will create a community—perhaps form another salon. Besides, you will not be alone: my sisters and your cousins will ease the way. Finally, within a year, you must call upon Aidan and ask him to serve as Ian’s surrogate father.” His hand lay on the tickets, his blackmail. He’d sat so still that she should have realized that he would not survive another year.
            “No.” She’d turned away, hiding her face. “We’ve heard the rumors even here: he’s grown hard, unforgiving, more like Aaron than Benjamin. If you want Ian to be guided by someone from your boyhood, Colin is well respected for his amiability, and Seth already manages your estate. Of my relations, Malcolm is devoted to his new wife’s boys. Any would be more suitable.”
            Tom had shaken his head in firm refusal. “Of my Somerville cousins, none were closer than Aidan and I. He must have felt our marriage a betrayal. We must, if that is true, try to undo the damage.”
            “Sometimes the damage of the past cannot be undone. And you will not be there. Only I will.” She had met Tom’s eyes. “You don’t know what you are asking, or what it will cost.”
            “I do know, but it will be worth the cost, for Ian as well as for you.”
            The soft Italian breeze had carried the scent of rain through the open doorways facing the loggia. Sophia had suddenly realized that Italian rain smelled nothing like rain in England. The rain in Naples always had a hint of spice, of the dust that sometimes rained from nearby Vesuvius and fertilized the cultivated land. Rain in England smelled fertile, like field upon field of pasture, of crops not yet come in for the harvest, of waiting in the summerhouse with Aidan for a storm to end. She preferred the Italian rain: it held no memories and offered no secrets.
            She’d looked at the set of botanical illustrations she’d just finished. “What about your book? If you die before it is finished, should I promise to see it through the press?”
            “That needs no promise, for you will do it whether I ask or not.” Tom had smiled. “The others are burdens. But, Sophia, knowing I have your promises will allow me to die easy.”
           


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Rachael Miles has always loved a good
romance, especially one with a bit of suspense and preferably a ghost. She is
also a professor of book history and nineteenth-century literature whose
students frequently find themselves reading the novels of Ann Radcliffe and other
gothic tales. Rachael lives in her home state of Texas with her indulgent
husband, three rescued dogs, and an ancient cat.





Tuesday, January 26, 2016

TASTY BOOK TOURS:Reckless (Rescue Squad #1) by Kimberly Kincaid






RECKLESS
Rescue Squad #1
Kimberly Kincaid
Releasing on January 26, 2016

Someone’s Bound To
Get Burned…

Zoe Westin may be a fire captain’s daughter, but feeding
the people in her hometown of Fairview is her number one priority. Running a
soup kitchen is also the perfect way to prove to her dad that helping people
doesn’t always mean risking life and limb. But when she's saddled with a
gorgeous firefighter doing community service after yet another daredevil stunt,
the kitchen has never been so hot.

Alex Donovan thrives on adrenaline, and stirring a pot of
soup doesn’t exactly qualify. He’s not an expert at following the rules either,
not even when they come from the stubborn, sexy daughter of the man who's not
only his boss, but his mentor. Determined to show Zoe that not every risk ends
in catastrophe, Alex challenges her both in the kitchen and out. One reckless
step leads to another, but will falling for each other be a risk worth taking,
or will it just get them burned?

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Recalibrating her thoughts back to the task at hand, she pushed past the twin swinging doors leading from the back of the kitchen into the bare-bones dining room. Pale, earlymorning daylight filtered in through the oversized windows at the front of the long, rectangular space, offering just enough visibility for her to make her way behind the dinged up cafeteria-style counter set up along the rear wall. Not wanting to add injury to the insult she’d already racked up this morning, Zoe hit the panel of light switches by the commercial grade coffeemaker. She turned to grab the filters from the adjacent storage drawer and let the rhythm and the smells and the simplicity of the food soothe her like they always did.
            But she wasn’t alone in the dining room.
            Zoe’s heartbeat locked in her throat as she registered the man sitting at one of the tables closest to the counter, although sitting was actually pretty generous. His long, jeans-clad legs were kicked out in front of him, crossed one over the other at the ankles of his heavy-soled brown leather work boots. His chin lay tucked against the chest of his navy blue jacket, just enough for his fashionably tousled blond hair to obscure his face, and the soft sound rising up from his chest doubled the shock pumping through her veins.
            Her party crasher was snoring.
            “Okay, Sleeping Beauty. Time to rise and shine.” Zoe barked the words in her best drill-sergeant voice, although she kept her Danskos planted firmly on the business side of the counter. This guy was pretty horizontal for someone with bad intentions—not to mention far more well-kept than their average residents—but she was still on this side of the shelter all by herself. Looks could be deceptive as hell, and despite the security measures she and Tina had been scraping to put into place, Hope House wasn’t exactly in a pristine neighborhood. No way was she taking any chances by sounding too mousy or getting too close. “I don’t know how you got in here, but breakfast doesn’t start until seven. You’ll have to wait back in the residence until then.”
            He woke up all at once, perfectly upright and focused with just two blinks, and holy cheese on a cracker, he was gorgeous. “I’m not here for breakfast. I’m—”
            “Alex?” Recognition slammed into her senses, working on a five-second delay with her mouth. But this had to be a mistake. No way could Alex Donovan, the cockiest and most reckless firefighter in her father’s entire house, be standing here in front of her with shoulders twice as broad as the last time she’d seen him and a smile so sexy, the damn thing should come with a sternly worded warning label.
            “I’m sorry,” he said, his Caribbean blue eyes tapering in confusion as they took a slow trip from her face to her feet and then back up again. “Do I know you?”
            Zoe’s cheeks went hot, although whether it was from the way Alex was focused on her so intently or the fact that she was forgettable enough to go unrecognized, she couldn’t be sure.
            “Zoe.” She paused, waiting out his continued lack of a light bulb moment for another few seconds before adding, “Westin.”
            Alex’s eyes went as round and dark as ripe blueberries in August, and ding, ding, ding. They had a winner. “Holy shit. I mean—” He straightened, tugging a hand through his sun-kissed hair as his grin turned decidedly sheepish. “Your father mentioned you’d moved back to town, but I didn’t realize you were . . . jeez, didn’t you just graduate from college?”
            Zoe’s defenses prickled to life. “Five years ago.” Two months before the last time she’d seen him, to be exact. Come to think of it, Alex had treated her like a little girl that day, too.
            Right. Because just what her blush needed was more fuel.
            “Oh. I guess time really flies, huh?” He tried on another smile, this one all sweet talk, and God, some things never changed. “Anyway, you might be able to help me out. I guess I’m looking for your boss.”
            “My who?”
            Alex pointed toward the painted cinder block wall that the soup kitchen shared with the shelter. “The only door that was open when I got here was the one to the shelter. The lady behind the desk walked me through the security doors and told me to wait here for the director of the soup kitchen. It’s kind of a long story, but I got stuck with this stupid community service assignment because of an even
more stupid work thing, and this was the first available placement. To be honest, I just want to get it over with.” He tipped his head at her, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans like no great shakes. “What’d you do to land here, anyway?”
            Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me. Of all the possible community service assignments in the galaxy, this one took the freaking crown. She might not have clapped eyes on Alex Donovan since she’d made a colossal idiot out of herself in front of him at the Fairview Fire Department annual barbecue five years ago, but clearly, he hadn’t broken the firefighter mold, and she’d been around Station Eight enough to know his reputation by heart. Alex flew by the seat of his bunker pants twenty-four/seven, taking unnecessary risks the way most people took Motrin.
            Not happening in her soup kitchen. She might be understaffed, but she wasn’t overstupid.
            “The way I landed here was simple, actually,” Zoe said, knotting her arms over her chest tight enough to test the seams of her T-shirt. “I interviewed for the position as director and I got the job.”
            The silence extended between them for a beat, then two, before . . . “Wait. You’re the director of the soup kitchen? As in, you run the whole program? I thought you went to some five-star culinary school.” Alex stared at her over the glass and stainless steel food service counter, and at least she’d found the antidote to his smirk.
            “Surprise. But don’t worry. You won’t be stuck with this stupid community service assignment for long.”
            Her pulse kicked into motion along with her feet, and she angled herself toward the darkly shadowed hallway leading to the pass-through to the shelter. With any luck, Tina would get to work early and could send his arrogant ass packing before Zoe served her first cup of coffee.
            “Zoe, wait.” Alex’s long legs ate up the space between them before she could even make it halfway to the dining room door. “I think we got off on the wrong foot here.”
            She gave him a tight smile without breaking stride. “At least being a firefighter has kept your observational skills sharp.”
            His shoulders snapped into an unyielding knot, his stare flashing cool blue as he kept up with her, step for step. “You want to know what else I picked up with my keen observational skills? You’re in here by yourself, Gorgeous. And that tells me that like it or not, you need all the help you can get to run this place.”
            Zoe’s gut took a downhill slide toward her hips, and she froze mid-pace on the threshold of the shadow-lined hallway. “Help from someone who isn’t serious about being here isn’t going to help at all.”
            “Oh, I’m absolutely serious,” Alex said, triggering a borderline unladylike snort from her lips.
            “You fell asleep on the job before you even started, then you called your assignment in the program I started from scratch ‘stupid.’ As far as I’m concerned, that makes you about as serious as a tabloid headline, no matter how shortstaffed I happen to be.”
            One corner of his mouth lifted upward, disappearing briefly beneath his golden brown stubble before he folded his lips back to neutral-expression territory. “Look, you and I might not see eye to eye on the value of community service, but I can promise you this. I’m as determined to do my job as you are to do yours. The city sent me here for a reason. I can’t go back to Station Eight until I do my time, and you need a volunteer. So are we going to help each other out here, or what?”
            Zoe opened her mouth, her own personal version of or what preloaded and ready to launch from her tongue. But if there was one rule she lived by above everything else, it was not putting what mattered most at risk, and what mattered most was feeding the residents at Hope House. As much as she knew firefighters—especially ones like Alex Donovan—were nothing but a great, big recipe for disaster, Zoe needed him.
            And that meant she had no choice but to spend the next four weeks with the arrogant, impulsive firefighter in her kitchen and under her skin.


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Kimberly Kincaid writes contemporary romance
that splits the difference between sexy and sweet. When she's not sitting
crosslegged in an ancient desk chair known as “The Pleather Bomber,” she can be
found practicing obscene amounts of yoga, whipping up anything from enchiladas
to ├ęclairs in her kitchen, or curled up with her nose in a book. Kimberly is a
2011 RWA Golden Heart® finalist who lives (and writes!) by the mantra that food
is love. She resides in northern Virginia with her wildly patient husband and
their three daughters.