tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86613584956923741942024-03-17T23:02:43.821-04:00Ogitchida Kwe's Book Blog Books and More Books For Everyone! Featuring Reviews and Giveaways!Ogitchida Kwe's Book Bloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00102723974141437176noreply@blogger.comBlogger19918125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8661358495692374194.post-31857682811324008162024-03-17T14:42:00.000-04:002024-03-17T14:42:01.229-04:00Pulling Her Resources Book Blitz <p> </p><div style="text-align: center; margin: 0 auto 15px;">
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<p><strong>Pulling Her Resources</strong><br><strong>Mia Sivan</strong><br>Publication date: March 16th 2024<br>Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance</p><blockquote><p>In Tel Aviv’s high-stakes business world, Dafna works in a startup teetering on the brink of financial doom. Divorced for six years and starved for passion, she goes on a wild one-night stand with a hot, much younger bartender. But then, the tattooed barman strolls into her startup. Surprise! Turns out he is Erez Ben Ami, the CPA assigned to go over their books with a fine-tooth comb.</p>
<p>Erez is a single dad, with a young brother to support. His boss offers him a dream position, but there’s a catch: first, review a new, promising startup and make it as favorable as possible. His future is on the line, and he must suppress his feelings for Dafna, keeping his hands and other parts to himself.</p>
<p>Dafna can’t stop wanting Erez, he is the man who made her get over her ex-husband. They spend hours together, and soon, they’re using the office desks for more than emails.</p>
<p>Erez is falling for Dafna, she is the woman he has always looked for. When he suspects shady dealings within her company, he finds himself at a loss. Investigating it can cost him his dream job, as well as the love of his life.</p>
<p>Pulling Her Resources is a stand-alone later-in-life steamy romance featuring a forbidden workplace affair, financial intrigue and a Happy Ever After.</p>
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<p style="text-align: center;">—</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>EXCERPT:</strong></p>
<p>“Do you have a condom?”</p>
<p>Fuck! Rookie mistake!</p>
<p>“A condom?” He stalled, panic building in his abdomen, realizing that he most definitely didn’t have one. He didn’t travel everywhere with them. His brother would have been better prepared. Eitan always had one in his trousers’ back pocket.</p>
<p>“You know, that’s so embarrassing. I don’t.”</p>
<p>“This is my one and only night at the luna park, and I want to go on all the rides.”</p>
<p>“We could do other stuff. Tell me what you want.” He would make more love to her tonight, condom or no condom.</p>
<p>“To feel you <em>in</em> me, <em>on</em> me,” Dafna answered.</p>
<p>She was killing him.<br />
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<p>Author Bio:</p>
<p>Mia Sivan is an Israeli woman who lives, works and loves in Tel Aviv. The city is as much a part of her books as any other character. </p>
<p>Mia has worked as a senior investment manager for many years, and the books she writes draws much from her personal experience, as well as real-life scams that took place in the Israeli financial market.</p>
<p>When not writing or dreaming up steamy scenes, she lives with her handsome husband and even handsomer two sons, and enjoys long walks by the beach (it’s Tel Aviv, it’s never too cold).</p>
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<a href="https://www.miasivan.com/" target="_blank">Website</a> / <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/22085886.Mia_Sivan" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> / <a href="https://www.instagram.com/miasivan.author/" target="_blank">Instagram</a> / <a href="https://www.bookbub.com/profile/mia-sivan" target="_blank">Bookbub</a> / <a href="https://expert-artist-7801.ck.page/addb648f48" target="_blank">Newsletter</a></p>
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<p style="text-align: center;">Ogitchida Kwe's Book Bloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00102723974141437176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8661358495692374194.post-84930703663580231942024-03-17T06:21:00.002-04:002024-03-17T06:21:19.496-04:00King of Nothing Book Blitz <div style="text-align: center; margin: 0 auto 15px;">
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<p><strong>King of Nothing</strong><br><strong>Paula Dombrowiak</strong><br>(Kingmaker Series, #1)<br>Publication date: March 12th 2024<br>Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance</p><blockquote><p><strong>I’m not the sort of girl you take home to meet your parents.</strong></p>
<p><strong>But our marriage of convenience is the perfect revenge…</strong></p>
<p>I find Darren Walker drowning himself in expensive whiskey. Young, handsome, and educated, he’s the playboy son of a U.S. Senator, and his father’s sudden death has hit him harder than expected.</p>
<p>When he offers me millions of dollars to marry him, I want to tell him that I can’t be bought.</p>
<p>But of course, that’s not true, and Darren is prepared to play dirty.</p>
<p>He’s made it his life’s mission to squander his potential in order to avoid living in his father’s shadow. But if he wants to see even one cent of his trust fund, he needs a wife. And not just any wife will do.</p>
<p>Ours will purely be a marriage of convenience, and I’m going to be his final, perfect revenge.</p>
<p>My name is Evangeline Bowen, and I’m an escort to the rich and powerful. But soon I’ll be the wife of a Senator’s son, who thinks he knows all my dark secrets.</p>
<p>All of them, except for one…</p>
<p><em><strong>King of Nothing is the first book in The Kingmaker trilogy, a steamy marriage of convenience romance full of political scandal. The books must be read in order for the best reader experience.</strong></em></p>
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<p style="font-size: 130%; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/198973747-king-of-nothing" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> / <a href="https://amzn.to/3uUwzIm" target="_blank">Amazon</a> / <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/king-of-nothing-paula-dombrowiak/1144064507?ean=9798855692112" target="_blank">Barnes & Noble</a> / <a href="https://books.apple.com/br/book/king-of-nothing/id6466301570%20" target="_blank">iBooks</a> / <a href="https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/king-of-nothing-a-steamy-marriage-of-convenience-political-romance" target="_blank">Kobo</a></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">—</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>EXCERPT:</strong></p>
<p>“Your parents are dead, and you trash a hotel room.” His blue eyes look past me as he adds on, “And apparently fuck hookers.”</p>
<p>I follow his gaze to see Evangeline coming from the bedroom, her hair still wet and dripping onto her shoulders while she holds her shoes.</p>
<p>“What makes you think I’m a hooker?” she asks as she slips on her heels.</p>
<p>Rausch assesses her carefully, his mouth pressed firmly in a tight line. “An educated guess.”</p>
<p>“Jesus Christ, Darren. Do you know how much this will cost to fix?” Rausch gestures dramatically to the trashed room. I notice the TV mounted on the wall is cracked, and I just now remember that I hit it on my way out of the room last night, looking down at my knuckles to notice the bruises only just now.</p>
<p>“Just have the hotel send me the bill.”</p>
<p>“Money is not going to fix this,” Rausch yells, “especially when you don’t have any.”</p>
<p>“You’re not making any sense.”</p>
<p>Alistair straightens. “Can we just calm down?”</p>
<p>“I don’t think either of you fuckups really understand the gravity of the situation,” Rausch spits, pinching his eyebrows as if he’s talking to two disorderly students instead of two grown men. “Your parents are dead, and not only is that a difficult situation for Congress, but it also means your money – your <em>parent’s</em> money,” he makes a point to say, “is tied up in probate.”</p>
<p>“Can you – just stop saying that?” I throw my hands up.</p>
<p>“That your parents are dead? No, because the sooner you wake up and join reality, the better.”</p>
<p>“What do you mean, there’s no money?”</p>
<p>“The money is locked up in probate.”</p>
<p>“What the fuck do you mean, probate?” I question, staring at Rausch with my chest heaving.</p>
<p>“You went to law school; did they not teach you about probate law?” Rausch doesn’t rattle easily, that’s why he got the reputation he has. Unbreakable, formidable, and effective – <em>The Kingmaker</em>.</p>
<p>Of course I know about probate law, and that means my parents money could be frozen anywhere from six months to two years.</p>
<p>I’m mad at Rausch for being the only one I have right now. I’m mad at myself for being such a fuckup. I’m mad at the pilot for crashing the helicopter. I’m mad that I feel <em>anything</em>.</p>
<p>“Is that what you think I’m worried about?” I ask him.</p>
<p>“You have worried about no one else but yourself, <em>Darren</em>, your whole life,” Rausch lectures. “What do you think your mother would say if she saw you right now?” His eyes travel south, and then over to Evangeline, who is still standing next to me, eyeing the exit that is still blocked by the security guard.</p>
<p>“This is what I’m talking about.” Rausch points to the overturned table. “It’s exactly why your parents put stipulations in their wills.”</p>
<p>I pull on the shorts and toss my hair out of my eyes. “Stipulations?” I ask, cautiously.</p>
<p>“Yes, Darren. If you weren’t being such a fucking child, you would listen to me,” Rausch continues, and he’s right. I don’t want to listen to him, but he has me in a stranglehold right now, like a boa constrictor around my neck. Worse yet, he knows it.</p>
<p>My father rarely discussed business with me, and he certainly didn’t make me privy to his will or his wishes, should something happen to him. He certainly wasn’t anticipating dying in a helicopter crash with my mom and leaving me alone to figure things out.</p>
<p>When I look at Rausch I take that back, because my father did anticipate such things, he just put Rausch in charge—not me. He never would have trusted me to handle his estate. Right now, I’m at Rausch’s mercy, so I keep my mouth shut while the anger burns through me.</p>
<p>“You don’t get any money until you’re thirty years old,” Rausch says, and then after a dramatic pause, adds, “or married.”</p>
<p><em>Jesus fuck!</em></p>
<p>He’ll make me beg, give me condescending lectures, and torture me for the next three fucking years. My heart sinks into my stomach, and Rausch can see it all on my face – the realization that he owns me. A satisfied smirk appears on his mouth.</p>
<p>Perhaps if I had been the good son, stayed out of trouble, listened to him more, prayed at the altar of Emerson, who he loved so fucking much, maybe then he wouldn’t have put Rausch in charge of his affairs.</p>
<p>I narrow my eyes at Rausch because I’ve never been known to back down from a fight, and I still have skin in this game. It’s an impulsive move, but dire situations require dire action. I grab Evangeline, pulling her to my side. “Well, isn’t it convenient that my fiancée is right here?”</p>
<p><br class="blank" /></p>
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<blockquote style="margin-top: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px;">
<p>Author Bio:</p>
<p>Paula Dombrowiak grew up in the suburbs of Chicago, Illinois but currently lives in Arizona. She is the author of Blood and Bone, her first adult romance novel which combines her love of music and imperfect relationships. Paula is a lifelong music junkie, whose wardrobe consists of band T-shirts and leggings which are perpetually covered in pet hair. She is a sucker for a redeemable villain, bad boys, and the tragically flawed. Music inspires her storytelling.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.pauladombrowiak.com/" target="_blank">Website</a> / <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/20529493.Paula_Dombrowiak" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> / <a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/3927865483902992/" target="_blank">Facebook Group</a> / <a href="https://twitter.com/PDombrowiak" target="_blank">Twitter</a> / <a href="https://www.bookbub.com/profile/paula-dombrowiak" target="_blank">Bookbub</a> / <a href="https://www.instagram.com/pauladombrowiakauthor/" target="_blank">Instagram</a> / <a href="https://facebook.us10.list-manage.com/subscribe?u=4c7df62fd27f859a1385296d1&id=e672b7110e" target="_blank">Newsletter</a></p>
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<p style="text-align: center;">Ogitchida Kwe's Book Bloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00102723974141437176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8661358495692374194.post-72563881704939955232024-03-15T08:00:00.000-04:002024-03-15T08:00:00.128-04:00The Helping Hand <p> </p><div style="margin: 0px auto 15px; text-align: center;">
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<p><strong>The Helping Heart</strong><br /><strong>Annie M. Ballard</strong><br />(Sisters of Stella Mare, #4)<br />Publication date: March 15th 2024<br />Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Women’s Fiction</p><blockquote><p><strong>Helen comes home and everything should be wonderful. Even if she’s returning due to a divorce. But there is more…</strong></p>
<p>The Madison sisters, once close, are suddenly alienated as oldest Helen returns to Stella Mare. Her desire to help everyone includes keeping them at a distance, so her own secrets stay private. Her plan backfires, making her persona non grata and upsetting her father. To keep the peace with Dad, she suggests a group activity: the four sisters will hike the Fundy Footpath, an iconic and challenging backpacking trip along the Bay of Fundy. Why not? They’re young, they’re strong, and besides, they’re Madisons.</p>
<p>Despite each sister’s reservations, the desire to reconnect pulls them into this adventure. The hike is arduous and not for the faint of heart. Daunting cliffs, deep forests, rushing rivers and unpredictable tides accompany the gorgeous views, stunning sunrises, and the sheer power of nature. The challenges, though shared, fracture things further, and even Helen’s campfire confession doesn’t heal the breach. But when crisis happens, Helen is called to rise to the occasion and be the sister they need her to be.</p>
<p><strong>Returning to Stella Mare was hard. Regaining her place in the family was harder. Come home to Stella Mare with Helen, as she, Rett, Evie and Dorie learn once again how to be sisters.</strong></p>
</blockquote>
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/179484999-the-helping-heart" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> / <a href="https://amzn.to/3Pn1CDt" target="_blank">Amazon</a> / <a href="https://valsec.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-helping-heart-annie-m-ballard/1144338858" target="_blank">Barnes & Noble</a> / <a href="https://books.apple.com/br/book/the-helping-heart/id6471597424" target="_blank">iBooks</a> / <a href="https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/the-helping-heart" target="_blank">Kobo</a></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">—</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>EXCERPT:</strong></p>
<p>“Time to burn some of those calories,” Helen called out. “Let’s get going.”</p>
<p>Evie cast her a curious gaze. “Is there something we’re hurrying for? You should let us know, Helen.”</p>
<p>She narrowed her eyes. “We need to get going. We’re like sitting ducks here.”</p>
<p>Rett laughed. “We’re nobody’s target. We started early, we already did the tidal crossings, so we are not worried about tides right now, and we have time to take a break if somebody is vomiting. Really.”</p>
<p>Helen shook her head and walked away toward the tree line. Where was that wolf? And why couldn’t her sisters take direction?</p>
<p>Annoyed, she kept gazing into the woods, though she kept an ear tuned toward the conversations behind her. Soon enough, everybody got ready to go again, and Evie called to her. “We’re all set, Helen.” She huffed a little as she headed back, chin held high.</p>
<p>Evie started off beside Dorie, the two easily chatting. Rett waited for Helen. “Tone it down a bit,” she advised.</p>
<p>“Are you bitching about me, too?” Helen snapped.</p>
<p>“Like that,” Rett said noncommittally. “Take it down a notch.”</p>
<p>“You’re so helpful,” she sniped. “Like anybody even notices me.”</p>
<p>“Everybody notices you.” Rett’s tone was correcting. “Especially when you’re being a royal pain in the neck. Tone it down. Nobody’s here to make a fool of you.”</p>
<p>Helen, shocked, took the impact of those words on her chest. <em>Nobody’s here to make a fool of you.</em> She had nothing to say.</p>
<p>Rett nudged her with an elbow. “Come on. Let’s make it a good day for a hike.”</p>
<p>She nodded tightly and followed.</p>
<p>Hiking made her brain run faster. Rett’s words rang in her memory. Nobody’s here to make a fool of you, Helen.</p>
<p><em>I don’t need anyone to do that. I’ve done it myself, more than once. A lot more than once.</em></p>
<p>Despite her tired body, her mind was super-charged as thoughts, memories and feelings flooded her. She couldn’t outrace them, and even the challenging terrain didn’t distract her, though after a series of switchbacks, landing at the brook felt like an accomplishment. Or at least a break from her thoughts.</p>
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<blockquote style="margin-bottom: 15px; margin-top: 15px;">
<p>Author Bio:</p>
<p>Annie M. Ballard writes about women and family ties in the small villages that feel like home. With one foot in the Canadian Maritimes and the other in New England, she digs deep into the lives of her characters. When she’s not writing, she’s happily baking, gardening, powerlifting and trying to make friends with every dog in her neighbourhood.</p>
<p>Annie’s stories include strong women living real lives, good men trying to do better, and always a happy ending.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://anniemballard.com/" target="_blank">Website</a> / <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/21745788.Annie_M_Ballard" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> / <a href="https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100071779791861" target="_blank">Facebook</a> / <a href="https://www.instagram.com/anniemballard/" target="_blank">Instagram</a> / <a href="https://www.bookbub.com/authors/annie-m-ballard" target="_blank">Bookbub</a></p>
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<p style="text-align: center;"></p>Ogitchida Kwe's Book Bloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00102723974141437176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8661358495692374194.post-45259383731201532522024-03-12T15:27:00.003-04:002024-03-12T15:27:39.342-04:00Handsome Devil<p> </p><div style="text-align: center; margin: 0 auto 15px;">
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<p><strong>Handsome Devil</strong><br><strong>Delaney Diamond</strong><br>(Quicksand, #7)<br>Publication date: February 29th 2024<br>Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance</p><blockquote><p><em>They might both get what they want in this marriage of convenience—if they don’t kill each other first.</em></p>
<p>Annabelle Buchanan waltzes into Dante Escarra’s office with a singular goal—to persuade him to accept her audacious one-year marriage proposal. Her objective? Taking control of her father’s real estate empire. But Dante is her ex-husband, and their past is littered with hurt and anger.</p>
<p>Dante never once contemplated reuniting with Annabelle, because she broke his heart and left him devastated years ago. But her offer is a tantalizing chance to add an iconic Houston building to his real estate portfolio—a prize he covets more than he’s willing to admit.</p>
<p>As they pursue their respective goals, the lines between business and heart blur. Can they make their marriage work the second time around, or will they both end up with broken hearts—again?</p>
</blockquote>
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/205297612-handsome-devil" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> / <a href="https://amzn.to/3VaeQaC" target="_blank">Amazon</a> / <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/handsome-devil-delaney-diamond/1144961468?ean=2940186061571" target="_blank">Barnes & Noble</a> / <a href="https://books.apple.com/us/book/handsome-devil/id6476015128" target="_blank">iBooks</a> / <a href="https://www.kobo.com/ww/en/ebook/handsome-devil-5" target="_blank">Kobo</a></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">—</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>EXCERPT:</strong></p>
<p>“You came here for a reason. What do you want?”</p>
<p>“You should take a seat for this,” Annabelle said, waving toward his leather chair. She spoke in a lowered voice. Her seduction voice—low and throaty and bringing back memories that lashed his skin with heat.</p>
<p>His eyes narrowed in distrust. “Why do I need to sit down?”</p>
<p>“I’m not sure you’ll like what I’m about to say.” She gave a careless, one-shoulder shrug.</p>
<p>“Tell me so we can get this meeting over with, and I can go back to more important tasks, like practicing my golf swing.” He glanced at the Patel Philippe watch on his wrist. “You have sixty seconds to explain why you’re here, and then I’m calling security to escort you out.”</p>
<p>She let out an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. I have a proposition for you.”</p>
<p>“I cannot wait to hear it,” Dante said in a dry voice.</p>
<p>Another fake smile. “My father plans to step down as the CEO of Buchanan & Buchanan within the next few months.”</p>
<p>“Time is ticking. You have twenty-seven seconds.”</p>
<p>“Be patient, darling. I promise you’ll want to hear this,” she said, strolling over to the bar where he kept beverages for guests. She poured herself a glass of water and took a sip before turning to face him.</p>
<p>“Seventeen seconds.”</p>
<p>Annabelle arched an eyebrow. “When he steps down, he plans to recommend a merger to the board—a merger with his friend’s company, Strong Technology, Inc. They’re a privately owned firm specializing in smart home technology to modernize residential properties and make them more efficient. Daddy has threatened to go through with this merger for years.”</p>
<p>“What does that have to do with me?” Dante tapped his watch as a reminder.</p>
<p>“Nothing, directly.” Annabelle finished the water and carefully placed the glass on a silver tray atop the bar. “Except for the proposition I mentioned. Instead of merging the companies and having Albert Strong take over as CEO, I want Daddy to recommend <em>me</em> as CEO to the board, but unfortunately, he won’t because of his traditional values.”</p>
<p>A brief flash of pain zipped across her eyes, so fast he almost missed the emotion.</p>
<p>“That’s your problem. Again, what does your father’s decision have to do with me?”</p>
<p>She looked him squarely in the eyes. The haughty indifference disappeared, and a tough negotiator took its place. “My father admires and respects you. He thinks you’re a great businessman because of all you’ve accomplished in the ten years since our divorce. You’ve made quite a splash in the commercial real estate market. Therefore, my proposition is simple. I want to take over my father’s company, and I need you to help me make that happen. I’m proposing that you and I remarry.”</p>
<p>Dante cocked his head toward her in disbelief. “Excuse me, I misunderstood what you said. My English is not so good.”</p>
<p>“Your English is excellent. Probably better than mine at this point, so I know you understood perfectly what I said. I’m suggesting we get married again—a marriage of convenience, if you will. A mutually beneficial arrangement for both parties, you and me. My father will be happy to have you back in the family because he did like you, and now he has newfound respect for you thanks to all your accomplishments. Based on a conversation we had, I’m convinced he would recommend me for the CEO position <em>if</em> he thought you’d be involved in helping me with B&B, as needed. Our marriage would be temporary. Sometime after I take the reins of the company, you and I will have an amicable divorce. Not right away, of course. We want our reunion to be believable, but we simply split because we couldn’t make our marriage work for a second time.”</p>
<p>Dante folded his arms over his chest. Unbelievable.</p>
<p>“Your plan is to remarry and trick your father into believing you and I are happily married, so he will hand over the company to you when he steps down? That’s your plan?”</p>
<p>She smiled brilliantly. “Yes.”</p>
<p>“Ah <em>querida, t’eres loca</em>,” Dante said.</p>
<p>Then he burst out laughing.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.xpressobooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/sites/3/2024/03/Handsome-Devil_beautiful-bridejpg.jpg"><img src="https://www.xpressobooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/sites/3/2024/03/Handsome-Devil_beautiful-bridejpg.jpg" alt="" style="max-width: 100%; height: auto;" /></a></p>
<p><br class="blank" /></p>
<img src="https://www.xpressobooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/sites/3/2021/10/Delaney.jpg" alt="" style="float: left; margin: 0 15px 15px 0; display: inline-block;">
<blockquote style="margin-top: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px;">
<p>Author Bio:</p>
<p>Delaney Diamond is the USA Today Bestselling Author of black romance and interracial romance in the contemporary romance and romantic suspense genres. She reads romance novels, mysteries, thrillers, and a fair amount of nonfiction. When she’s not busy reading or writing, she’s in the kitchen trying out new recipes, dining at one of her favorite restaurants, or traveling to an interesting locale. To get sneak peeks, notices of sale prices, and find out about new releases, visit her website and join her mailing list. Enjoy free stories on her website at www.delaneydiamond.com.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://delaneydiamond.com/" target="_blank">Website</a> / <a href="https://bit.ly/3sRgyh5" target="_blank">Facebook Group</a> / <a href="https://www.facebook.com/DelaneyDiamond/" target="_blank">Facebook Page</a> / <a href="https://twitter.com/DelaneyDiamond" target="_blank">Twitter</a> / <a href="http://bit.ly/DelDiam" target="_blank">Newsletter</a> / <a href="https://www.pinterest.ca/delaneydiamond/" target="_blank">Pinterest</a> / <a href="http://podcast.delaneydiamond.com" target="_blank">Podcast</a> / <a href="https://www.instagram.com/delaneydiamondbooks/" target="_blank">Instagram</a> / <a href="https://www.amazon.com/stores/author/B004HU9G3G" target="_blank">Amazon</a></p>
</blockquote>
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<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>GIVEAWAY!</strong><br />
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<p style="text-align: center;">Ogitchida Kwe's Book Bloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00102723974141437176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8661358495692374194.post-85229407451100526642024-03-12T10:35:00.001-04:002024-03-12T10:35:02.609-04:00If You Loved Me <p> </p><div style="text-align: center; margin: 0 auto 15px;">
<p>
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<p><strong>If You Loved Me</strong><br><strong>Brianna Remus</strong><br>Publication date: April 26th 2024<br>Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance</p><blockquote><div><b>My parents would lose their minds if they found out their precious daughter lost her virginity to the town’s notorious bad boy and ex-convict.<span class="gmail-Apple-converted-space"> </span></b></div>
<div></div>
<div><b>Ranger Adams might have been a dangerous pariah after he was released from prison, but he was the only man I wanted. And after I convinced him to take me on a date, I got exactly what my body…and heart desired.<span class="gmail-Apple-converted-space"> </span></b></div>
<div></div>
<div>I spent my entire life trying to get away from my parents’ overbearing grasp. They’ve tried to control every part of my life, even down to the man I was supposed to marry. That was the price of being born into one of the South’s richest families.<span class="gmail-Apple-converted-space"> </span></div>
<div></div>
<div>The second I had a chance to get away, I did. Ten years of pissing them off and making my dreams come true was worth the sacrifice. No fun. No relationships. And no sex.<span class="gmail-Apple-converted-space"> </span></div>
<div></div>
<div>My life had been all work until Ranger came back into town. Everyone whispered about what he’d done to land in prison. But I didn’t care.<span class="gmail-Apple-converted-space"> </span></div>
<div></div>
<div>He was rough around the edges, wild, and free.<span class="gmail-Apple-converted-space"> </span></div>
<div></div>
<div>And I wanted every bit of what he was willing to give me.<span class="gmail-Apple-converted-space"> </span></div>
</blockquote>
<p><br class="blank" /></p>
<img src="https://www.xpressobooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/sites/3/2023/06/Brianna.jpg" alt="" style="float: left; margin: 0 15px 15px 0; display: inline-block;">
<blockquote style="margin-top: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px;">
<p>Author Bio:</p>
<p>Brianna Remus is a Florida-based author who lives with her husband, three pups, and terrorizing cat. She started her writing journey in 2016 to ward off the woes of graduate school. The light-hearted hobby quickly turned into a passion filled dream that consistently distracts her from the real world.</p>
<p>When Brianna isn't working as a psychology resident or writing books, you can find her getting lost in the worlds created by others (through writing and movies), spending a day at the ocean, or taking a walk in the forest. She loves to spend her days outdoors surrounded by the beauties of nature.</p>
<p>A true Tolkien nerd, she also spends a lot of her time immersed in Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit, as well as praying that Amazon doesn't completely fuck up the new LOTR series.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.briannaremus.com/" target="_blank">Website</a> / <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/19147144.Brianna_Remus" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> / <a href="https://www.bookbub.com/profile/brianna-remus?list=about" target="_blank">Bookbub</a> / <a href="https://www.tiktok.com/@authorbriannaremus?is_from_webapp=1&sender_device=pc" target="_blank">TikTok</a> / <a href="https://www.instagram.com/authorbriannaremus/" target="_blank">Instagram</a></p>
</blockquote>
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<p style="text-align: center;">—<br />
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<p style="text-align: center;">Ogitchida Kwe's Book Bloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00102723974141437176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8661358495692374194.post-20939025303309304602024-03-09T14:42:00.000-05:002024-03-17T14:43:01.473-04:00The Forger and The Duke Book Blitz <p> </p><div style="text-align: center; margin: 0 auto 15px;">
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<p><strong>The Forger and the Duke</strong><br><strong>Misty Urban</strong><br>(Ladies Least Likely, #2)<br>Publication date: March 5th 2024<br>Genres: Adult, Historical, Romance</p><blockquote><p>In 1776 London, orphaned vicar’s daughter Amaranthe Illingworth supports her small household with her skills as a copyist, but her quiet routine is shattered the day three children show up at her door seeking aid from her brother, their tutor. Behind them storms in Malden Grey, would-be barrister and their erstwhile guardian, who accuses Amaranthe of kidnapping the young Duke of Hunsdon and his siblings.</p>
<p>The former duke’s illegitimate son, Malden Grey has learned to live by his wits, and he’s told he’ll advance to the bar if he takes a proper wife. As she helps him restore order at Hunsdon House, Amaranthe seems a likely candidate—if only Mal can unearth the truth behind the rumors that she’s been forging, and selling, priceless medieval manuscripts. Amaranthe, in the meantime, needs to stay on her guard lest the charming Malden Grey steal her heart at the same time she’s hoping to borrow from his library a priceless book that could make her fortune.</p>
<p>But when Mal’s foray into Amaranthe’s past yields a discovery that will change both of their destinies, they’ll have to fight together to clear their names and stake out a future together—if either has a future at all.</p>
</blockquote>
<p style="font-size: 130%; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/204584764-the-forger-and-the-duke" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> / <a href="https://amzn.to/3T3CqCY" target="_blank">Amazon</a> / <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-forger-and-the-duke-misty-urban/1144877463?ean=9781648395673" target="_blank">Barnes & Noble</a></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">—</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>EXCERPT:</strong></p>
<p>She set the portrait gently in its place. Mal battled the impulse to take those cool, capable fingers and press them against his aching head.</p>
<p>“And where is your mother now?” Her steady, fathomless gaze rested on him.</p>
<p>“She died when I was young.” Dear Lord, he was becoming sentimental. He pushed the weakness aside. “You are coming to know a great deal about us, Miss Illingworth, and I know very little about you.”</p>
<p>Her eyes crinkled as she smiled widely, and Mal cast about for breath. “We have not even been properly introduced.”</p>
<p>“Malden Grey of Bristol, aspiring to the bar.” He held out his hand.</p>
<p>“Malden,” she said, and a silken quality in her voice made him shudder, as did the slide of her fingers as she placed them in his.</p>
<p>“You haven’t told me your name.” His voice roughed his chest.</p>
<p>“Miss Amaranthe Illingworth of St. Cleer, Cornwall. My father was very fond of classical antiquity, so he chose a Greek name for me.” She held the volume of housekeeper’s accounts close to her chest, like a shield.</p>
<p>He sat back. She appeared completely unconcerned to learn he was a bastard, the status he wore like a brand on his forehead, marking him as less than, as lacking.</p>
<p>She rose, and he scrambled to his feet. Very neatly she placed her glass on the shelf beneath the decanter. Her eyes traced the figurines above, all of them representing mythological half-women with breasts prominently displayed.</p>
<p>“They’re not mine,” Mal said.</p>
<p>That small, maddening smile quirked her lips again. “No, they are young Hunsdon’s now, I imagine. I’ve seen this and worse among some of the medieval marginalia I’ve copied, Mr. Grey. You wouldn’t believe some of the grotesques those monks could dream up. I suppose it comes from being locked away day after day with no company but other men.”</p>
<p>That was his problem as well, Mal decided. Too much time in the company of other men. That was why she riled his senses so potently.</p>
<p>He moved around the desk toward her as she stepped away. “I can drive you tomorrow. When you make inquiries about hiring servants. What time shall I bring the carriage round?”</p>
<p>She hesitated, and her face went studiously blank. A slither across the back of his neck told him this was the expression she assumed when she was withholding something. He was beginning to recognize it.</p>
<p>“Eyde made up a room for me here,” she said. “Do you mind?”</p>
<p>“Of course not. There are dozens of rooms.” Or so he thought. Hunsdon House was not his, as nothing about the Hunsdon estate was to be his—not even the family name—and so he’d never let much of it occupy his attention.</p>
<p>Mal wondered which room Miss Illingworth would select for her own. Did she see her silk-smooth skin as best set off by the draperies in the Blue Room? Would she choose the Oriental patterns of the Jade Room? Or would she, like an empress of old, demand the royal purple? He imagined her nearby in the house going about her nightly routine, taking down her hair, drawing off her prim robe, perhaps splashing water onto her face that would run down that softly stern neck to the collarbones hidden beneath her gown and—</p>
<p>He’d best stop imagining Miss Illingworth at her ablutions. He was about to embarrass himself.</p>
<p>“Till tomorrow then, Miss Illingworth.” Had she said he could call her Amaranthe? He wanted to roll the name over his tongue. It was exotic, yet robust. A name with command and presence, much like the woman.</p>
<p>Good Lord! That brandy had turned his wits. He was behaving like a moonstruck calf. No, worse.</p>
<p>“Till tomorrow,” she said softly, and her gaze held his. The flickering candlelight brought out violet shadows in her eyes, and all the air left Mal’s body. He wanted to be found worthy of that calm, assessing gaze.</p>
<p>There was no way she would ever find him worthy.</p>
<p>The door shut behind her, and Mal smacked a hand to his head to clear it. He’d best bring himself in order. They had business to conduct. Problems to solve.</p>
<p>She had secrets he wanted very much to discover.</p>
<p>He had gotten his first good look at Miss Amaranthe Illingworth. He wanted a second. And a third.<br />
<br class="blank" /></p>
<img src="https://www.xpressobooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/sites/3/2024/01/Misty.jpeg" alt="" style="float: left; margin: 0 15px 15px 0; display: inline-block;">
<blockquote style="margin-top: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px;">
<p>Author Bio:</p>
<p>Misty Urban is a medieval scholar, freelance editor, and college professor who likes to write stories about misbehaving women who find adventure and romance. She holds an MFA and Ph.D. from Cornell University and lives in the Midwest in a little town on a big river.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://mistyurban.com/" target="_blank">Website</a> / <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3169900.Misty_Urban" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> / <a href="https://www.facebook.com/authormistyurban/" target="_blank">Facebook</a> / <a href="https://www.instagram.com/authormistyurban/" target="_blank">Instagram</a></p>
</blockquote>
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<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>GIVEAWAY!</strong><br />
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<p style="text-align: center;">Ogitchida Kwe's Book Bloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00102723974141437176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8661358495692374194.post-4497339030940919592024-03-07T13:19:00.004-05:002024-03-07T13:19:58.523-05:00The Thief of Time Cover Reveal<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.rockstarbooktours.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="615" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmtSqtEkoYoTGwvnSh3gz1_NCr9sJYBK_3Rc_ESXSs_uru1PUUMlpEdK_vCmTFoSxqmAabzSJy82zIOkFvJE08tfrn07SBmGD7X1M6RSLm2sPLLB8LWWCjEsv8FEUgWU93LPw023IN_i46E8L9fAbu7peMTyJLZXSb5xG8UyWuGWH8Ome-zA5kCfGImQ7F/w400-h156/COVER%20REVEAL.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Today Vivi Barnes, Christina
Farley, and Amy Christine Parker and </span><a href="http://www.rockstarbooktours.com/"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Rockstar Book Tours</span></a><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> are
revealing the cover for THE THIEF OF TIME, their new middle grade contemporary fantasy
book which releases May 7, 2024! Check out the awesome cover and enter the
giveaway!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">On to the reveal!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://amzn.to/3V7doFY" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="3825" data-original-width="2475" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI9xJIdKTa5APIuHT5GLpfnK0Bhc1sDgD-ckFpYNcBb0e7Gnjo-HX_vcUTZ6cKEeu5Iesg0m5e96dmUbFZwkXNhCCrwqI_NheW6IcIOySgzaRUD7VauJf9Pwpv-nIsrUoky-mChU4idlg7S63PcTIl7IyQtwuT4kV-pd2rF4Nw5JWfbT818UVXw5jNTvZL/w414-h640/Thief%20of%20Time%20fullcolor%20P2_%20Cool%20Cropped_title%20copy%20(1).jpg" width="414" /></a></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">About The Book:<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><a name="_Hlk160614854"></a><a name="_Hlk101517841"></a><a name="_Hlk109641341"></a><a name="_Hlk118108087"></a><a name="_Hlk119244074"></a><a name="_Hlk123038795"></a><a name="_Hlk125450106"></a><a name="_Hlk133405784"></a><a name="_Hlk134099367"></a><a name="_Hlk143522103"></a><a name="_Hlk149132729"></a><a name="_Hlk158897712"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk149132729;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk143522103;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk134099367;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk133405784;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk125450106;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk123038795;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk119244074;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk118108087;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk109641341;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk101517841;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160614854;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Title:</span></b></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk158897712;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk149132729;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk143522103;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk134099367;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk133405784;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk125450106;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk123038795;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk119244074;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk118108087;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk109641341;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk101517841;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160614854;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> THE
THIEF OF TIME (The Library of Alexandria Series #1)<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk158897712;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk149132729;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk143522103;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk134099367;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk133405784;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk125450106;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk123038795;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk119244074;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk118108087;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk109641341;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk101517841;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160614854;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Author: </span></b></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk158897712;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk149132729;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk143522103;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk134099367;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk133405784;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk125450106;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk123038795;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk119244074;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk118108087;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk109641341;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk101517841;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160614854;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Vivi
Barnes, Christina Farley, and Amy Christine Parker<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk158897712;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk149132729;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk143522103;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk134099367;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk133405784;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk125450106;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk123038795;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk119244074;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk118108087;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk109641341;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk101517841;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160614854;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Pub. Date:</span></b></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk158897712;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk149132729;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk143522103;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk134099367;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk133405784;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk125450106;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk123038795;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk119244074;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk118108087;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk109641341;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk101517841;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160614854;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> May
7, 2024<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk158897712;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk149132729;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk143522103;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk134099367;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk133405784;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk125450106;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk123038795;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk119244074;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk118108087;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk109641341;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk101517841;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160614854;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Publisher: </span></b></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk158897712;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk149132729;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk143522103;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk134099367;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk133405784;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk125450106;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk123038795;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk119244074;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk118108087;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk109641341;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk101517841;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160614854;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Infinity
House Creative<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk158897712;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk149132729;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk143522103;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk134099367;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk133405784;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk125450106;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk123038795;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk119244074;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk118108087;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk109641341;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk101517841;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160614854;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Formats:</span></b></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk158897712;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk149132729;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk143522103;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk134099367;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk133405784;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk125450106;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk123038795;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk119244074;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk118108087;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk109641341;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk101517841;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160614854;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> Hardcover, Paperback,
eBook<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk158897712;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk149132729;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk143522103;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk134099367;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk133405784;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk125450106;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk123038795;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk119244074;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk118108087;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk109641341;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk101517841;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160614854;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Pages:</span></b></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk158897712;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk149132729;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk143522103;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk134099367;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk133405784;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk125450106;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk123038795;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk119244074;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk118108087;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk109641341;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk101517841;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160614854;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> 312<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk158897712;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk149132729;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk143522103;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk134099367;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk133405784;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk125450106;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk123038795;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk119244074;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk118108087;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk109641341;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk101517841;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160614854;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Find it:</span></b></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk158897712;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk149132729;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk143522103;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk134099367;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk133405784;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk125450106;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk123038795;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk119244074;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk118108087;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk109641341;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk101517841;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160614854;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/209412307-the-thief-of-time"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk158897712;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk149132729;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk143522103;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk134099367;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk133405784;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk125450106;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk123038795;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk119244074;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk118108087;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk109641341;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk101517841;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160614854;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Goodreads</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk158897712;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk149132729;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk143522103;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk134099367;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk133405784;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk125450106;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk123038795;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk119244074;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk118108087;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk109641341;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk101517841;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160614854;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">, </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><a href="https://amzn.to/3V7doFY"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk158897712;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk149132729;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk143522103;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk134099367;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk133405784;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk125450106;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk123038795;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk119244074;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk118108087;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk109641341;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk101517841;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160614854;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Amazon</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk101517841;"></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk109641341;"></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk118108087;"></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk119244074;"></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk123038795;"></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk125450106;"></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk133405784;"></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk134099367;"></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk143522103;"></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk149132729;"></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk158897712;"></span>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160614854;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“<i>The Thief of Time</i> is a
thrilling contemporary fantasy that will steal your breath away. Chock full of
complex world building and magic that springs from the power of story, this
book will definitely keep young readers turning pages.”—Polly Holyoke,
Award-winning author</span></b></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160614854;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br />
<br />
<b>Unleash the Magic…</b><br />
<br />
THE THIEF OF TIME is an exciting middle-grade contemporary fantasy adventure
that takes readers on a thrilling journey through the realms of magic,
friendship, and self-discovery.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160614854;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">On a visit to their local library,
Ben, Bridgette, and Maya unwittingly unleash a dragon from an ancient book and
find themselves fighting for their lives against a swarm of evil birds. They
battle to escape with the help of the dragon and are whisked through a portal
into the magical Great Library of Alexandria.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160614854;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Once they pass the Trials and prove
themselves worthy, they are invited to become students at Helicon Academy.
There they train to become librarians for the Library of Alexandria, protecting
books and the magical artifacts within.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160614854;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Ben, Bridgette, and Maya fall in love
with the story-themed dinners, fantastical animals, and fictional characters
roaming the halls. But when they discover a dark and sinister mystery within
the academy’s halls, the three must embark on a quest to protect the library
and preserve the fabric of time itself.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160614854;"></span>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">REVIEWS:<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">"Every so often, you read a book with a fictional place
that is so full of magic and so full of wonder that you want to live there
forever -- the library in <i>The Thief of Time</i> is such a place. You're in
for a treat!" —Sarah Beth Durst, award-winning author of <i>Spark</i><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">What a ride! <i>The Thief of Time</i> whisks readers from the
immortal Library of Alexandria to adventures across the globe. Maya, Ben, and
Bridgette kept me reading to the very end! —Sarah McGuire, author of <i>Flight
of Swans </i>and <i>Valiant</i><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">We all know books are magic, but in <i>The Thief of Time</i>,
they are beyond our expectations! This adventure jumps right in with our
protagonists facing an adventure, both physically and mentally, unlike any
other I've read. Fans of Land of Stories and magical school books are going to
devour this new twist on what it means to truly get into a book. —Kellee Moye,
librarian<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Excerpt:<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Chapter 1<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Polly Definitely Doesn’t Want a Cracker<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Ben</span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The first weird thing Ben noticed was the birds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><b><o:p></o:p></b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Clustered in bushes around the front of the library, they
watched with unblinking beady red eyes as he made his way up the steps.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“To be, or not to be…gone!” he said loudly, clapping his
hands at a pair that was preening on the steps in front of the door. They
hopped only a few inches away and fixed Ben with a baleful stare. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Ben shook his head. Here he was, quoting <i>Hamlet</i> at
creepy birds and returning an almost-overdue book on a Friday night when there
were probably ten end-of-summer parties going on—or at least two that he was
invited to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">He yanked the door open and stepped inside. Mr. Lozano, who’d
been the town librarian ever since Ben could remember, was scanning barcodes
from a tall stack of books.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Hey, Mr. Lozano.” Ben slid his book across the counter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Mr. Lozano caught the book and added it to the stack. “Just
under the wire, Benjamin. Your dad wouldn’t be happy to come pay another late
fee.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“I know.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Mr. Lozano picked up a magnifying glass to peer at the book.
With the plaid bow tie and pencil mustache, Ben thought he looked more like a
Scotland Yard detective than a librarian.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Mr. Lozano peeled off the outside cover that was titled
“Practical Science.” Ben inwardly groaned. He meant to remove that before
returning it. Underneath the cover was a copy of Shakespeare’s <i>Hamlet</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Mr. Lozano sighed. “Your father still giving you a hard
time?” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Ben shrugged. His father was a surgeon and thought Ben should
be studying math and science, not “farting around with theater and poetry,” as
he liked to say. It was just easier for Ben to pretend he was more scientific
than he was. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">His mom would’ve understood him better. Not a day went by
where he didn’t think about her and wish she was with him again, reading
Shakespeare’s sonnets like she did when he was little. The gentle lilt of her
voice always lulled him to sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“I know what you’re going to say,” Ben said. “I’ll talk to
him again, and—” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Mr. Lozano, that astronomy book isn’t here,” a girl
announced as she walked up and set a stack of books on the counter. She looked
familiar, maybe from school. She wore an old Texas Rangers baseball T-shirt and
had a short mop of auburn curls, pale skin, and thick round glasses that made
her green eyes seem extra-large.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">She shrugged her oversized military-looking green backpack
off her shoulders and plopped it on the counter next to the books. “It was due
five days ago. I’ve been on the waiting list forever.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“I’m sorry, Bridgette. I’m sure the person will bring it back
soon.” Mr. Lozano glanced at the clock over the desk. “Unfortunately, the
library’s closing so I can’t help you find something else right now.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Can’t you call them? Fill out a police report or something?”
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Excuse me.” Someone with two long dark braids squeezed
between Ben and Bridgette, her hands cupped around a small ball of fur. A
volunteer badge was clipped to the sleeve of her light blue shirt. “Mr. Lozano,
I think Griffin’s sick. I’m really worried about him.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">This girl Ben knew. Everyone knew Maya Friedman, who moved
here last summer from Israel and within a month of their sixth-grade year
became one of the most popular kids at Harrison Middle. Her braids had kind of
become her trademark. Ben hated to admit he was jealous, but no matter how many
times he’d styled his sandy blond hair or even dyed it, he’d failed to get a
trademark “look.” This girl showed up with two long braids and perfectly tanned
olive skin and everyone was like <i>whoooooaaaa</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Who’s Griffin?” Ben asked. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“One of the library’s animals.” She held up a small ball of
brown fluff. “Does he look a little lethargic to you?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Bridgette shrank away. “Keep it away!” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Maya pulled it to her chest protectively. “He’s just a little
guinea pig. He won’t hurt you.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“I know.” Bridgette pushed her glasses up the bridge of her
nose. “Its scientific name is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Cavia
porcellus</i>.” Her face flushed as Ben stared at her. “I read a lot.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Poor Griffin,” Maya cooed to the ball of fluff. “That girl
didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Bridgette frowned. “I didn’t mean to hurt his feelings. I’ve
just never been near one before.” She reached out and awkwardly patted its tiny
head with one finger. “Good boy.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Maya smiled at her, then glanced at Ben. “I think I know you
from English class. Ben, right?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Ben nodded. “You’re Maya.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“And I’m Bridgette,” Bridgette said from the other side of
Maya. “I mean, if anyone wanted to know,” she added softly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“No one wants to know,” another voice piped in. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Ben cringed as the awful Davey Singleton swaggered over with
a group of his friends. Davey had been Ben’s nemesis ever since Ben was cast as
the lead in the third-grade rendition of <i>A Midsummer Night’s Dream</i> and
ended up with a terrible case of stage fright, puking all over a kid in a tree
costume. Davey took over the role for the rest of the show and still delighted
in tormenting Ben about it. Worse, he seemed to beat out Ben for every lead
role since then.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Awww look, it’s Shakes<i>fear</i>,” Davey said. “Library’s
closing, Shakes<i>fear</i>. Go barf somewhere else.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Ben rolled his eyes. “Hang in there, Davey. One day, maybe
you’ll actually come up with something original.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Hey, Maya, you going to Drew’s party?” one of the girls in
the group asked. “Davey’s ditching but you should come.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Maya brightened. “Sure, after I close up here.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“And, um, change shoes?” the girl said as she stared at
Maya’s scuffed black combat boots. “Where’d you get those?” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Maya’s face reddened. “My aunt gave them to me when we left
Israel.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Ben got the feeling she never wore those boots in front of
her friends. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Sorry, you’re not invited,” the girl said to Bridgette as
she and her friends walked out the door, laughing. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Like I was interested anyway,” Bridgette mumbled, looking
away.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Lozano, we have to leave,” Davey said. “When are you going
to kick these nobodies out of here?” He pushed through the half-door of the
counter and came back with a brown leather suitcase.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Where are you going?” Ben asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“None of your business.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“We’re fine, we’re fine.” Mr. Lozano glanced again at the
clock. “We have ten minutes.” He nodded at Ben, Bridgette, and Maya. “You kids
head home now. <a name="_Int_PEsLsyli">Library</a> is closed. Maya, thank you
for taking such great care of the animals. And Bridgette, tomorrow maybe I can
help—" <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">A loud crack sounded outside of the library. Everyone jumped.
Bridgette squealed and pushed closer to Ben, who was rubbing his ringing ears. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“What was that?” Maya said, cradling the chirping Griffin
close. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Lightning?” Ben suggested. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“It’s not even raining,” Bridgette pointed out. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Quiet.” Lozano held up a hand, frowning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Something dark moved against the frosted glass of the front
door. Ben heard tiny scratching and tapping noises, which got louder and louder
until it sounded like hundreds of birds were trying to claw their way through
the door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Ben covered his ears, his heart leaping into his throat as
the birds shrieked and screamed. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Mr. Lozano yanked open the door to the circulation desk.
“Everyone, get behind the counter.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Don’t have to tell me twice!” Davey pushed through the
opening, almost knocking Bridgette over with his suitcase.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Another crash sounded at the door and more dark figures shot
past the frosted windowpane, bird silhouettes with feathers and crooked bills
that almost looked like creepy noses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The door wobbled and shook as if someone was trying to get
inside but didn’t know how to use the handle. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Mr. Lozano yelled into his phone, “They’re here! I don’t know
how. We need an R.E.R. team now!” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">He gestured to Ben and the others. “Gather round and take
hands. Now.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">More banging at the door. Davey kept his hands on his
suitcase. Bridgette grabbed Ben’s hand, her eyes wide with fear. He squeezed
hers with a reassurance he didn’t really feel and felt Maya take his other one.
He really hoped his palms weren’t sweaty. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Lozano glanced at the clock. “Hold on. And…now!” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Everyone watched as Mr. Lozano stepped one foot into the
empty wastebasket next to the wall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">And waited.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Mr. Lozano pulled his foot out of the basket, then stepped in
again. And again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Ben cleared his voice. “Um, Mr. Lozano, you okay?” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The librarian grabbed the phone, beads of sweat breaking out
across his forehead. “It isn’t working. We need a car!” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">With a loud smash, the glass in the door shattered, and large
black birds with creepy red eyes started clawing their way through the window
with long, almost fingerlike talons. Ben yelped and Bridgette screamed. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Into my office!” Lozano yelled as a flurry of black feathers
cascaded over them. “I’ll handle this.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The kids scrambled into Mr. Lozano’s office and slammed the
door behind them as birds thumped against its frosted glass. A single black
feather floated in. Ben grabbed it and shoved it in his pocket. “That’s one
less feather you’ll have to fight with,” he yelled at the door, not caring how
weird he sounded. This whole thing was terrifyingly weird. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Ben turned around, realizing he’d never been in Lozano’s
office before. It was like something from another century—old bookshelves,
weird telescope-looking things, and ancient leather-bound books piled on a
table. A low humming sound seemed to be coming from them. Ben rubbed his
ears.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Screeching from right outside the office made Ben forget all
about the humming. The birds hurled against the window. <i>Thump! Thump! Thump!
</i>The glass started to crack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“We need to hide.” Bridgette yanked her backpack onto her
shoulders.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Behind there!” Ben ran to the heavy oak desk on the far
wall. Bridgette and Maya followed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Davey crouched behind a plush chair near the door, clutching
his suitcase. “Make them go away,” he whimpered. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">A crash sounded on the other side of the door. Ben clamped
his eyes shut, hoping Mr. Lozano was okay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Griffin!” Maya cried out. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Ben opened his eyes to see the guinea pig running at top
speed toward a crack in the wall. Maya started after him, but Ben grabbed her
arm. “He’ll be fine. We need to stay together.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The square glass window in the door shattered. Davey threw
his hands over his head as the birds flew directly at him. His screams pierced
the air. Ben gritted his teeth together. No matter how awful Davey was, Ben
couldn’t just hide like a coward while birds were trying to kill him. This
wasn’t a third-grade play. This was real.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“We have to help him. Distract the birds,” Ben told Maya and
Bridgette.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“How?” cried Bridgette. “It’s not like we have bird seed.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Hey!” Maya called out, standing up and waving her arms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“What are you doing?” Bridgette yelled at her as birds flew
toward them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Ben crawled across the floor to Davey, where a bird was
flapping over his head, poking him with its beak. He grabbed Davey’s suitcase
and threw it at the bird. The bird dodged it, shrieking. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Hey, that’s expensive,” Davey cried out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“So’s our lives!” Ben yelled as more birds converged around
them. He grasped for the nearest book, an ancient one with a dragon etched into
the leather and the imprint of a harp-looking instrument stamped on it. Ben
flung it at the birds. The book landed with a thud on the ground, open.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Everything went completely still.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">A gust of wind whooshed through the broken window and caught
the pages, turning them fast and then faster. The humming he heard earlier grew
louder in his ears. Ben gasped as sparks flew out of the pages like sparklers
on the Fourth of July. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">A column of fire-red flame shot up from the book. Something
huge, red, and terrifying burst from the center of it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOOYQp0a9IW2iqy7Hf78WSmd-HwcLQyLXCj2EZw4GWWnDpnNWJXTWzxXUwNXRQsVlVH4tUAlOw71Lra-rVMukCMmJvJppPtpYOZjd_hYrRJfK4eerqMeqVFw-26luSWwny0RA13J0rr3EDyWgOiRG5jvDBGZLMdlJkqEkDQoZk7xC47Q4laGvL4GDlOuUo/s404/Authors%20Photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="270" data-original-width="404" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOOYQp0a9IW2iqy7Hf78WSmd-HwcLQyLXCj2EZw4GWWnDpnNWJXTWzxXUwNXRQsVlVH4tUAlOw71Lra-rVMukCMmJvJppPtpYOZjd_hYrRJfK4eerqMeqVFw-26luSWwny0RA13J0rr3EDyWgOiRG5jvDBGZLMdlJkqEkDQoZk7xC47Q4laGvL4GDlOuUo/w400-h268/Authors%20Photo.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">About <a name="_Hlk160613989">Vivi Barnes, Christina Farley,
and Amy Christine Parker</a>:<br /><o:p></o:p></span></b><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><a name="_Hlk160613138"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Vivi Barnes, Christina Farley, and
Amy Christine Parker </span></a><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">are
best friends who bonded over their love of telling stories and going on
adventures. They live in sunny Central Florida with their families, where
inspiration is just a beach day away. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">SOCIAL MEDIA<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Instagram<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><a name="_Hlk160614874"></a><a href="https://www.instagram.com/amychristinepar/"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160614874;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">@amychristinepar</span></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160614874;"></span></a><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160614874;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160614874;"></span><a href="https://www.instagram.com/christinalfarley/"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160614874;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">@christinaLFarley</span></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160614874;"></span></a><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160614874;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160614874;"></span><a href="https://www.instagram.com/vivibarnes/"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160614874;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">@vivibarnes</span></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160614874;"></span></a><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160614874;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160614874;"></span>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">TikTok<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.tiktok.com/@amychristineparker">@AmyChristineParker</a><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.tiktok.com/@christinafarleyauthor">@ChristinaFarleyAuthor</a><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://www.tiktok.com/@vivibarnes82">@ViviBarnes82</a><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Giveaway Details: <o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">1 winner will
receive a $25 gift card to the book vendor of their choice, International.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Ends March 14th,
midnight EST.<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p></p>
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Ogitchida Kwe's Book Bloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00102723974141437176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8661358495692374194.post-64393272664591038172024-03-05T08:00:00.001-05:002024-03-05T08:00:00.149-05:00Rise of The Melody Release Day Blitz <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.rockstarbooktours.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="615" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn-8JAqZSSuT0wKCWy0BZgf_yorQmAj0w08NtsJ6-I0-alqzsRZ1pBhzsUo-FKUj99Eh_fQOp_ACDp1HVeIHEtgymLqzx70Ekqh7PDK75_KL5bBCEJB-QlRLP-KGC3C_f6ee8wbWPsTOToHc6uJr8FpzMSKj28MeP4JEvvGpoE4aDtgvFfOYoK5CidqsCv/w400-h156/RISE%20OF%20THE%20MELODY.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">I am so excited that <b>RISE OF THE
MELODY </b>by Wendy Higgins is available now and that I get to share the news!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">If you haven’t yet heard about this
wonderful book, be sure to check out all the details below. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">This blitz also includes a giveaway
for a signed copy of the book & swag courtesy of Wendy & </span><a href="http://www.rockstarbooktours.com/"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Rockstar Book Tours</span></a><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">. So if
you’d like a chance to win, check out the giveaway info below.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">About The Book:<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><a name="_Hlk160444940"></a><a name="_Hlk101517841"></a><a name="_Hlk109641341"></a><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk109641341;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk101517841;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160444940;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"></span></b></span></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk109641341;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk101517841;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160444940;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="https://books2read.com/RISE-OF-THE-MELODY" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="2500" data-original-width="1667" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrxc_ceFWR2lDgTRF7BWDBIhteLLxlEhPuMzHt6QFEFpxuniaQQicMxaMag_BOoXhBFgB2KpQFKxPtYrCCkU-JdB81NanHUNVi2BZhUK0T_mFPN68Rw_Hpa1Z6kYbTr730-UiNuGpHweHkgcOLzCWl71CWdrsvP4HI1Ihrj9CPKaQ43f6wdVCq3Y_RjT-i/w266-h400/RiseOfTheMelody_Higgins_Amazon.jpg" width="266" /></a></span></b></span></span></span></div><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk109641341;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk101517841;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160444940;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Title:</span></b></span></span></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk143515659;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk109641341;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk101517841;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160444940;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> RISE OF THE MELODY<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk143515659;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk109641341;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk101517841;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160444940;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Author: </span></b></span></span></span></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk143515659;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk109641341;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk101517841;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160444940;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Wendy
Higgins<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk143515659;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk109641341;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk101517841;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160444940;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Pub. Date:</span></b></span></span></span></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk143515659;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk109641341;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk101517841;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160444940;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> March 5, 2024<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk143515659;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk109641341;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk101517841;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160444940;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Publisher: </span></b></span></span></span></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk143515659;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk109641341;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk101517841;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160444940;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Wendy
Higgins<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk143515659;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk109641341;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk101517841;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160444940;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Formats:</span></b></span></span></span></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk143515659;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk109641341;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk101517841;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160444940;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> Paperback, eBook<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk143515659;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk109641341;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk101517841;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160444940;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Pages:</span></b></span></span></span></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk143515659;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk109641341;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk101517841;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160444940;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> 290<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk143515659;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk109641341;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk101517841;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160444940;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Find it:</span></b></span></span></span></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk143515659;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk109641341;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk101517841;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160444940;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> </span></span></span></span></span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/200991308-rise-of-the-melody"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk143515659;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk109641341;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk101517841;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160444940;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Goodreads</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk143515659;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk109641341;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk101517841;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160444940;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">, </span></span></span></span></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk143515659;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk109641341;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk101517841;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160444940;"></span></span></span></span><a href="https://books2read.com/RISE-OF-THE-MELODY"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk143515659;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk109641341;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk101517841;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160444940;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">https://books2read.com/RISE-OF-THE-MELODY</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk101517841;"></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk109641341;"></span><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk143515659;"></span>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160444940;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">From the <i>New York Times</i> and <i>USA
Today</i> bestselling author of the YA paranormal <i>Sweet Evil</i> series
comes a modern fantasy romance of mystery with Celtic and Gaelic mythology.<br />
<br />
Seventeen-year-old Colette “Letty” MacIntyre has everything going for her: a
great life with her Aunt Lorna in Brooklyn, a promising singing career, and
enough distractions to forget the tragic disappearance of her parents. She’s
banking on a bright future in the city until strange things begin to happen.
People are suddenly having peculiar reactions to her singing voice, and a giant
wolfhound starts following her like a lost puppy. But the cherry on top is when
the mayor of her long-forgotten birthplace, Shehan, a mountainous island off
the craggy northern coast of Maine, shows up on her doorstep with an impossible
revelation. The Gaelic folklore she grew up hearing is real. Letty is the last
land siren on Earth…and he needs her help.<br />
<br />
An escaped kelpie—a monstrous water horse—is terrorizing Shehan, and Letty’s
voice is the only thing that can stop it. Despite the shock at learning her
heritage, Letty returns to the island, which is filled with as much mystery as
it is fog. She wants answers to her parents’ disappearance as well as a chance
to prove herself. But in a race of mighty druids and formidable Scottish
witches, Letty’s power is an anomaly, feared and reviled by the mystic
community. Her lineage must be kept secret. It becomes even harder to fulfil
these tasks when a new enemy threatens her—an alluring, powerful druid boy
filled with darkness who would just as soon kill her as kiss her.<br />
<br />
Will her deadly melody be enough to save the town and herself?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk160444940;"></span>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Excerpt:<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Chapter One: Death of the Dress<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I tipped my chin from side to side with my hand, feeling the
satisfying <i>cracks </i>in my neck before shaking out my arms and
meeting my instructor’s eyes. Mr. Goneley smirked with amusement as he sat at
the piano in his office at my high school. I ignored the occasional muted blare
of car horns from the city streets outside.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">He adjusted his glasses. “Ready, Letty?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I nodded and exhaled, though I wasn’t nervous, exactly. I’d
had many in-person auditions and recitals in my life, and recently with college
applications. I adjusted my silken blue choir gown. Normally I’d wear all black
to match my eyeliner, nails, and dyed black hair. No black lips, though. Red
all the way. And I wore my long hair in a series of intricate braids that the
camera would probably not be able to capture. Oh, well.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“You’ve got this,” Mr. Goneley said. I granted him a smile.
He’d helped me a lot, pushing me to apply to all the nearby musical schools for
next year. This tape was for the final round of auditions with Manhattan School
of Music, but Mr. Goneley had contacts in the theater world and had encouraged
me to get a side job in a local theater this summer, despite my aunt’s
insistence against it. A foot in the door. We’d use this video for that, as
well.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Here we go. Three, two….” He silently mouthed <i>one</i> as
he pressed the record button on my propped phone and began to play. I closed my
eyes and let everything else fall away except the notes floating up. It was a
haunting, Gaelic inspired tune that I’d written myself to match my voice
perfectly—smokey and breathy, yet rich. My voice was attuned to the slow, deep
melody of long-ago ancestors, the hardships I could barely fathom.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Through the night, my fire bright</span></i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I wait for my sailor, nigh</span></i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I sit in the breeze, but my soul does not ease</span></i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">As I wait for my lover, nigh</span></i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">When I opened my eyes, I looked into the camera, willing it
to hear every nuance. My arms moved of their own accord with the emotion of the
song. As the notes rang from my throat a strange sensation came over me, like
heat razing my skin. I’d never felt anything like that before while singing—a
slight burn and tingle that only strengthened as I lost myself to the music. A
sense of command filled me, and I embraced it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Three weeks he’s been gone as I stare at the dawn</span></i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Awaiting my sailor, nigh</span></i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Powerful. That’s what I felt. Holy crap. Like I could do
absolutely anything in that moment. Was the camera getting this? <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The sky has gone black, the thunder does crack</span></i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">As I wait for my lover, nigh</span></i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">It was that moment when I noticed Mr. Goneley sweating,
moisture beading along his hairline and lip. It had been abnormally hot today
in New York City for May, but not <i>that</i> hot. The AC was pumping
overhead, yet he was grimacing. I closed my eyes again to force myself to
concentrate on the rumble of reverberations in my throat.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">When Mr. Goneley flubbed a note, I opened my eyes and
wondered if he’d stop, but he kept going for another few seconds before pulling
away from the keys and staring at me. His eyes looked blank and lost as he made
a strange noise at the back of his throat. I wanted to scream in disappointment
because that had been the best I’d ever sang in my entire life! Would I be able
to do that again on the second take? He finally broke the weird stare and wiped
his forehead with the back of his hand, slumping. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Mr. G?” I said. “Are you okay?” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“I…did you change anything?” he asked in a croaky voice.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“What?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">He shook his head and rubbed his chest with the heel of his
hand. “With the song? I don’t know. Your voice is…” He cleared his throat and
looked at me funny. “Different.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“No,” I told him. “It was the same, but it did feel kind of
different. Like, stronger. Did it sound bad?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Again, his head shook back and forth, almost as if in
confusion. “I’m not sure how to explain it. I think it must be me. I’m not
feeling well all of a sudden.” He blinked up at me as his eyes began to clear,
a nervous sounding chuckle escaping him. “I’m so sorry about this, but do you
mind rescheduling?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Yeah,” I said, regret washing over me. “No problem. I hope
you feel better.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">There was a strange, awkward tension in the room as I
gathered my things and Mr. Goneley gave me a wide berth to leave. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I swung my bag over my shoulder and walked quickly out of the
school building, my purple boots hitting hard with each step on the Brooklyn
sidewalks. A giant bird swooped down from the ledge of a window and I jumped,
cursing as its wings lifted my hair for a second. Was that an eagle? I watched
it dart skyward and tried to shake off the startled feeling. I didn’t have many
wildlife encounters here in Brooklyn, other than pigeons and the occasional
rat. I absently weaved through people, speed walking. Sweat ran down my back,
probably soaking into the satiny material. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Had I been singing too loud? It hadn’t felt like it. It felt
like the best singing of my life, but clearly it had been terrible based on the
bizarre look he gave me. Was I losing my touch? Panic flared because singing
was my everything. The only thing I was good at. And even though Aunt Lorna had
been begging me for years to focus on some other line of work, something more
stable, I had to chase this dream. But what if I got home and watched the video
and it was awful? If my singing had felt that good, but actually been
horrible…oh, Gaia. I didn’t know what I’d do. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I cut through a small park, the grass squishy under the soles
of my boots. Usually there were couples picnicking on blankets and kids running
around chasing bubbles, but it was barren. It was never this empty on beautiful
afternoons, even during the week. Weird.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">A burn of heat flashed across my skin as something huge and
hairy stepped out from behind a crop of tall bushes, sending my heart into an
erratic race. I stopped so fast at the massive sight that I tripped over my own
feet and landed on my hands and knees. My head whipped up and I froze, holding
my breath for a long beat before gasping.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">A dog loomed over me. The largest dog I’d ever seen. Its face
was long like an Irish hound with a shaggy dark body that appeared oddly
greenish. I blinked. It was as round as a Saint Bernard, as tall as a small
cow, and its silky tail twitched back and forth behind it. We stared at each
other. Every fiber of my body wanted to run, but my mind screamed at me not to
move. This giant mutt could, no doubt, take me down and maul my face with very
little effort.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I glanced down and saw it was clearly male. With a hard
swallow I whispered, “Good boy.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">He sniffed the air and lowered his head, stepping toward me
almost cautiously. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">My survival instinct screamed to run but I stiffened every
muscle. <i>Don’t move, Letty.</i><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The dog slowly sat and then lay before me, its huge paws
inches from my hands, like it expected something from me. My heart rate began
to slow enough to give me the nerve to move into a sitting position. I never
took my eyes off him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Are you lost?” I whispered, feeling foolish talking to a
dog. “Where’s your owner?” I searched around, but there was no one.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The dog huffed through its nose. Then he lifted a heavy paw
and plopped it on my booted foot.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I couldn’t help but smile, though my insides still shook.
“Okay. So, you’re friendly?” I let out a deep breath. When I climbed slowly to
my feet, he did too. His head came to my chest. He definitely outweighed me,
and I was no waif. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">My eyes scanned the park now. Literally nobody. Maybe if we
walked around we’d find his owner. Taking slow steps, I began to loop the park,
and the dog followed me. We passed a few people on the sidewalks now, who all
took one look at the dog and steered clear. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">One woman scowled. “You need to have that thing on a leash!
It’s the law!” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“He’s not mine,” I tried to explain, but she scurried away.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">After fifteen minutes of this, my need to get home and talk
to Aunt Lorna was overpowering my need to find the dog’s owner. If I wasn’t in
the middle of this singing crisis, I would have taken him to a veterinarian to
check for a chip, but I didn’t have time for this. And the SPCA was all the way
across town. New York was full of do-gooders who would happily take care of
him. Right? Yeah….<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“I’m sorry, boy,” I said to the dog, feeling silly that I
needed to explain myself. “I have to go. Just stay right here until your owner
comes back, okay? Or some nice person helps you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">He cocked his head. Guilt was a stone in my gut as I turned
and speed-walked away from him. Thirty seconds later his pitter-pattering paws
and clickety-clacking claws sounded loudly behind me. I spun and held out my
palm. “Oh, no you don’t. Stay. <i>Stay</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">He wasn’t a very good listener. The dang dog followed me the
whole five blocks to the shop. Ugh, Aunt Lorna was going to freak. Granted, she
had four cats that lived at her work, but they added to the atmosphere of her
witchy apothecary and gem shop. We’d never had an animal in our apartment. I
stopped in front of Aunt Lorna’s shop, Moonlight Apothecary and Dispensary,
which we lived two stories above. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I caught sight of my reflection in the glass. My gown was
officially ruined with the rip and grass stains from when I’d fallen. I’d had
to save money to buy it for the state treble choir competition. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Every single person eyed the dog warily as they passed. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Okay,” I told him. “You need to go. Go back to the park and
find your people. Go on, <i>shoo</i>.” He sat and I sighed. He was going
to scare customers away. I rolled my eyes and wished him luck as I went inside,
certain he’d finally leave once I was gone.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Incense tickled my nose, and the gentle sounds of delta waves
playing overhead immediately relaxed me. Stepping into the shop always
transported me from overwhelming city into a fantastical, meditative space. I
took a moment to peer around at the shelves of homemade vials of oils, soaps,
and sage bunches. Displays of authentic crystals with a giant rose quartz in
the center. Salt lamps. Potted plants hanging from the ceiling with their long
vines spidering out like jungle fingers. A table of incenses dipped by my aunt
and me. This shop was our sanctuary.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">All around the room were cool framed pictures of
drawings—depictions of Faerie queens and creatures from Celtic and Gaelic
mythology that I’d grown up hearing about. Sea maidens and forest nymphs.
Brownie house spirits. Selkies and kelpies, and of course Nessie, the Loch Ness
monster. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Is that you, Letty?” my aunt called from the back room.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Yes, it’s me.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Good news!” she hollered. “I found someone to watch the shop
next week while I go to your graduation.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Cool,” I said, my mind still stuck on Mr. Goneley.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Aunt Lorna bustled in, and her pretty face lit up when she
saw me. She pushed dirty blond curls out of her eyes and adjusted the quartz
necklace around her neck. She often acted like a little old lady, but she
wasn’t. She was just wise for her thirty-something years.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“What’s the matter?” Her gentle Scottish lilt from a
childhood in the Highlands calmed me for a moment. Then the memory of Mr.
Goneley assaulted me again and I cringed. She swished over in her long skirt,
the bangles clinking on her wrists. Her eyebrows crashed together as she looked
me over. “Why do you look like that? What happened to your dress? And you’re
sweating—my gods, were you attacked?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“No,” I tried to calm her as I reached up and felt my
knotted, long locks. “Not exactly. It’s a long story. Something weird happened
while I was singing.” At this, she went still, and her face shuttered closed,
her lips pursing like they always did when it came to my singing. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“What happened, Letty?” Gods, she didn’t need to look so
severe.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“I’m not really sure,” I admitted. “But I got it on tape.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I shouldn’t tell her all of this, considering how much she
wanted me to find a different career path, but she was the only person I could
talk to. I pulled out my phone with a shaking hand and started the video. When
my voice first began, she sucked in a breath. And then her eyebrows crinkled.
Her head began a small shake, and she took the phone from my hand to watch more
closely. I crossed my arms, feeling nauseated as I recalled Mr. Goneley’s
reaction. But my voice <i>did</i> sound great. Not to brag. It hadn’t
been just a great performance in my mind. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">When it ended, Aunt Lorna’s lips were pressed tightly
together as she passed the phone back to me. “I know you enjoy singing, Letty.
And it’s been a wonderful hobby to have growing up—”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">My heart dropped. “Auntie, don’t—”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Enough!” She raised her voice over mine. “This is a fool’s
errand! This path will be filled with heartache.” She seemed to struggle for
words before saying, “Do you really want to be just another New York starving
artist working as a waitress and facing disappointment after disappointment?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">My breath caught in my lungs. “Why don’t you believe I can do
it?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“It’s not that I don’t believe in you. It’s just unnecessary
hardship, Letty! You can help me run this business, or <i>any</i> business.
You’ve got an eye for detail and math. You’re smart.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Ugh, this again!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“I would be miserable!” I insisted. “And I’m more than happy
to help you with the shop, but that’s your dream, not mine. I’m sorry if you
don’t like it, but I’m going to sing, Aunt Lorna. It’s my gift.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“I don’t think it’s what your parents would have wanted,” she
blurted.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Her face turned ashen as my stomach twisted and burned with
acid. My parents had disappeared on a whale-watching excursion when I was four.
We rarely spoke of them. Her eyes looked full of both panic and shame.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“That’s not fair,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “You
can’t <i>know</i> that.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I watched, as if in slow motion, as my aunt’s face pinched in
pain and she grabbed her temples, her knees buckling.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Auntie!” I dropped my phone and grasped her upper arms,
leading her to a velvet armchair to sit. She breathed heavily, a small whimper
escaping. She’d suffered from headaches and migraines since I could remember,
but this one looked more severe than normal. “You need to see a doctor. What if
something’s really wrong?” I’d lost too much sleep worrying about brain tumors,
but as usual, Aunt Lorna shook her head.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“No doctors. I’ve got it under control.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I gritted my teeth in frustration. Yes, she was the most
talented herbalist possibly ever, especially in the western world. People
traveled to Moonlight Apothecary from all over to get her tinctures and
homeopathic healing herbal mixtures when modern medicines and clinical
chemicals didn’t work. I’d seen her work miracles like a modern-day witch
doctor. She was a genius, but herbs could only go so far. If she would get an
MRI at least we could know what the real problem was.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“I’m okay.” She sat taller and her forehead smoothed. “I’m
sorry.” She met my eyes and there was regret there. “I shouldn’t have brought
up your parents.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I nodded, at a loss for words. Her erratic behavior and
headaches were scaring me lately. My aunt had always been eccentric and
special. I’d come to think of her as this magical sort of being, though I knew
how unhinged that sounded. But I’d seen strange things as a child. Whenever I
asked for explanations, Aunt Lorna always had some logical reason for the
things I’d witnessed her do when she thought I wasn’t looking. A book sliding
across the table to her waiting hand. One of her potions turning bright green,
then bubbling down to a muddy brown as she chanted in Gaelic—literal miracles
of near-death to life from her potions. Multiple candle wicks blowing out at
the same time when there was zero air movement in the room. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">It had been a while since anything like that happened, so I
chalked it up to fuzzy memories and childish wonderings.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">After a moment, Aunt Lorna touched the ornate cuff on my
wrist that she’d given me, turning it as if inspecting it. The underneath was a
layer of salt, sulfur, and agate fused together and embedded onto dried fish
leather. On the top was a layer of ammolite gemstone plating—iridescent red and
green that looked like dragon scales. The cuff was said to provide protection
and ward against evil. When she’d put it on me years ago, she’d spoken a line
of Scots Gaelic as she sealed it shut with a glue substance. She was funny like
that. Old pagan superstitions from when she’d grown up in the highlands of
Scotland. To me, her Gaelic phrases sounded like spells, which would be apropos
considering the amount of rare mystical texts and spell books she sold here. It
was because of her that I said weird things like “gods” and “Gaia,” aka Mother
Nature, the creator of faeries in folklore.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">A sound came from the shop’s door.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“<i>Jeebus</i>!” Aunt Lorna’s scream had both of us jumping.
Her hands gripped the arms of the chair, and I followed her eyes. The giant dog
stood there taking up the entire doorway staring at us through the glass. He
had that greenish tint again. Had he rolled in moss or something gross?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“<i>Coo Shee</i>!” she yelled. I’d never heard my aunt sound
so terrified before. “Letty, hide!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Aunt Lorna, it’s okay!” I stood and motioned to the door.
“It’s just a stray dog I found on my way home today. I know he’s scary looking
but he’s actually really good and sweet.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Suddenly the dog was pushing open the shop door with his
body, and Aunt Lorna screamed again, grabbing me. We did a silly tug-of-war
where she tried to pull me into the back room and I yanked back, trying to
reassure her that everything was okay. The dog got close to us and sat down
staring at us in that intent way of his. All four cats, which had been quietly
resting in their various places, suddenly began a ruckus of hissing and
screaming in a flurry of orange and black as they ran, scuttling and sliding along
the tiled floor until they escaped through the doorway of dangling beads to the
back room. The dog watched them with a tilted head, and I swore he appeared
amused. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Good boy,” I said. “See, Auntie?” He took up a lot of space
in her small shop.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">She was gripping me hard, breathing erratically as she stared
at it. “I’ve never…I’ve only heard…Gaia above. Did it—I mean, has he…barked?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“What?” I thought about it. “No, he hasn’t made a sound the
whole time I’ve been with him.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">She nodded and I saw her throat bob with a hard swallow.
“That’s good. Very good then.” Slowly, she began to relax, still staring him
down.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I told her the whole story. “He’s sort of attached himself to
me. I don’t know why. I’m going to take some pictures of him and post them
online. I’m sure his owners will be looking for him. Wouldn’t you think?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Aunt Lorna never lost the look of worry. She pinched her
upper nose and closed her eyes for a long moment of quiet.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“I’ve got some calls to make and things to do. I think I’ll
close the shop an hour early today. Please….” She eyed the dog, then me. “Be
careful. If he barks, run immediately.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I laughed and she glared hard. “Run because of a bark?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“I’m not messing about, Letty! Swear you’ll run.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Okay, I will.” My aunt often had these intuitive moments.
I’d learned not to question them because her hunches were always right. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">She bustled away into her back room, swishing through the
beads with a rustle of <i>clinks</i>, and I knew she must have been
discombobulated because she didn’t even make our afternoon tea. It was a staple
every single day after school. I hoped she would be okay.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Come on, boy,” I said. “Let’s go to the corner drug store
and get you a leash and collar. I’ll take you up to the apartment.” He was
probably hungry, and I was dying to get this stupid dress off. I’d need to find
something to feed him—eggs maybe?—and take a few pictures to post online. Our
landlord would go berserk and charge us if he caught sight of the dog, so I
hoped its owner was found soon.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The hound followed me outside, all the way to the store, and
back to the side door with narrow stairs leading up to our apartments. I felt
safe with the dog at my side. For the first time ever I didn’t look back and
forth to make sure nobody was hiding or acting shady nearby. I didn’t even have
my safety whistle in my hand.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">What a strange afternoon. I mean, the dog was awesome, but my
aunt’s reaction to him had been over-the-top. She’d been stressing me out about
a lot of things lately. I sighed as we walked. Tomorrow was a new day. I
already couldn’t wait to go to bed tonight and put it all behind me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Chapter Two: Hair Crime<o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I woke up the next morning overheated but so comfortable. I
couldn’t remember snuggling with anybody or anything in my entire life, but
here I was pressed against this warm, firm, furry thing in my twin bed.
Blinking, I raised my head and saw the dog and I were at a diagonal, his
straight legs sticking off the bed. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The dog groaned and stretched, then pressed even harder into
my side, pushing me into the wall. Wait, what was he doing on the bed? I didn’t
remember him climbing up. I’d checked him over for fleas and ticks yesterday,
and thankfully he was clean, but still.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">What had Aunt Lorna said when she saw him yesterday? CooShee?
Probably some old Gaelic curse word I’d never heard her say before.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“CooShee?” I tried out the word for myself.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The dog raised his head and looked at me. I smiled at the
sight of his fur pressed upward on his sleeping side. “Let’s take you out and
check online to see if your owner has claimed you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I went into the bathroom and dressed quickly in a black baby
doll dress and thigh-high black stockings with my boots. When I opened my phone
to check, there were absolutely no people claiming to own the dog, but dozens
of comments on his size and people trying to guess his breed. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Oh, look,” I said. “A few people have said they’re willing
to take you if your owner doesn’t come forward.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">A quick, deep growl sounded from the dog’s throat, and I
swear he turned his head and gave me a mean side-eye. It was the first sound
I’d heard him make. I snorted with amusement. Sometimes it felt like he could
understand me. I scratched behind his shaggy ear and patted his back so he’d
move out of the doorway. “Come on, let’s go outside.” Maybe we would see Aunt
Lorna. She took long walks every morning before heading to the shop.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Before leaving I checked my lipstick and eyeliner. I clicked
on the leash and grabbed my oversized black sunglasses, then led him down the
narrow stairs. We walked several blocks down to the small park, ignoring stares
and people craning their necks, even taking pictures. From the corner of my eye
I saw a squirrel dash from the ground toward a tree, and the dog yanked away
from me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“CooShee!” I called, but there was no stopping him. He moved
quick and with a grace I didn’t think possible for such a huge creature. I
gasped and covered my mouth as he snatched the squirrel mid-run up the tree,
shook his head violently, and gave a great <i>crunch</i>. “No!” I covered
my face but could still hear two more sickening crunches. Then some lip
smacking.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Oh, my God!” said someone behind me. I turned to see a guy
videoing the whole thing on his phone. Oh, great. I ran over and grasped the
useless leash tightly until the guy stopped and left.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“CooShee, come on,” I urged as he licked his paw now. “That
was disgusting. We have to go.” Poor little tree rat. The dog seemed quite
satisfied with himself, trotting next to me with his head up. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“I was going to feed you, you know,” I mumbled. “Savage.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">On the walk back to the apartment I thought about yesterday
with Mr. Goneley and a sick feeling overcame me. I couldn’t help but feel like
it wasn’t a coincidence that he’d acted so strangely when I’d had that peculiar
feeling go through me while singing…. I shook my head. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I needed to get back so I could work my shift at Moonlight
Apothecary. Aunt Lorna’s local supplier had given her containers of fresh cut
cannabis varieties, which she would dry and process in her back room. “The
lab,” I called it. She made her own homemade gummy mixture with cute molds in
the shape of leaves and flowers. Yep, it was CBD gummy day. She did mild
mixtures to help people relax and sleep, and full-blown edibles to help
people…not sleep. Medicinal and recreational. Her skills ran the gamut. We couldn’t
keep them on the shelves longer than two days.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I tried to leave CooShee in the apartment, but he wasn’t
having it. He was glued to my side and literally threw himself into the door
crack every time I tried to close it. Aunt Lorna was going to hate this, but
the dog was coming to work with me. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“You have to relax,” I told him as we went down the stairs.
“I mean it. Lay by my side and don’t move. No scaring customers or I’ll put you
in the back room.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I walked into the store and Aunt Lorna’s eyes widened.
“Absolutely not!” she whisper-yelled as CooShee pushed in right behind me.
Customers turned and gaped. The cats hissed and ran, knocking over a display of
crystals. I cringed as she rushed over to fix it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“He’ll be so good!” I promised, moving toward the register.
Just as I told him to do, he lay at my feet and let out a little huff. “See?” I
smiled at Aunt Lorna, who stared at him with distrust before shaking her head,
defeated.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“We need to talk after work,” she said quietly, not meeting
my eye. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Okay,” I answered, my stomach tightening. Something was up,
though I couldn’t begin to put the pieces together. Aunt Lorna had been strange
lately, almost secretive, though I couldn’t fathom what in the world she could
possibly have going on.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">She disappeared into the back where I imagined her with her
curls pulled up and her stained apron covering her blouse. I eyed CooShee and
held out my hand. To my shock, he raised his and set it in mine. A grin split
my face. He’d been taught to shake! Or give a high five. I didn’t know what to
call it, but it was cool. I shook his paw and let it fall. A thought came to me
that I hoped his owner never came forward, but I pushed it away. I couldn’t
keep him. Tiny shop. Tiny apartment. Huge dog who attacked and ate rodents at
the park. No, I couldn’t get attached.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The day flew by because we were so busy. Close to closing
time I got a text from a girl from school, Tessy, asking if I wanted to hit the
new club tonight called Churs. Apparently, that was how people in New Zealand
said Cheers, and the owners were Kiwis. I didn’t know Tessy very well. We were
acquaintances, a group of misfits with fake IDs. I couldn’t help but be
flattered at the invite, so I agreed. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">* * *<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">On the subway ride over I’d been lucky enough to get a seat
and was scrolling on my phone when a news headline caught my eye. I abruptly
sat up straight. OMG…I held my breath as I read: “Body Found in Third Missing
Person Case on Shehan Island.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Shehan Island. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Oh, my gods. That’s where I was born in Maine. A chill zipped
through me, and all the other passengers on the train seemed to disappear as I
read. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Three hikers have been reported missing from Benn Shehan
National Park in the past two months on Shehan Island. Today, the body
twenty-five-year-old Shannon Baltrove was found. A coroner report lists the
cause of death as drowning but she had markings on her leg that prove she may
have been dragged by an animal prior to being in the water. Shehan Island has
no known natural predators. However, this is not the island’s first mysterious
disappearances. Thirteen years ago, a group of seven people went missing at sea
after leaving from Shehan’s port on a whale watching excursion.</span></i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">My phone slipped from my jittery hand into my lap as my
fingers covered my mouth. I felt ill.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Through the pounding of my heart in my ears, I heard the
doors to the train hiss open and glanced up in a fog. I barely registered that
it was my stop, fumbling to grab my phone and jumping up at the last moment. I
rushed through the people to jump off just in time. My heart was still
hammering when the doors closed. It took a moment to drag my mind out of where
it had been moments before. Great Gaia. I swear, that island was cursed.
Despite being a warm spring night, I was cold.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Letty!” Tessy and two friends were waiting by the dingy
stairs. Seeing them shook me out of the icky haze enough to force my legs to
move. I raised my chin and joined them, heading up the steps in our chunky
heels.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Don’t think about that article</span></i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">, I told myself. <i>Don’t think
about any of that unexplainable weird stuff. </i>I needed a fun night to
get my mind off it all.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The four of us girls might have stood out in a normal town
with our kohl-lined eyes, various piercings, ripped fish net stockings, and
rainbow assortments of hair, but in New York City nobody was shocked by
anything. I didn’t necessarily care about being different…I just didn’t want to
be noticed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">At age fifteen I became uncomfortable with the attention I
started getting, mostly from older men. I’d developed quickly, becoming curvy.
My hair was long and wavy, like a mix of gold and bronze down my back. Though
my face was roundish with a spattering of freckles that I thought made me look
younger, men looked at me in a way I didn’t want to be looked at. And don’t get
me started on the comments about my “sultry” voice….<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The alternative, dark style didn’t scare away everyone, but
it kept the worst of the unwanted attention at bay.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Inside the club, I went to scout out possible seats while my
three companions used their fake IDs to get drinks. I didn’t drink. I was here
for the music—the louder the better. There were two suede sofas facing each
other but one guy was sitting there. He looked harmless enough, like a college
kid or maybe a tourist.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Is anyone sitting with you?” I asked, shouting over the
music. “We have four.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">He stared at me a long moment and I wondered if he heard me
over the high volume. Then he spoke and a shiver went down my spine.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Aye, lass. You can nick these seats from my mates; I won’t
mind a bit.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Scottish? <i>Uuugh</i>. My absolute weakness. I wasn’t
proud of how foolish it made me. I sat right next to him and for a moment we
stared at one another. He suddenly looked ten times hotter than he had at
first. Had he ever worn a kilt? What were the plaid colors for his family line?
I imagined his light brown hair blowing in the highland breeze by the
sea. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">See? So dumb!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“What’s your name?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Luis. What’s your name, love?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Letty.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“That’s lovely.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Don’t giggle, Letty, you idiot.</span></i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“I have to say,” he told me. “Your voice is…bloody
spectacular.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I would normally want to roll my eyes but found myself
smiling and thanking him, knowing it was extra raspy and velvety when I had to
shout over the music. I asked questions about what he did and where exactly he
was from just so I could hear him talk more. I’d never been shy with boys, and
though I’d never been with a guy, I loved kissing. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Kissing was my favorite.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">By the time my friends joined us, I wasn’t proud to admit I
was practically in his lap and we were, indeed, kissing. I barely noticed when
his friends joined us as well. It was Luis and I kissing, my red lipstick
around his mouth, while our friends drank and laughed and ignored
us. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I pulled back just enough to ask, “When will you go back to
visit Scotland again?” He was a student but his parents were still in
Edinburgh.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“I reckon Christmas.” Every vowel sounded like a sexy
mouthful, and he rolled his “r”s so beautifully. I dug my fingers into his hair
and pulled him in for another kiss.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">We eventually made our way to the dance floor where I
shamelessly danced close against him. Back on the couches, he exclaimed, “To
the motherland!” as he raised a creamy shooter.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">His drunkest friend stumbled forward. “Luis, bruh, are you
still doing that fake-ass accent?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Luis’s widened eyes darted to mine, his shot frozen mid-air.
I went stiff as his friend’s words hit me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Uh,” said Luis. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Uh,” I repeated. Holy crap.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Everyone went still, our group in major contrast to the
movement all around us. Everyone’s head turned to me. This is where I should’ve
gotten mad. I waited for anger and indignance to rise but found only reluctant
fascination.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“You’re not Scottish?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">He rubbed his face and muttered in a boring American voice,
“I’m sorry. I just got flustered when you talked to me.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I let out a laugh straight from my belly. “That is literally
the best accent I’ve ever heard, and I know my way around a Scot’s accent!”
Everyone began to laugh, relief apparent. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Really?” he asked sheepishly. “I’m an acting student and I’m
taking accent classes.” Of course he was. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“He’s really good,” another one of his ‘mates’ said. “You
should hear his South African!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“That’s a tough one,” Luis claimed, finally taking his
shooter. He leaned in as if to kiss me again, and I placed a hand on his chest,
shaking my head. All of our friends died laughing then, his friends slapping
him on the back. He grabbed the drunk one who’d ratted him out and pulled him
down into a headlock.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">A new song came on that I’d been obsessed with and I
screamed, “I love this song!” Tessy and I jumped up and down as we sang the
words at the top of our lungs. But a few seconds into our singing, she became
still and stood before me with her head tilted. Her eyes unfocused and her
mouth went slack. I sang on for a few more notes before asking, “Are you okay?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">To my shock, our entire group was gathered around us, staring
blankly. At me. My stomach turned. I stepped back, an eerie chill going through
me at their glazed eyes, like Mr. Goneley’s had been. I glanced down to make
sure I didn’t have a boob hanging out or something.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“What?” I yelled, barking out a nervous laugh. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Tessy blinked and gave her head a shake. “Wow. You…you’re
super hot tonight.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I laughed and gave her a playful <i>whap</i> on her
arm with the back of my hand. “Okay. Whatever.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">But she kept looking at me in that intense way, same as the
others. They all began to squirm a little, shifting around like they were
coming back to their senses. Luis grabbed the back of his neck and chuckled.
Then the others laughed. It was all hecka weird and I felt like I’d done
something wrong but couldn’t figure out what.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I was about to say it was time for me to leave when a scream
from somewhere in the club curdled my blood. Other shouts and yells began to
ring out and we all turned toward the entrance expecting the worst. Everybody
in the club seemed to go on alert and the energy level maximized, people ready
to run for their lives in a panic. But alas, the crowd parted and in walked a
giant freaking animal.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">CooShee. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I leapt to my feet as people scrambled away, some screaming
and others asking what the hell he was.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Shit,” I mumbled to my group. “I have to go. That’s…my dog.”
Not really, of course, but it was too much to explain.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">He had the stupid leash in his mouth and gave a tail wag when
he saw me. How did he find me? Chur was in Manhattan and I’d left him at home
in Brooklyn! My heart pounded as I attached his leash and gave him a tug toward
the doors. People stared, some with their phones out. I kept my head down.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“No pets allowed!” A man in a suit with a New Zealand accent
ran alongside me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“I know, sorry,” I said, hurrying out. “We’re leaving.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Once outside, I jogged us down to the corner and stopped,
staring down at him. The dog sat and cocked his head at me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“No, no, no,” I said. “Don’t try to be cute. How did you find
me? I took the subway here! Is your nose <i>that</i> good?” I shook
my head, baffled. “You can’t just walk into public places like that—”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">CooShee abruptly turned, staring hard toward the dark corner
of the building with a narrow alleyway. I went still. He didn’t growl, but a
strip of hair down his back stood up, his hackles. Was he about to attack
someone? I’d seen him kill enough for one day, thanks very much. I gripped his
leash tighter and tried to calm him as I reached into my pocket and grasped my
pepper spray.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“It’s okay, boy. Let’s just….” My voice trailed off as a form
began to clarify in the darkness. It appeared to be a guy, tall with nice
shoulders, his longish, dark hair hiding half of his face. He wore black jeans,
black boots, and a long-sleeved navy shirt. Something about him set my nerves
on edge. I could only see one of his eyes, light in color, the other hidden by
his hair, but as he took another step toward me, my skin razed with a strange
heat.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Listen,” I warned him, motioning to the dog. “You should
back off. I can’t control him. He’s not mine, exactly. Just step away and we’ll
leave.” But when I glanced down at CooShee, his hackles had gone down and he
seemed unbothered now. The guy’s lip quirked up for a split second.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“I’m no’ afraid of the creature.” His r’s rolled
languidly. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.</span></i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> Freaking Scottish? What were
the odds?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“No’ <i>that</i> creature, anyhow,” he said.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">I shook my head, confused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
What other ‘creature’ was here?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">His one visible eye narrowed as if <i>I </i>was the
one being a smartass.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Did fake accent guy tell you to mess with me?” It sort of
just popped out of my mouth and I immediately felt stupid. How would they have
had time to coordinate this?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The guy took another step forward and swished the long waves
from his face. I sucked in a gasp and held it. Under all that thick hair was a
brutally handsome face, all sharp angles with light eyes. I looked down
expecting the dog to growl at this stranger, but instead he sat down! What a
worthless guard dog! Why was this guy talking to me anyway? I felt…off. Like I
wanted to run, but also move closer to see him better. The opposing instincts
freaked me out.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">About Wendy
Higgins:</span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="http://www.wendyhigginswrites.com/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="5733" data-original-width="3662" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUadMYsIkqQGwxvdjxE5Y2XHwt-hmNOHO1ZGmwsEPsIjs8Y6k9OEuXBs1vdk6-5aT0E7CYde1TbjyUhQ704gQa2oDrmQUoiqCEivuuyJ2wFj-h7B_emTF6yU4rWkNGh1d7cU_dxPhxsOqw__QjOIVjlRxItaBxpeMsv_Lksm9nVIcMVD0LhuPZbrDyjg24/s320/WendyHiggins2024.jpg" width="204" /></a></span></b></div><b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"> </span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br />
</span></b><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Wendy Higgins is
a <i>USA Today</i> and <i>New York Times</i> bestselling
author of young adult and adult genre romance, including fantasy, paranormal,
Sci-Fi, mythology, and contemporary. She is a former high school English
teacher who now writes full time, and lives in Virginia Beach with her
daughter, son, and tiny doggies.<br />
<br />
Wendy earned a bachelor's degree in Creative Writing from George Mason
University and a master's from Radford University.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><a href="http://www.wendyhigginswrites.com/">Website</a> | <a href="https://twitter.com/Wendy_Higgins">Twitter</a> | <a href="https://www.facebook.com/WendyHigginsWrites">Facebook</a> | <a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/WendyHigginsBookChat">Facebook Group</a>
| <a href="https://www.instagram.com/wendyhigginswrites/">Instagram</a> | <a href="https://www.tiktok.com/@wendyhigginswrites">TikTok</a> | <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4279785.Wendy_Higgins">Goodreads</a>
| <a href="https://amzn.to/3uT3a19">Amazon</a> | <a href="https://www.bookbub.com/authors/wendy-higgins">BookBub</a><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Giveaway Details: <o:p></o:p></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">1 winner
will receive a signed finished copy of RISE OF THE MELODY & a swag pack. US
Only.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Ends March
12th, midnight EST.</span></p><p></p>
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Ogitchida Kwe's Book Bloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00102723974141437176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8661358495692374194.post-8154170089088547612024-03-04T08:30:00.001-05:002024-03-04T08:30:00.130-05:00Double Vision Book Blitz <p> </p><div style="text-align: center; margin: 0 auto 15px;">
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<p><strong>Double Vision</strong><br><strong>Shaolin Poe</strong><br>Publication date: July 24th 2023<br>Genres: Adult, Urban Fantasy</p><blockquote><p>Magic gifts are rare, and they’re a closely guarded secret for mystos—the name for those who possess such abilities. Wyatt Glasson’s talent is speculomancy—an uncommon type of magic that grants him the ability to see any reflected image. Modern civilization and its reflective surfaces mean people are always in view of Wyatt’s magic. And he’s used that advantage to create a wealthy, insulated existence for himself, tucked safely away from magical society. After all, being powerful offers little protection when you’re part of a tiny minority who would rather cut your throat to protect themselves than back you up and risk their safety. But Wyatt’s comfortable life is about to be turned upside down.</p>
<p>When the Arcane building is attacked by a team of rogue mystos, Wyatt is forced to choose between maintaining his anonymity or displaying his unique and powerful ability. Unfortunately for Wyatt, both choices come with grave consequences.</p>
</blockquote>
<p style="font-size: 130%; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/194984633-double-vision" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> / <a href="https://amzn.to/3UVaQdO" target="_blank">Amazon</a> / <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/double-vision-shaolin-poe/1144547426" target="_blank">Barnes & Noble</a> / <a href="https://books.apple.com/us/book/double-vision/id6475267945" target="_blank">iBooks</a> / <a href="https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/double-vision-47" target="_blank">Kobo</a></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">—</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>EXCERPT:</strong></p>
<p>The sun shone like a beacon in the brilliant blue sky, casting shimmering rays of light that made everything on the café patio appear vibrant. Mulched areas around the patio boasted pockets of colorful flowers. Carefully placed trees lent their shade to tables on the outskirts of the dining area. The setting was picture-perfect, as if it had captured life in full bloom.</p>
<p>A dark-featured, handsome man in a sleek business suit smiled wolfishly. He stood up from his seat at the outdoor café table and shook hands with the short, overweight, balding man standing across from him. The handsome man’s smile faltered and his features fell slack as a bullet ripped out of his forehead and sprayed blood all over his lunch companion’s face.</p>
<p>The short man sputtered, backing away from the scene. He stumbled into a nearby table, knocking over drinks as he tried to regain his balance. Diners around him stopped talking to gawk, while others looked in shock at the spilled spaghetti dinner that was the other man’s forehead. The balding man’s ruddy face went pale, and tiny droplets of cold sweat coated his face as comprehension clicked. Baldy stood frozen for a few precious seconds. Maybe baldy thought the hit was complete. Maybe terror was replaced by hope. Maybe he thought he could outrun the next bullet. Whatever the fleeting thought was, baldy snapped out of his stillness, turned, and ran.</p>
<p>His movements were jerky and uncoordinated. It looked like he was trying to rev his out-of-shape body from zero to sixty miles per hour, and his current configuration wouldn’t allow it. He made it exactly four steps before a bullet pierced the back of his skull, adding to his forward momentum and throwing him to the ground like a limp, overstuffed doll. The diners, who hadn’t screamed at the initial hit, finally seemed to realize what was happening. They howled and ran for their lives almost in unison.</p>
<p>Wow. Whoever the operator was on this job was a special kind of sick bastard. Instead of putting a bullet in the first target and immediately moving to the second, he (or she, because girls can be messed up too) waited a couple of seconds. It’s like the sniper wanted to give baldy time for the dark realization to dawn that he was going to die. Someone definitely missed out on a few hugs as a child.</p>
<p>With sick fascination, I changed the scene I was viewing on Horus. I captured the reflection of a single, squinting, green eye looking into a high-powered rifle scope. As if the eye saw me back, it jerked away and its owner snapped the scope cover shut. This eye was new. I’d have to keep an “eye” on it in the future. I chuckled at my pun, then sighed. I needed to get out more.</p>
<p>I often watched the assassinations on a wall-sized plate of tinted glass I’d nick-named “Horus.” The name had Egyptian roots. It referred to what people now knew as the All-Seeing Eye. The nickname kept me from accidentally giving away my little secret. They said clothes made the man, but it had been my experience that careful habits made the man. Horus was my “source,” and I was an information broker, of sorts. It rolled off the tongue to say I needed to check with “Horus.” And people assumed Horus was the name of my contact or a cover name for my network of contacts. Honestly, that wasn’t too far from the truth.</p>
<p>I switched the view back to the outdoor patio scene and watched the remaining diners scatter like gazelles. I had no qualms about enabling the deaths of those men. They’d sown enough evil to earn their bloody ending several times over.</p>
<p>A moral compass was important when wielding the type of power I had, or at least that’s what I told myself. I refused to deliberately use my gift against people unless they had proven their guilt. Work of this nature usually waded in the waters of moral ambiguity and often swam out to the depths of moral depravity. I’d learned that lesson the hard way, so I was unbending when it came to rules. I did have a half-depleted case of scotch in the pantry, just in case the lines became “grayer” than usual while I was working a job. But my regular clients usually toed the line, or at least lied convincingly.</p>
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<blockquote style="margin-top: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px;">
<p>Author Bio:</p>
<p>Shaolin Poe is the pen name for a husband and wife writing duo. Shaolin is a combination of their first names, and Poe is an homage to Edgar Allen Poe. They met in the military while flying on the same spy plane. They love to transport readers to unexpected places and showcase the humor of situations. When they aren’t creating make believe worlds, they enjoy music, traveling, board games, stand-up comedy, and posting to their blog shaolinpoe.com.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.shaolinpoe.com/" target="_blank">Website</a> / <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/22678036.Shaolin_Poe" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> / <a href="https://www.instagram.com/shaolinpoe/" target="_blank">Instagram</a> / <a href="https://www.bookbub.com/authors/shaolin-poe" target="_blank">Bookbub</a></p>
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<p style="text-align: center;">Ogitchida Kwe's Book Bloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00102723974141437176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8661358495692374194.post-9922291513409543872024-03-01T08:00:00.000-05:002024-03-01T08:00:00.236-05:00Reluctantly Royal Reveal <p> </p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL-UL69bfo9EisLWroqcxceee3VXrDglQ_reu3f9AMJA9vBcdpOMqjM2ohhVEOjesG0QJv4Blf-y-Xx2-MhrYkjYjzU6DosHhU2p_pPwkbWaQ_b1lBwlhneWYXHRE4RmzqdYQx7NIw56RJGoAQCjLcGY0chlCiirE_xREFF5sthd_Hw4T05uD-sV3DVH2z/s1920/Reluctantly%20Royal%20CR%20Banner.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="732" data-original-width="1920" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL-UL69bfo9EisLWroqcxceee3VXrDglQ_reu3f9AMJA9vBcdpOMqjM2ohhVEOjesG0QJv4Blf-y-Xx2-MhrYkjYjzU6DosHhU2p_pPwkbWaQ_b1lBwlhneWYXHRE4RmzqdYQx7NIw56RJGoAQCjLcGY0chlCiirE_xREFF5sthd_Hw4T05uD-sV3DVH2z/w400-h153/Reluctantly%20Royal%20CR%20Banner.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMEppPvZ7E1vsEpattqcx4KK15x2kngZ9SOw96S3IoUi6WRB1pDl4vl8VUlq0vh4WX9Gisb6dXHYVWrGeTTg3hoClPt-VV4ctb6mK9BsFBjH-eG8l9L-Eej-iooIXditB1ZBQxAk0dkklv2wk38FA8-EDFQwc9gGiSYmHSKEBbf718F056EZYfxQkM0LoL/s4500/Reluctantly%20Royal%20eBook%20Cover.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4500" data-original-width="3000" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMEppPvZ7E1vsEpattqcx4KK15x2kngZ9SOw96S3IoUi6WRB1pDl4vl8VUlq0vh4WX9Gisb6dXHYVWrGeTTg3hoClPt-VV4ctb6mK9BsFBjH-eG8l9L-Eej-iooIXditB1ZBQxAk0dkklv2wk38FA8-EDFQwc9gGiSYmHSKEBbf718F056EZYfxQkM0LoL/w426-h640/Reluctantly%20Royal%20eBook%20Cover.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><b>Title: Reluctantly Royal</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><b>Series: Royals Gone Rogue #1</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><b>Author: Erin Nicholas writing as</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><b>Erin Nicolle</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><b>Genre: Contemporary Romance<br /></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><b>Tropes: Royal/Commoner, Marriage of Convenience</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><b>Age Gap, Woman in STEM, Opposites Attract</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><b>Release Date: March 14, 2024</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: 32px;"><span style="color: #fbde54;">BLURB</span></b></div>
<br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">A marriage proposal from a deliciously handsome and wickedly charming prince sounds like a fairytale.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">But for a nerdy scientist with severe social anxiety, it’s a horror story.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Prince Torin O’Grady, with his mischievous blue eyes and cocky grin, is always in the spotlight. And he needs to marry me to inherit the crown.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">But we have nothing in common. He’s a future king. And I’m perfectly happy slogging through mud in my work boots.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">So why can’t I stop thinking about him?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Maybe because he won’t stop texting me. And sending me gifts. And making me feel like everything I find awkward and weird about myself is special and amazing.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">And there’s also that little detail of him offering me my dream job and telling me that together we can change the world.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Well, I could probably 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 for him.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">And if I have to marry him temporarily to get what we both want, then fine. It’s for the greater good.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">It has nothing to do with the way he kisses me. Or that dirty mouth. Or the royal treatment he gives me in the bedroom.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Fine. Maybe it does. Still, it’s only a year. Then I can turn in my tiara and come back to my normal, boring, behind-the-scenes life.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">But Torin is determined to turn me from reluctantly royal to royally his.</div></span><div><div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTAvWS7ZMvf5IobUyjeiLVoqQKStR9kjW4tS6F7K2sv7-r_D_N6WMB_kjyKLIWUidZmwnNSg09ZkyTwWm7w_YEtgV6jx_YR0djjdhPw1SATGn9XEzpYmrYEbzwwigEz8Wl7J6g07RBQHav661JfqCvJwMPEAwYLjE4Sz3JCdeqoOR8r8f3pjswB-AcTyer/s1080/Reluctantly%20Royal%20Chapter%20Sneak%20Peek.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTAvWS7ZMvf5IobUyjeiLVoqQKStR9kjW4tS6F7K2sv7-r_D_N6WMB_kjyKLIWUidZmwnNSg09ZkyTwWm7w_YEtgV6jx_YR0djjdhPw1SATGn9XEzpYmrYEbzwwigEz8Wl7J6g07RBQHav661JfqCvJwMPEAwYLjE4Sz3JCdeqoOR8r8f3pjswB-AcTyer/w400-h400/Reluctantly%20Royal%20Chapter%20Sneak%20Peek.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="color: #fbde54; font-size: 32px;"><b>CHAPTER ONE</b></span></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;"><i>Torin</i></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">“We will announce the engagement in six months. Do what you need to in order to prepare.”</span></span></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;">I bite back the first four things I want to say and consciously work to make my tone calm, almost bored. “You mean, tell Samuel to get my best suit dry cleaned? Get a haircut? Hit the gym? That kind of thing?”</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“I’m not in the mood for your jokes today.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The thing is, my grandfather is never in the mood for my jokes. He doesn’t find me amusing in the slightest.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I assume he finds humor in <i>something</i>, but hell if I know what it is. The man hasn’t smiled in my presence since I was about thirteen years old.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I’m now thirty-two.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“So, then I assume you mean that I should actually discuss this with a woman? You know, <i>propose</i> to someone so that there’s an engagement to announce?” Now my tone is much less bored and calm. There’s a definite edge to it.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">He appreciates my sarcasm even less than he appreciates my humor.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">He turns from the tall window behind his desk and clasps his hands behind his back.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The man standing in front of me is wearing a light blue button-down shirt and navy blue pants. He’s not wearing a tie or a jacket. He’s not wearing a crown. But I have no question that I am talking to King Diarmuid. Not my grandfather.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">He’s not scowling at me, however. He’s giving me a look I hate even more. He looks at me with a condescending lift of one eyebrow as he says, “That’s not really necessary. That was taken care of years ago. She’ll be ready.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I grind my back teeth together.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i style="font-style: italic;">She</i> is Lady Linnea Olsen, the eldest granddaughter of the late Alfred Olsen. He was a billionaire, a duke, and my grandfather’s best friend. And favorite man to sit across from at a poker table.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">She’s been my sort-of fiancée since I was five.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">When my grandfather lost me in a poker game.</div></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://bit.ly/Reluctantly-Royal-ch1-peek" target="_blank"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: #fbde54; font-family: arial;">READ THE FULL CHAPTER HERE</span></span></b></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLo1gAUyhMtmnqHlFknTAbo54r2CAR6aj9nGestkZKG_rAVhldGUGvhUPruUgzIG-TxAKXgMswoE6_oAYnhz9MS9NWBL-VMEU1938knMd4W9saBpmaP_TCBkgXPA3yfdQOwhIfCUTwcLEd1UkTjjXLVUb8itAYXWhD_rzVzYEVbqxppcfDiZbcSLnqu7cM/s1200/Reluctantly%20Royal%20Tropes.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLo1gAUyhMtmnqHlFknTAbo54r2CAR6aj9nGestkZKG_rAVhldGUGvhUPruUgzIG-TxAKXgMswoE6_oAYnhz9MS9NWBL-VMEU1938knMd4W9saBpmaP_TCBkgXPA3yfdQOwhIfCUTwcLEd1UkTjjXLVUb8itAYXWhD_rzVzYEVbqxppcfDiZbcSLnqu7cM/w400-h400/Reluctantly%20Royal%20Tropes.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: 32px;"><span style="color: #fbde54;">AUTHOR BIO</span></b></div>
<div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggxfmFMIgWRTct_dQMvv6PR63rl8i4dT92WUSa-rF_6mJYjOX4L0Xl4Q-HeewTKYMsAPsYXXDsGfbAwSZdgbgZ1Qd_CR1J1GpxONjok7ASqhmRoGvFs9YHROgdVO5NWKArW4ptnF65QtNmdfPjt2I0QsVdjw1fRh58EVjMkiuMUKxLgHaNSbJ8QacK2GKg/s1460/Erin%20Nicolle.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1379" data-original-width="1460" height="189" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggxfmFMIgWRTct_dQMvv6PR63rl8i4dT92WUSa-rF_6mJYjOX4L0Xl4Q-HeewTKYMsAPsYXXDsGfbAwSZdgbgZ1Qd_CR1J1GpxONjok7ASqhmRoGvFs9YHROgdVO5NWKArW4ptnF65QtNmdfPjt2I0QsVdjw1fRh58EVjMkiuMUKxLgHaNSbJ8QacK2GKg/w200-h189/Erin%20Nicolle.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">Erin Nicolle is the new pen name for NYT and USA Today Bestselling romance author Erin Nicholas. While Erin Nicholas is known for her blue-collar book boyfriends and big, boisterous found families in small towns, Erin Nicolle writes rich and royal rogues. But they both love a dirty talking cinnamon roll, a grump who is reluctantly wrapped around a feisty finger, and a gruff, protective guy who falls first and hard.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal">
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TweetOgitchida Kwe's Book Bloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00102723974141437176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8661358495692374194.post-63548199066861190082024-03-01T00:00:00.002-05:002024-03-01T00:00:00.336-05:00Cursed Wolf Cover Reveal <p> </p><div style="margin: 0px auto 15px; text-align: center;">
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<p><strong>Cursed Wolf</strong><br /><strong>Sophie Ash</strong><br />(Howling Death MC)<br />Publication date: March 29th 2024<br />Genres: Adult, Paranormal, Romance</p><blockquote><p><em><strong>If the sweet veterinarian finds out I’m a werewolf, she’ll bolt.</strong></em><br />
<em><strong>But she’s my fated mate, and the beast in me is howling for a taste.</strong></em></p>
<p>I’m the wolf she hit with her car and nursed back to health. I’m also the gruff biker who saved her from her creepy boss.</p>
<p>She has no idea man and beast are one and the same.</p>
<p>We’re from different worlds, but fate’s thread ties us together. She thinks we’re just dating, but she’s meant for me. And as I get to know her, I can’t get enough.</p>
<p>The more time we spend together, the more my wolf howls to claim her. Soon, I won’t be able to hold back the animal within me.</p>
<p>Fate has cursed me with an impossible choice. Reveal my wolf to a human and risk the safety of my pack.</p>
<p>Or force her into my world with a mating bite, and bind our fates forever.</p>
<p>Whether she likes it or not.</p>
<p><em>This book features fated mates between a human woman and a protective wolf shifter hiding a big secret. Each book in Howling Death MC is a standalone with a guaranteed HEA!</em></p>
</blockquote>
<p style="font-size: 130%; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/209187837-cursed-wolf" target="_blank">Add to Goodreads</a> / <a href="https://amzn.to/3wyUhKD" target="_blank">Pre-order</a></p>
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<blockquote style="margin-bottom: 15px; margin-top: 15px;">
<p>Author Bio:</p>
<p>Sophie Ash is a USA Today bestselling author from Northern California, writing paranormal motorcycle clubs with plenty of bite, as well as passionate retellings of myths and folklore.</p>
<p>When she's not writing, she's probably reading, gardening, vacuuming up cat hair, or enjoying a craft beer in the sun.</p>
<p>Get a free standalone novella when you sign up to Sophie's newsletter! https://BookHip.com/KBRCFWN</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://crystalashbooks.com/pages/sophie-ash" target="_blank">Website</a> / <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7739804.Sophie_Ash" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> / <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Crystal.Sophie.Ash.Books/" target="_blank">Facebook</a> / <a href="https://twitter.com/crystalashbooks" target="_blank">Twitter</a> / <a href="https://www.instagram.com/crystalsophieash/" target="_blank">Instagram</a> / <a href="https://www.tiktok.com/@crystalsophieash" target="_blank">TikTok</a> / <a href="https://BookHip.com/KBRCFWN" target="_blank">Newsletter</a></p>
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<p style="text-align: center;"></p>Ogitchida Kwe's Book Bloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00102723974141437176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8661358495692374194.post-35679469571515883982024-02-29T08:30:00.001-05:002024-02-29T08:30:00.249-05:00The Space Between Us Book Blitz<p> </p><div style="text-align: center; margin: 0 auto 15px;">
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<p><strong>The Space Between Us</strong><br><strong>Melanie Summers</strong><br>(Brainiacs in Love, #1)<br>Publication date: February 29th 2024<br>Genres: Adult, Comedy, Contemporary, Romance</p><blockquote><p><strong>Love just might be the final frontier…</strong></p>
<p>S.E.T.I. researcher, Gwen Fox, is a woman on a mission—to answer the cosmic question of the ages: Are we alone?<br />
Along with her work family, Gwen is perfectly happy spending her days listening for extraterrestrial signals— until the worst happens. They get word that they’re about to be shut down by Ty Sterling, their billionaire backer whose heart is as cold as interstellar space.</p>
<p>About to lose everything, Gwen has no choice but to travel to Peru to change his mind. Armed only with scientific zeal and optimism, Gwen faces off against Ty, who just might be the most stubborn, cynical man in the galaxy.</p>
<p>As the tension between the pair builds, so does the undeniable chemistry that neither of them saw coming. Against the breathtaking backdrop of the Peruvian jungle, the space between enemies and lovers begins to collapse.</p>
<p>Will Gwen and Ty discover that together they form a supernova of passion? Or will their budding relationship crash and burn on impact?</p>
<p>*** <em>The Space Between Us</em> is a swoony, adventure-filled, delightfully funny tale of a woman who will do anything to save her job and the stubborn billionaire who dared to get in her way. It’s a standalone rom-com with a little more spice than a regular Melanie Summers book. ***</p>
<p>WHAT TO EXPECT:<br />
Enemies to lovers<br />
S.T.E.M. romance<br />
Billionaire<br />
Adventure, romantic settings, and a little danger<br />
Forced Proximity/Only one tent<br />
A secret cinnamon roll hero<br />
Loads of banter, awkward moments, and delicious tension</p>
</blockquote>
<p style="font-size: 130%; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/203652638-the-space-between-us" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> / <a href="https://amzn.to/48xrELd" target="_blank">Amazon</a></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">—</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>EXCERPT:</strong></p>
<p>He wants me. And it’s been so very long since someone wanted me. <em>So </em>long. Like I’m pretty sure I’m revirginated at this point. Let’s face it, I want him right back. I want to feel him against me and inside me and on top of me and under me. I want to taste his kisses and his skin and to feel the way he moves. There’s a silent alarm going off in the back of my mind, trying to tell me this is a terrible idea. It’s saying something about betraying my work family and risking my heart with a man who literally just told me he has no interest in happily ever after with anyone.</p>
<p>And yet…</p>
<p>Here we are, two consenting adults, completely alone and absolutely wanting to do this. I stare up at him, taking in his chiseled jawline, his stubble, his dark eyes that are undressing me right now. My heart pounds in my chest, my body hums with excitement. “A night to remember? That’s a bold prediction,” I say in a breathy voice I don’t even recognize.</p>
<p>“I’m confident I can back it up,” he tells me, lowering his face to mine.</p>
<p>He leaves just the smallest space between our mouths. Enough that I can feel his breath and can almost feel his lips against mine. It’s less than an inch and yet it’s infinitely far away because there’s still time for me to say no. To get up and walk away without allowing anything to happen. We could go back to whatever we were a minute ago. Just two people stuck out here alone together passing the time. That would be the smart thing to do— to get up and walk away because he is the very last man I should want like this.</p>
<p>But he’s also the man I’ve wanted like no other. The desire I have for him is all that matters in this moment. There is nothing, no one else on this planet that means anything to me right now. There’s no future, no past. It’s just the two of us here in this perfect moment.</p>
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<p>Author Bio:</p>
<p>Melanie Summers also writes steamy romance as MJ Summers.</p>
<p>Melanie made a name for herself with her debut novel, Break in Two, a contemporary romance that cracked the Top 10 Paid on Amazon in both the UK and Canada, and the top 50 Paid in the USA. Her highly acclaimed Full Hearts Series was picked up by both Piatkus Entice (a division of Hachette UK) and HarperCollins Canada. Her first three books have been translated into Czech and Slovak by EuroMedia. Since 2013, she has written and published three novellas, and eight novels (of which seven have been published). She has sold over a quarter of a million books around the globe.</p>
<p>In her previous life (i.e. before having children), Melanie got her Bachelor of Science from the University of Alberta, then went on to work in the soul-sucking customer service industry for a large cellular network provider that shall remain nameless (unless you write her personally - then she'll dish). On her days off, she took courses and studied to become a Chartered Mediator. That designation landed her a job at the R.C.M.P. as the Alternative Dispute Resolution Coordinator for 'K' Division. Having had enough of mediating arguments between gun-toting police officers, she decided it was much safer to have children so she could continue her study of conflict in a weapon-free environment (and one which doesn't require makeup and/or nylons).</p>
<p>Melanie resides in Edmonton with her husband, three young children, and their adorable but neurotic one-eyed dog. When she's not writing novels, Melanie loves reading (obviously), snuggling up on the couch with her family for movie night (which would not be complete without lots of popcorn and milkshakes), and long walks in the woods near her house. She also spends a lot more time thinking about doing yoga than actually doing yoga, which is why most of her photos are taken 'from above'. She also loves shutting down restaurants with her girlfriends. Well, not literally shutting them down, like calling the health inspector or something--more like just staying until they turn the lights off.</p>
<p>She is represented by Suzanne Brandreth of The Cooke Agency International. </p>
<p style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://mjsummersbooks.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Website</a> / <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/17105602.Melanie_Summers" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> / <a href="https://www.facebook.com/MJSummersAuthorPage" target="_blank">Facebook</a> / <a href="https://www.instagram.com/mj_summers_author/" target="_blank">Instagram</a> / <a href="https://twitter.com/mjsummersbooks" target="_blank">Twitter</a></p>
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<p style="text-align: center;">Ogitchida Kwe's Book Bloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00102723974141437176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8661358495692374194.post-2570186517188599132024-02-29T00:00:00.001-05:002024-02-29T00:00:00.246-05:00Clare at Eighteen Reveal <p> </p><div style="text-align: center; margin: 0 auto 15px;">
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<p><strong>Clare at Eighteen</strong><br><strong>Don Roff</strong><br>(Clare Bleecker, #3)<br>Published by: Parliament House Press<br>Publication date: June 16th 2024<br>Genres: Adult, Thriller</p><blockquote><p>Just when you thought Clare Bleecker had faced the darkest corners of Pickman Flats, her story takes a murderous detour under the glitzy lights of Hollywood.</p>
<p>In a town where the stars shine bright and secrets lurk in every shadow, Clare finds herself with an opportunity that could be her big break—or her final downfall. When movie producer Lester Bryce is found murdered, Clare is cast not in the role of a lifetime but as the prime suspect in a deadly drama. Talk about creative differences.</p>
<p>Now, caught in the spotlight of suspicion, Clare must navigate a labyrinth of lies and deceit in a city known for making and breaking dreams. Hollywood harbors a strange cult with a thirst for celebrity blood, and Clare’s own could be next on the altar. As the lines between performance and peril blur, can Clare unveil the truth before the final cut silences her scream? Can you say development hell?</p>
<p>The stakes of Clare’s “passion project” are higher, the Tinseltown killers more cunning, and the twists more treacherous than ever before. Clare must use all her cunning to survive this lethal script.</p>
<p>Can she “do lunch” and deliver a performance that will clear her name, or will this role prove to be her most deadly?</p>
<p>Will Clare win or die?</p>
<p>Kill Discriminately,</p>
<p>XOXO Clare</p>
</blockquote>
<p style="font-size: 130%; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/208875437-clare-at-eighteen" target="_blank">Add to Goodreads</a> / <a href="https://books2read.com/u/m2K6y7" target="_blank">Pre-order</a></p>
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<blockquote style="margin-top: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px;">
<p>Author Bio:</p>
<p>Roff grew up in Milton-Freewater, Oregon. As a teen, he worked at the local drive-in theater and made Super 8 mm movies with his neighborhood friends, writing many of the scripts. He graduated from McLoughlin Union High School in 1985. </p>
<p>Roff joined the United States Army in 1989. He was stationed at Fort Benning, Georgia in the 3rd Ranger Battalion. He was a part of "Operation Just Cause" in Rio Hato, Panama, December 20, 1989.</p>
<p>Roff graduated from Walla Walla Community College in 1995, and The Evergreen State College in 1997.</p>
<p>In 2000, he was The Don and Gee Nicholl Fellowships in Screenwriting Semifinalist for his coming-of-age screenplay, LORD OF THE YARDS. In June 2006, Roff received the prestigious Zola Award for screenwriting from the Pacific Northwest Writers Association for his science fiction adventure script, OUTBOUND.</p>
<p>Roff's bestselling book, ZOMBIES: A RECORD OF THE YEAR OF INFECTION is available from Chronicle Books/Simon & Schuster UK. The audiobook is available from AudioGO. The calendars are available from Universal Publishing (a division of Rizzoli International Publications).</p>
<p>His supernatural thriller, SNOWBLIND, will soon be a major film, as will his dark comedy thriller, CLARE AT SIXTEEN.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/847186.Don_Roff" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> / <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Author.Don.Roff" target="_blank">Facebook</a> / <a href="https://twitter.com/DonRoff" target="_blank">Twitter</a> / <a href="https://www.instagram.com/donroff/" target="_blank">Instagram</a></p>
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<p style="text-align: center;">Ogitchida Kwe's Book Bloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00102723974141437176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8661358495692374194.post-57399531840289207162024-02-28T08:30:00.001-05:002024-02-28T08:30:00.133-05:00The Edge Book Blitz <p> </p><div style="margin: 0px auto 15px; text-align: center;">
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<p><strong>The Edge</strong><br /><strong>Jim McGhee</strong><br />(DI Barney Mains, #5)<br />Publication date: February 28th 2024<br />Genres: Adult, Thriller</p><blockquote><p>DI Barney Mains blames himself for the grotesque murder of a top banker in France.</p>
<p>He’s obsessed with the belief that he allowed a near-mythical assassin to escape certain death to kill again.</p>
<p>And when a duplicate murder is reported 1000 miles away in Barney’s home town in Scotland, the guilt drives him ever closer to the edge.</p>
<p>How many more must pay the ultimate price for his failure?</p>
<p>But then death comes closer to home. He is left with no choice but to face his demons, before a shocking confrontation which will change everything…</p>
</blockquote>
<p style="font-size: 130%; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/202985902-the-edge" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> / <a href="https://amzn.to/42PfXhz" target="_blank">Amazon</a></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">—</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>EXCERPT:</strong></p>
<p>Barney controlled his breathing as he stepped into the room. Wary of sending shadows across that blind, he shone his phone torch onto the floor and started to step carefully around the perimeter of a worn carpet.</p>
<p>There was a small kitchen area on the wall to his right and a fold-down bed on the facing wall. He stopped and dared raise his torch a tad. The bed was empty and neatly made.</p>
<p>He moved around, past an open toilet door, and relaxed a little in the knowledge that this looked like a studio flat, which meant there were no other rooms to check, no need to risk staying too long.</p>
<p>He continued to step into the pool of light until he reached the third wall. He stopped dead. Why the hell would anyone take up this much space in a small flat by installing a bloody great chest freezer? And how could someone who’d been reduced to living in such mean accommodation afford to fill the bugger anyway?</p>
<p>Barney thought these were very interesting questions. But there was another. Why had he fitted a padlock to it?</p>
<p>Well, of course there was a logical explanation. Maybe the man who lived here made his living buying and selling meat. There were so many food shops and restaurants in the area that the logic was inescapable and Barney wanted to like it.</p>
<p>Breaking into a flat was one thing but breaking into a freezer full of meat would be just plain silly. And he badly needed to be gone.</p>
<p>He flicked the patch of light along the floor to the fourth wall, the one with the window. There seemed to be a desk and chair here. He looked closer. Yes, a desk, or rather a make-up table, with a trio of fixed mirrors. He felt that chill run down his back, the one which knew things before he did. It was the kind of table he’d seen Jack use when transforming himself into a movie legend. The Ghost too was said to be a master of disguise.</p>
<p>Had Barney, by going to an AA meeting then following its worthy Leader to this place, discovered the dragon’s lair? But why here and why had he been a regular at such meetings? Unless he was quite simply hiding in plain sight, where no-one would think to look for him. He could return here as Alec and leave as whoever he chose for his next commission. But if so, why would he let the Leader come and go so freely?</p>
<p>Barney knew he was staying too long. He needed to get out before someone returned. And yet, the mystery of the freezer intrigued him.</p>
<p>In such a room, in such a place, a locked freezer?</p>
<p>He took a big breath and realised how tense he was. But he’d come this far and rightly or wrongly he sensed that the freezer was significant.</p>
<p>The thought made him so cold that he might have been inside that big white box. Was he really going to add this next crime to drink driving and housebreaking?</p>
<p>‘Ach, what the hell,’ he said out loud for courage, then pulled out his lock picks again. Now, all he had to do was lift the lid and confirm the contents as lamb chops and steaks before making his escape and laughing at himself as the complete fool that he was.</p>
<p>He paused. He felt both disoriented and exhilarated; shitting himself and screaming inside with some crazed sense of liberation. He was in the forbidden land, beyond the laws he’d spent his adult life enforcing.</p>
<p>The scariest thing, he realised as he pulled open the lid and rested it against the wall, was that he liked it.</p>
<p>At first glance, it looked like the opaque plastic sheet could very well cover nothing more than the stock products of a meat trader.</p>
<p>He reached across to his left to grab the far corner then carefully drew it towards him so that he could put it back in more or less the same position.</p>
<p>He shone his torch. Shit! His gut clenched. A human face stared blankly back at him from within a clear plastic bag.</p>
<p>Barney pulled the cover all the way to his right.</p>
<p>The man, maybe aged around forty, had no obvious injuries and was dressed like half the world, in faded jeans, denim jacket and trainers. He had clear plastic bags over his hands.</p>
<p>But it was that stony, bloodless face like porcelain which drew him. For this could, after all, be the face in the sketch, the face which haunted him.</p>
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<blockquote style="margin-bottom: 15px; margin-top: 15px;">
<p>Author Bio:</p>
<p>Jim McGhee's a former award-winning environmental journalist.</p>
<p>Formerly based in East Lothian, near Edinburgh, Scotland, he is now mainly to be found in Nice in the South of France, the main setting for his DI Barney Mains series.</p>
<p>After a full-on career as a campaigning newspaper reporter, he and wife Jean launched their own recruitment company in central Edinburgh and for twelve fun-packed years worked closely together alongside their brilliant team - without spilling a single drop of blood.</p>
<p>The Alpes-Maritimes and Var departments, on the other hand, have provided a host of dramatic locations just perfect as inspiration for the odd spot of fictional gore.</p>
<p>Locals, blessed with scenery ranging from unspoilt mountain villages to the classic palms-and-marinas coast, claim that they can be swimming one moment and ski-ing a little over an hour later. It's a claim not yet put to the test!</p>
<p>Besides, when not writing or travelling, Jim's more likely to be off on a hike in the hills with his ever-ready buddy, Jack the Irish Terrier.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.jimmcghee.net/" target="_blank">Website</a> / <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/140606.Jim_McGhee" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> / <a href="https://www.facebook.com/bigbarneymains/" target="_blank">Facebook</a> / <a href="https://www.bookbub.com/authors/jim-mcghee" target="_blank">Bookbub</a></p>
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<p style="text-align: center;"></p>Ogitchida Kwe's Book Bloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00102723974141437176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8661358495692374194.post-18300390794397311232024-02-28T08:00:00.002-05:002024-02-28T08:00:00.256-05:00Easier Said Than Done Cover Reveal<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsBKanbaeuEn-RAOosxt8ZnjmpRNGw_21s5_y6EmMrGsmY9GE-ytYI_RjS-b_TaMSP820HqPPvVrhUdP0H5rEojzSAmjlmG9SHsqTA4PKItRfSiODOakrls87-QTkmKcz3VhpcnNy2N4nNG6pQVSMHiT1jFVun4kdASozqOIYJxcp9GOhIeIB4lnVaZmfR/s1640/Easier%20Said%20Than%20Done%20CR%20Banner.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="856" data-original-width="1640" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsBKanbaeuEn-RAOosxt8ZnjmpRNGw_21s5_y6EmMrGsmY9GE-ytYI_RjS-b_TaMSP820HqPPvVrhUdP0H5rEojzSAmjlmG9SHsqTA4PKItRfSiODOakrls87-QTkmKcz3VhpcnNy2N4nNG6pQVSMHiT1jFVun4kdASozqOIYJxcp9GOhIeIB4lnVaZmfR/w400-h209/Easier%20Said%20Than%20Done%20CR%20Banner.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpyXVlIOXRQ1UW9ypUoDV9YeTLylJFQqXh7sO4shLfKMFGFksnaHFN80BK_szhCks4b6pu4v6CbvIoZJY_JP5qX785T3kFjbGt6_xtNSQ_pBTx1RUz8iNrsBq2L2hxtWVXL74j4ljSJrS3YDNN6PwnT28p2yT3S8nOQy3vLTJ1cUP719Qm6vAgv5OFPJxd/s2700/Easier%20Said%20Than%20Done%20eBook%20Cover.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2700" data-original-width="1800" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpyXVlIOXRQ1UW9ypUoDV9YeTLylJFQqXh7sO4shLfKMFGFksnaHFN80BK_szhCks4b6pu4v6CbvIoZJY_JP5qX785T3kFjbGt6_xtNSQ_pBTx1RUz8iNrsBq2L2hxtWVXL74j4ljSJrS3YDNN6PwnT28p2yT3S8nOQy3vLTJ1cUP719Qm6vAgv5OFPJxd/w426-h640/Easier%20Said%20Than%20Done%20eBook%20Cover.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><b>Title: Easier Said Than Done</b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><b>A <i>Lindell Series </i>Standalone</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Author: Marie James</span></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><b><span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Genre: Contemporary Romance</span></span></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><b>Tropes: Small Town/Best Friends to Lovers</b></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><b>Baby Pact/Broken Hero</b></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><b>Cover Design: Qamber Designs & Media</b></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><b>Release Date: March 28, 2024</b></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><b style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: 32px;"><span style="color: #21beb6;"><span>BL</span><span>URB</span></span></b></div>
<br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><b style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">If you can’t ask your best friend to get you pregnant then who can you ask?</span></b></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Adalynn Tate made a promise to her childhood friend.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">They vowed that they’d do everything together, including marrying their junior high crush and having all their babies at the same time.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Her friend has succeeded. She got the guy, and the first bun is in the oven.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Now it’s Adalynn’s turn to make her own dreams a reality.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">When Adalynn’s best guy friend comes over, he sees the pamphlets for her to have a baby on her own.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Cash does what any best friend would do – offers his free, platonic services instead of extra medical bills.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">He doesn’t know Adalynn has had a crush on him since junior high, something she’s done her best to lock down deep as not to threaten their friendship.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Adalynn knows in this world you don’t get to have it all: the baby, the man, the fairytale.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">But Cash has other plans for her.</div></span><div><div>
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<br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">Marie James is a full-time author, mother of two boys, and wife of 18+ years. Dog Mom to four great danes: Maximus, Sassy, Kiki, and Hargid.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">She has spent almost my entire lifetime living in central Texas, with only short stays in South Carolina, Alabama, and Florida. She is currently residing in a sleepy little town in East Tennessee.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Writing is her passion, and she absolutely loves being able to sit down and put all of her thoughts and emotions into her stories.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">She loves dogs, coffee, making handmade cards, and reading steamy romance novels!</div></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="MsoNormal">
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Ogitchida Kwe's Book Bloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00102723974141437176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8661358495692374194.post-49487327801001266342024-02-27T08:00:00.004-05:002024-02-27T08:00:00.244-05:00Shadowy Abyss Release Blitz <p> </p><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinZto8CWUT_6cK2yeiXjbxN6tseQ8DywdeISnii-fkl0gkZYhuG9PorfYOik8Km1KBhSqseyl4yctuVuNNJImYP-hYAzijB7AO7Q8YO5Qx4zESZDVD2mdeMLDEKywq0TVgmu1ejvOec3f8dmPiVhlPt0G147VDqKb82QlWVDa21QK9MRXgOJlffM5KgGo-/s2400/Shadowy%20Abyss%20RB%20Banner.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1115" data-original-width="2400" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinZto8CWUT_6cK2yeiXjbxN6tseQ8DywdeISnii-fkl0gkZYhuG9PorfYOik8Km1KBhSqseyl4yctuVuNNJImYP-hYAzijB7AO7Q8YO5Qx4zESZDVD2mdeMLDEKywq0TVgmu1ejvOec3f8dmPiVhlPt0G147VDqKb82QlWVDa21QK9MRXgOJlffM5KgGo-/w400-h186/Shadowy%20Abyss%20RB%20Banner.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDPA5tQ3-Pookk3XdBn-SjiFovmcoev6zldEVpAXg8U3Kh6BwicnDLaWHAE8d6skli5_rspdj9LAy0EU0XLF9C0nEzrgHhrDUCmVGcrxL31Dt8yrKSFrzohTzGPJ6TcT8zNe6j56CwZEp_1jzMMJ5fhvNeKRRTPQGQQJH8AP22E_s-bWlgq4B6dyiWONCX/s2775/Shadowy%20Abyss%20eBook%20Cover.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2775" data-original-width="1841" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDPA5tQ3-Pookk3XdBn-SjiFovmcoev6zldEVpAXg8U3Kh6BwicnDLaWHAE8d6skli5_rspdj9LAy0EU0XLF9C0nEzrgHhrDUCmVGcrxL31Dt8yrKSFrzohTzGPJ6TcT8zNe6j56CwZEp_1jzMMJ5fhvNeKRRTPQGQQJH8AP22E_s-bWlgq4B6dyiWONCX/w424-h640/Shadowy%20Abyss%20eBook%20Cover.jpg" width="424" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: arial;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Title: Shadowy Abyss</span></span></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Series: Saints Purgatory MC #4</span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Authors: Andi Rhodes & Lacy Rose</span></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: arial;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Genre: MC Romance</span></span></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Tropes: Opposites Attract/One Night Stand</span></span></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Release Date: February 27, 2024</span></span></b></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div style="text-align: center;"><b style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: 32px;"><span style="color: #8400a8;">BLURB</span></b> </div> <br /><div style="text-align: center;"><b style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">There isn’t a person in the world who hasn’t committed a sin. Some sins are worse than others, but seven of them are deadly. But those seven worst of the worst? They’re what drive Saints Purgatory MC to keep fighting.</span></b></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><b><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Abyss…</b></div></b><div style="text-align: justify;">I spent a good chunk of my life working toward a career I never wanted. Then a moral dilemma caused havoc, and it made walking away so much easier. Now I’m living the dream, riding for Saints Purgatory. I’m still able to put my medical skills to use for the MC, but I spend the majority of my time as a grease monkey and the club’s secretary.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Not only am I good with bikes, injuries, and illness, but I’m also a pro with the ladies. They love me, and I love them. Unfortunately, the one woman my body wants more than anything has been told to stay away. However, when trouble comes knocking on her door, I’ll show her and all the doubters that she’s mine.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><b><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Carmella…</b></div></b><div style="text-align: justify;">When I left my hometown to practice law in the big city, my dreams seemed to finally be coming true. The only thing missing was my best friend and a man. Climbing the corporate ladder and becoming a partner in a prestigious law firm is next on my agenda. I finally see the light at the end of the tunnel for all my hard work.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I’m undefeated in the courtroom, but I’m about to meet my match. If I win this case, the partnership is mine for the taking. But circumstances beyond my control have me running and seeking solace from my best friend. That’s where I see him… <i>again</i>. He’s everything I want in a man wrapped up in a sexy bow. Unfortunately, I’m told he isn’t the one for me. When the enemy comes knocking at my door, do I face it alone, or trust the one man I shouldn’t to help?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><b><div style="text-align: center;"><b>He is Saints Purgatory, and he’s a sinner who takes out the sinful.</b></div></b></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhBnchB1RPyKXRN9-Mm2WbKYUfK5wkdL3LhEwiVSZlgT0Hm0UXYhOogWYKXs0BAgHMaJqxXCd2KicvGPYTqnVX1gd7oCG49elQ-ukWXixZcoebcWFNkNkGpJeI7BY7Xd-OTNkLkaPEnPikVyOTNm8S8H3w7Z4o2QvGx2BjG9M3rw1EaOYq7i4J_OLtb=s1614" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="1614" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhBnchB1RPyKXRN9-Mm2WbKYUfK5wkdL3LhEwiVSZlgT0Hm0UXYhOogWYKXs0BAgHMaJqxXCd2KicvGPYTqnVX1gd7oCG49elQ-ukWXixZcoebcWFNkNkGpJeI7BY7Xd-OTNkLkaPEnPikVyOTNm8S8H3w7Z4o2QvGx2BjG9M3rw1EaOYq7i4J_OLtb=w320-h229" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Andi Rhodes</b> is an author whose passion is creating romance from chaos in all her books! She writes MC (motorcycle club) romance with a generous helping of suspense and doesn’t shy away from the more difficult topics. Her books can be triggering for some so consider yourself warned. Andi also ensures each book ends with the couple getting their HEA! Most importantly, Andi is living her real life HEA with her husband and their boxers.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">For the most up-to-date information on releases, preorders, signings, and all things Andi Rhodes, visit her website at www.andirhodes.com.</div></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: 32px;"><span style="color: #8400a8;">LACY ROSE</span></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-_Ed6DjYKjeNBHkwVoUogM1Pki_sIL8RNBVy_d6hjMAxyXjDOFY3LRQsNE11O2vHd3grpOFyMbhIvolwYj0FFLzyfzSwOULwgC_7cn8Zo6iy-E-pB2mOJ93og-s1fY6Bi7loZ7GmAq8zN4veXODF0FTmF8KxzQfzAEGYt-GMXv_CbvE55Vt-pWA1ysw/s1774/Lacy%20Rose%20Logo.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="966" data-original-width="1774" height="174" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-_Ed6DjYKjeNBHkwVoUogM1Pki_sIL8RNBVy_d6hjMAxyXjDOFY3LRQsNE11O2vHd3grpOFyMbhIvolwYj0FFLzyfzSwOULwgC_7cn8Zo6iy-E-pB2mOJ93og-s1fY6Bi7loZ7GmAq8zN4veXODF0FTmF8KxzQfzAEGYt-GMXv_CbvE55Vt-pWA1ysw/s320/Lacy%20Rose%20Logo.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Ogitchida Kwe's Book Bloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00102723974141437176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8661358495692374194.post-51502723888848193702024-02-27T08:00:00.001-05:002024-02-27T08:00:00.244-05:00The End Is The Beginning <p> </p><span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: x-small;"></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_3GNWWbxIXRrCc3yxhUpW8iPI8vgH3VbZOp6vKr3heVK4nQwocRfIdqN94BVL1IZlsp6tLTfN4fKTDqLhLQOop7Ozj2PxCKt4tJftl6baG8zY7VkDsShyawDZQkdb3PtuBKHjuhr3ZgzUX2JsUTAoQ6EUHycBNFEc0f-cBkUmYHPU9kpSofyWlFc8L39z/s1640/The%20End%20is%20the%20Beginning%20CR%20Banner.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="624" data-original-width="1640" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_3GNWWbxIXRrCc3yxhUpW8iPI8vgH3VbZOp6vKr3heVK4nQwocRfIdqN94BVL1IZlsp6tLTfN4fKTDqLhLQOop7Ozj2PxCKt4tJftl6baG8zY7VkDsShyawDZQkdb3PtuBKHjuhr3ZgzUX2JsUTAoQ6EUHycBNFEc0f-cBkUmYHPU9kpSofyWlFc8L39z/w400-h153/The%20End%20is%20the%20Beginning%20CR%20Banner.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWu9hRyGRvnklvjXy3EiZxJg5yrPosQtJxJxP4_OnfwlGpMYzqvDhBQ7fYY3lRgq3PY94l9B_6JuPlTtd_wJSTjx-lRhCA08yPDbBolm52ECpzkXkeJ4cDFkaeJoB8m2JTGlspwaWnC6mXl5E_R6q3QIjlK7U3-zdXK5L8XnNEEyamf9sVYg6Dqj_5wBlh/s2560/The%20End%20is%20the%20Beginning%20eBook%20Cover.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2560" data-original-width="1600" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWu9hRyGRvnklvjXy3EiZxJg5yrPosQtJxJxP4_OnfwlGpMYzqvDhBQ7fYY3lRgq3PY94l9B_6JuPlTtd_wJSTjx-lRhCA08yPDbBolm52ECpzkXkeJ4cDFkaeJoB8m2JTGlspwaWnC6mXl5E_R6q3QIjlK7U3-zdXK5L8XnNEEyamf9sVYg6Dqj_5wBlh/w400-h640/The%20End%20is%20the%20Beginning%20eBook%20Cover.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><b>Title: The End is the Beginning</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><b>Author: Jennifer N. Lloyd</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><b>Genre: Dark Romantic Suspense</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><b>Tropes: Small Town/Forbidden Love/Love Triangle</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><b>Release Date: February 27, 2024</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: 32px;"><span style="color: #dd81a5;">BLURB</span></b></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">At 35, Sandy's life diverges from her idyllic dreams. Her husband, Johnny, once a seemingly promising partner, now embodies a monstrous abuser. Their turmoil affects not just Sandy but also her teenagers, Lisa and David.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">When David steps in to defend his mother, Johnny becomes critically injured.</div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">During Johnny's absence, the Hansen family experiences freedom from his control. Sandy navigates single motherhood and finds herself drawn to a man who introduces her to a world of love and passion.</div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Simultaneously, 14-year-old Lisa faces her first date with a longtime friend and neighbor, prompting the question: will their bond evolve into young love?</div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Upon Johnny's return, Sandy confronts a pivotal choice: return to the all-too-familiar abuse or embrace this newfound connection, defying her oppressive past.</div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Set in 1975, The End is the Beginning, showcases how the women of a small town grapple with love, trauma, and the courage to rewrite their destinies in the face of adversity.</div></span><div><div style="text-align: center;">
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She is married to Robby, a caring and loving man, and is the devoted mother of Norah, her very smart and sweet daughter, as well as a dedicated dog-mom to Mia, her Weimaraner.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Jennifer earned her bachelor's degree from Northern Illinois University and has worked as a Radiologic Technologist for a decade. For the past five years, she's specialized in the Cardiac Catheterization field, particularly in Electrophysiology (that’s right, embracing the super-nerd status).</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">A lifelong Midwesterner, Jennifer finds joy in staying active outdoors, whether it's going for runs with Mia and Norah, enjoying family bike rides, or simply soaking in the sun. Her most productive writing hours are between 8 and 11 PM, when her daughter is fast asleep. During this time, she channels her creative energy into crafting dark romance stories.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Jennifer enjoys creating storylines that form deep emotional connections between readers and characters. She roots for the underdog and crafts narratives where true love wins!</div></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: 32px;"><span style="color: #dd81a5;">AUTHOR LINKS</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;"><b><a href="https://www.tiktok.com/@author_jennifernlloyd">TIKTOK</a></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;"><b><a href="https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100090697226212">FACEBOOK</a></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;"><b><a href="https://www.instagram.com/authorjennifernlloyd">INSTAGRAM</a></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-large;"><b><a href="https://linktr.ee/jenniferlloydauthor">LINKTR.EE</a></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW2F2HJQxtA2N19M3SkYFyI4QMpmuTBmaBesZpVquPN-7GunwOCmIvcgyoWl7XULsXBA3bXaE7VcTcxMAi4BxaqVFWMv8gNO7jA1bMlQrC0ZE58R6-SL6lW23HXaZJ5iDbHdwzjtmx8ZGLzFLhpNro_lQnhgIWebFZ3IHavTgd1dDqFnN1X9J9P6cBbT2H/s1200/The%20End%20is%20the%20Beginning%20RB%20Teaser%201.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW2F2HJQxtA2N19M3SkYFyI4QMpmuTBmaBesZpVquPN-7GunwOCmIvcgyoWl7XULsXBA3bXaE7VcTcxMAi4BxaqVFWMv8gNO7jA1bMlQrC0ZE58R6-SL6lW23HXaZJ5iDbHdwzjtmx8ZGLzFLhpNro_lQnhgIWebFZ3IHavTgd1dDqFnN1X9J9P6cBbT2H/w400-h400/The%20End%20is%20the%20Beginning%20RB%20Teaser%201.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>
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Ogitchida Kwe's Book Bloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00102723974141437176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8661358495692374194.post-22270060978381131902024-02-26T17:13:00.000-05:002024-02-26T17:13:00.363-05:00The Science of Attraction Book Blitz <p> </p><div style="text-align: center; margin: 0 auto 15px;">
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<p><strong>The Science of Attraction</strong><br><strong>Jay Hogan</strong><br>(A Mackenzie Country Story, #3)<br>Publication date: February 22nd 2024<br>Genres: Adult, Contemporary, LGBTQ+, Romance</p><blockquote><p>I am Mackenzie Country born and bred. Farming the high country runs in my blood, like my father, and his father, and my great grandfather before him. My future has been mapped out for me since the day I was born. Or at least it was, until Liam Skelton walks onto Lane Station, lights a fire in my heart, and turns my whole world upside down.</p>
<p>Bossy, tatted, and out and proud, Liam is everything my father abhors.<br />
And I want him.<br />
Badly.</p>
<p>But having a chance with Liam means risking everything. My family. My future. And my life in these mountains that I love.<br />
Still, the heart wants what it wants, and mine wants Liam.</p>
<p>With so many things against us, maybe we don’t have a chance.<br />
Maybe we’ll crash and burn.<br />
Or maybe we’ll find a way to have it all.</p>
</blockquote>
<p style="font-size: 130%; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/199430768-the-science-of-attraction" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> / <a href="https://amzn.to/3tYm8TE" target="_blank">Amazon</a></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">—</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>EXCERPT:</strong></p>
<p>Julian Lane unsettled me in a way not many men did, and it was troubling, to say the least. I’d had a couple of long-term relationships in my life, but I’d never lived with anyone or wanted more. Being a fairly self-contained person, I liked my own company. I spent most days working intimately with people’s complex needs. It was intense, challenging work, and at the end of the day or the finish of a contract, my home was my sanctuary, and I guarded it with my life.</p>
<p>The idea of a <em>man</em> cluttering up that space with their things, inconvenient demands, or just the mere fact of their presence sent horrifying chills racing down my spine. I rarely got flustered by a guy, and certainly not the way Julian unnerved me with his capable air, glittering grey eyes, and that profound sense of knowing his place in the world.</p>
<p>Julian had the air of a man who knew who he was and where he belonged. You wouldn’t need to jolly a man like Jules along to make him feel wanted, soothe an ego bent out of shape, or play down your success so as not to threaten his by comparison. Men like that were rare and held an intoxicating allure for someone like me.</p>
<p>But Jules was also my client’s son, and that alone should’ve made him forbidden fruit even for a bit of harmless crushing. <em>Should’ve. </em>But there’d been something about his smile that first day. Something about the way I’d caught him looking at me when he didn’t think I was watching. And maybe the way <em>I </em>felt when he looked at me, as well.</p>
<p>The whole thing was fucking with my head.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.xpressobooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/sites/3/2024/02/TSOA-7-Life-I-wanted.jpg"><img src="https://www.xpressobooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/sites/3/2024/02/TSOA-7-Life-I-wanted.jpg" alt="" style="max-width: 100%; height: auto;" /></a></p>
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<img src="https://www.xpressobooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/sites/3/2022/10/Jay.jpg" alt="" style="float: left; margin: 0 15px 15px 0; display: inline-block;">
<blockquote style="margin-top: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px;">
<p>Author Bio:</p>
<p><em>Heart, humour and keeping it real.</em></p>
<p><strong>Jay is a 2020 Lambda Literary Award Finalist in Gay Romance and her book Off Balance was the 2021 New Zealand Romance Book of the Year.</strong></p>
<p>She is a New Zealand author writing mm romance and romantic suspense, primarily set in New Zealand. She writes character driven romances with lots of humour, a good dose of reality and a splash of angst. She's travelled extensively, lived in many countries, and in a past life she was a critical care nurse, nurse educator and counsellor. Jay is owned by a huge Maine Coon cat and a gorgeous Cocker Spaniel</p>
<p><strong>Find Jay in all the places:</strong> <a href="https://www.jayhoganauthor.com/landingpage">https://www.jayhoganauthor.com/landingpage</a></p>
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<p style="text-align: center;">Ogitchida Kwe's Book Bloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00102723974141437176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8661358495692374194.post-73790912177581476992024-02-26T15:33:00.004-05:002024-02-26T15:33:36.742-05:00Take Any Chance Cover Reveal <p> </p><div style="text-align: center; margin: 0 auto 15px;">
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<p style="text-align: center;"><b>Paperback cover / eBook and Paperback cover</b>
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<p><strong>Take Any Chance</strong><br><strong>Brenna Aubrey</strong><br>(Gaming the System, #10)<br>Publication date: April 30th 2024<br>Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance</p><blockquote><p>In the game of life, Mia Drake has leveled up like a pro. Just out of medical school, she’s landed her dream job—a medical residency at a prestigious hospital. She has a beautiful home and an amazing husband. But there’s one more achievement she’s determined to unlock: becoming a mother.</p>
<p>In the business world, Adam Drake is a beast. He can face any threat. Conquer any boardroom. But when Mia issues the challenge to start a family, Adam will have to take up a sword to fight the ultimate boss—<i>his own fear</i>.</p>
<p>The path forward is clear, but are Adam and Mia truly ready to embark on this epic quest?</p>
</blockquote>
<p style="font-size: 130%; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/209072107-take-any-chance" target="_blank">Add to Goodreads</a> / <a href="https://amzn.to/3IhJruQ" target="_blank">Pre-order</a></p>
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<blockquote style="margin-top: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px;">
<p>Author Bio:</p>
<p>Brenna Aubrey is a USA TODAY Bestselling Author of contemporary romance stories that center on geek culture. Her debut novel, At Any Price, is currently free on all platforms. Her books are on over a million e-readers worldwide, have been translated into German, French, Italian and Dutch. They've also been adapted as an interactive app game. Look for the brand new POINT OF NO RETURN series and her extremely popular GAMING THE SYSTEM series.</p>
<p>She has always sought comfort in good books and the long, involved stories she weaves in her head. Brenna is a city girl with a nature-lover’s heart. She therefore finds herself out in green open spaces any chance she can get. She currently resides on the west coast of the US with her husband and children (both human and furry).</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://brennaaubrey.net/" target="_blank">Website</a> / <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5824327.Brenna_Aubrey" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> / <a href="https://www.facebook.com/BrennaAubreyAuthor" target="_blank">Facebook</a> / <a href="https://twitter.com/BrennaAubrey" target="_blank">Twitter</a> / <a href="https://www.instagram.com/brennaaubreyauthor/" target="_blank">Instagram</a> / <a href="https://brennaaubrey.net/newsletter-signup/" target="_blank">Newsletter</a></p>
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<p style="text-align: center;">Ogitchida Kwe's Book Bloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00102723974141437176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8661358495692374194.post-19245089488701069822024-02-26T08:30:00.001-05:002024-02-26T08:30:00.129-05:00The Surrogate Release Blitz<p><br /></p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHFJjibJH3MMHcwO3jYpbyayn3s1N7G-zrHGAO3IRzBaxfMRihw6OUN01Rc40UOcZVRaUvKL7eG4SODB7DuQbJGyl6Jy4hoP0FH31BCAbd3mE-hPwBQ2YOHB5d9xUqhY9pKX6MRQPlvMdhFHdTctpXNfKGQQkkSQysCGI5rl6Nk7zEe7iRMD6KPgmeHwbI/s1702/The%20Surrogate%20RB%20Banner.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="630" data-original-width="1702" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHFJjibJH3MMHcwO3jYpbyayn3s1N7G-zrHGAO3IRzBaxfMRihw6OUN01Rc40UOcZVRaUvKL7eG4SODB7DuQbJGyl6Jy4hoP0FH31BCAbd3mE-hPwBQ2YOHB5d9xUqhY9pKX6MRQPlvMdhFHdTctpXNfKGQQkkSQysCGI5rl6Nk7zEe7iRMD6KPgmeHwbI/w400-h148/The%20Surrogate%20RB%20Banner.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpvM0_XlQn5ki2m2HRAN86ToboXVPfmJ5RTaz5GedhObjRk5HLWeX7C1_4eUZCMfvHtJJxcD_FxsLU9AljlGEFGbKg_L45y4nPxbNSPWZihbPjw26d3ToSdZzQqIM-y8rsBpAEvSxN4o17IL12Iqj-seZKstRoXQWENIdUEgShXlVn8zrve5P3-9uOzdfM/s2000/The%20Surrogate%20eBook%20Cover.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="1243" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpvM0_XlQn5ki2m2HRAN86ToboXVPfmJ5RTaz5GedhObjRk5HLWeX7C1_4eUZCMfvHtJJxcD_FxsLU9AljlGEFGbKg_L45y4nPxbNSPWZihbPjw26d3ToSdZzQqIM-y8rsBpAEvSxN4o17IL12Iqj-seZKstRoXQWENIdUEgShXlVn8zrve5P3-9uOzdfM/w398-h640/The%20Surrogate%20eBook%20Cover.jpg" width="398" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Title: The Surrogate</span></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Author: Penelope Ward</span></span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Genre: Standalone Contemporary Romance</span></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Tropes: Age Gap/Widower/Found Family</span></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Forbidden/Enemies to Friends to Lovers</span></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Release Date: February 26, 2024</span></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: x-small;"></span><div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><b style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">From <i>New York Times</i> bestselling author Penelope Ward comes a new, STANDALONE novel…</span></b></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><b><div style="text-align: justify;"><b><i>ABBY:</i></b></div></b><div style="text-align: justify;">I’m falling for the father of the baby I’m carrying.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The problem is: it’s not <i>my</i> baby.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">And the broody widower is not looking for a long-term partner.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">As a surrogate, the deal was that I’d only be in England long enough to give birth.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">At first, the man seemed as pretentious as his name: <i>Sigmund Benedictus</i>.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">He and I butted heads.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Sig challenged my intentions, accused me of just wanting to do this for the money.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Gradually, he learned to trust me.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">He even became protective.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Over time, our heated animosity turned into fiery chemistry.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I was falling in love with him.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">But my time here had a limit.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I needed to protect my heart from the devastatingly gorgeous older man who’d end up breaking it.</div><i><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><b>SIG:</b></i></div></i><div style="text-align: justify;">When my in-laws told me they wanted to use my dead wife’s eggs to conceive a grandchild, I wasn’t immediately on board.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">They swore that on her deathbed Britney told them it was what she wanted—but only if I fathered the baby. Her parents insisted they would be the ones to raise it.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Against my better judgment, I agreed.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I vowed to keep my heart out of it, though.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I’d continue to pretend it wasn’t happening and live the empty, single life I’d become accustomed to the past five years since Britney died.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">And despite the fact that a certain younger American named Abby Knickerbocker had awakened things inside me that I thought were long dead…</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I most certainly <i>wouldn’t</i> fall in love with the surrogate.</div></span><div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/205967168-the-surrogate" target="_blank"><span><b><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: #efd68a; font-family: arial;">ADD TO GOODREADS</span></span></b></span></a></div>
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text-align: center;"><b style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: 32px;"><span style="color: #efd68a;">WHAT YOU CAN EXPECT</span></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: center;"><b>AGE GAP</b></div><b><div style="text-align: center;"><b>WIDOWER</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>BRITISH HERO</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>FOUND FAMILY</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>SLOW BURN</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>FORBIDDEN</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>ENEMIES-TO-FRIENDS-TO-LOVERS</b></div></b></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpx2DqAbC_HXaJLU_3GKf5UsyDwbN7TF4eWj-stb6rX5XJs7P0Qa-0lFINaoP1MClwqz88FroFaKALqW4ic4vqdkdbU1aDcYVpuG5OmmENkx8GpMZbMfVAdhZ0lJ0pt4ezZrMrMZLtR7EAvJ9Hek2qJxXwp854Wgk8cJxn9sIk8-6PlV6S4JncILWrJISW/s1200/The%20Surrogate%20Teaser%201.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="628" data-original-width="1200" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpx2DqAbC_HXaJLU_3GKf5UsyDwbN7TF4eWj-stb6rX5XJs7P0Qa-0lFINaoP1MClwqz88FroFaKALqW4ic4vqdkdbU1aDcYVpuG5OmmENkx8GpMZbMfVAdhZ0lJ0pt4ezZrMrMZLtR7EAvJ9Hek2qJxXwp854Wgk8cJxn9sIk8-6PlV6S4JncILWrJISW/w400-h209/The%20Surrogate%20Teaser%201.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9XVwwDfHju8/X-dqBfiIOoI/AAAAAAABdow/SfEqa4peL1Er5Gqe6MwqrsSsBuCJlTZHwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1187/Penelope%2BWard.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1187" data-original-width="780" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9XVwwDfHju8/X-dqBfiIOoI/AAAAAAABdow/SfEqa4peL1Er5Gqe6MwqrsSsBuCJlTZHwCLcBGAsYHQ/w210-h320/Penelope%2BWard.jpg" width="210" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">Penelope Ward is a New York Times, USA Today and #1 Wall Street Journal bestselling author of contemporary romance.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">She grew up in Boston with five older brothers and spent most of her twenties as a television news anchor. Penelope resides in Rhode Island with her husband, son, and beautiful daughter with autism.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">With over two million books sold, she is a 21-time New York Times bestseller and the author of over forty books. Her novels have been translated into over a dozen languages and can be found in bookstores around the world.</div></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: 32px;"><span style="color: #efd68a;">OTHER BOOKS BY PENELOPE WARD</span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgFdajEbVDdRzSUQrBiq-FQj7BJPbNQf6hfIHKFc61EJmXaFM3Q4PPVu3gLkzHe-L0MeFl2UXGto94_vOegflE9IcPGMidTRf_i2WweEIM-4ETskBCtZWXp8Mi3_PTZ0h0l7dS5QBDXEvTYkB8bb4G-3-JtaNdmretFhHusT8XbXZbe5igcl5ip9bdhdYH/s2000/The%20Aristocrat%20eBook%20Cover.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="1243" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgFdajEbVDdRzSUQrBiq-FQj7BJPbNQf6hfIHKFc61EJmXaFM3Q4PPVu3gLkzHe-L0MeFl2UXGto94_vOegflE9IcPGMidTRf_i2WweEIM-4ETskBCtZWXp8Mi3_PTZ0h0l7dS5QBDXEvTYkB8bb4G-3-JtaNdmretFhHusT8XbXZbe5igcl5ip9bdhdYH/w249-h400/The%20Aristocrat%20eBook%20Cover.jpg" width="249" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b style="font-family: arial;">AMAZON <a href="https://amzn.to/3yoPp65">US</a> / <a href="https://amzn.to/3js1bYR">UK</a> / <a href="https://amzn.to/3kIPGMq">CA</a> / <a href="https://amzn.to/3mPEkZt">AU</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://bit.ly/3D3qKHK">B&N</a> / <a href="https://bit.ly/3AQ5hjs">KOBO</a> / <a href="https://apple.co/3iigYYL">APPLE BOOKS</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://bit.ly/2XB7QaN">GOOGLE PLAY</a> / <a href="https://adbl.co/3g9L7Jh">AUDIOBOOK</a></b></span></div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMkFqv1ss1EtwBGZ9DYPxxCEhB27DiPFOtzHPeJAx4k8leX68mJF72Eg9AgGAMdGKnPx-ZPHFhwholYlrET6arf3mUBR3NnLbOE-euFjoLcK0tolGk_QwyaYFAEm9uFIVQegzYAe5pIVi4jBJzzTT7hNFhnMt9V4a99rMDIytxC7sjJWKXQTmh5hg7Z6OS/s2000/I%20Could%20Never%20eBook%20Cover.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="1241" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMkFqv1ss1EtwBGZ9DYPxxCEhB27DiPFOtzHPeJAx4k8leX68mJF72Eg9AgGAMdGKnPx-ZPHFhwholYlrET6arf3mUBR3NnLbOE-euFjoLcK0tolGk_QwyaYFAEm9uFIVQegzYAe5pIVi4jBJzzTT7hNFhnMt9V4a99rMDIytxC7sjJWKXQTmh5hg7Z6OS/w249-h400/I%20Could%20Never%20eBook%20Cover.jpg" width="249" /></a></div><br /><div><div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b style="font-family: arial;">AMAZON <a href="https://amzn.to/3L4PqVU">US</a> / <a href="https://amzn.to/3PeTkxP">UK</a> / <a href="https://amzn.to/3PlAxkF">CA</a> / <a href="https://amzn.to/3PjfXBi">AU</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://bit.ly/3QCsiSb">B&N</a> / <a href="https://bit.ly/3s6FXqz">KOBO</a> / <a href="https://apple.co/46Fh2Kg">APPLE BOOKS</a></b></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://bit.ly/3OQoyLs">GOOGLE PLAY</a></b></span></div></div></div></div></div>Ogitchida Kwe's Book Bloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00102723974141437176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8661358495692374194.post-71555753897328168112024-02-20T08:30:00.000-05:002024-02-20T08:30:00.136-05:00Ward Willing <p> </p>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Title: Ward Willing</span></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Series: Ravaged Castle #3</span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Author: Amanda Richardson</span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Genre: Contemporary Romance</span></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><b>Tropes: Age Gap, Dad's Best Friend</b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><b>Student/Professor, Ward/Guardian</b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Release Date: February 20, 2024</span></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: 32px;"><span style="color: #e2b560;">BLURB</span></b></div><div><div><div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><b style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">She was the epitome of forbidden fruit.</span></b></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><b><i>And I wanted a taste.</i></b></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><b><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Liam</b></div></b><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">Being the oldest Ravage brother means I’ve always been the fixer, handling everyone else’s mess.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">But the one problem I can’t solve?</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Keeping my hands off my best friend’s daughter.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Hidden away in my remote cabin, writing is my escape until duty thrusts her into my life.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Over the years, Zoe evolves into a tempting taboo–the one person I crave but can never claim, despite what she tells me about her… inclinations.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I vowed protection at any cost–even if it’s from <i>myself.</i></div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><b><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Zoe</b></div></b><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div> <div style="text-align: justify;">Orphaned and thrust into adulthood, I bury myself in school work and keep my eyes trained on the prize.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Now, with law school and an uncertain future looming, I’m used to doing everything myself and pushing back against Liam’s stoic, overprotective resolve.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Until I learn that the vanilla, cinnamon roll of a man I’ve known my whole life isn't so vanilla after all.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Now, instead of infuriating me, his strict, commanding presence sends shivers down my spine.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I soon realize his resistance was never about denying desire for him–it was about fulfilling a <i>different </i>kind of hunger.</div> <div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><b><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Ward Willing is a full-length, age gap, billionaire romance with BDSM themes. It is book three in the Ravaged Castle series. All books can be read as standalones.</b></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Warning: This book contains an overprotective/possessive hero, explicit sexual situations, and strong language. There is a HEA.</b></div></b></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>
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Ogitchida Kwe's Book Bloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00102723974141437176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8661358495692374194.post-39558785746667390112024-02-19T16:25:00.001-05:002024-02-19T16:25:17.090-05:00Drawn To Murder Book Blitz <p> </p><div style="text-align: center; margin: 0 auto 15px;">
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<p><strong>Drawn to Murder</strong><br><strong>Sarah Vernon</strong><br>Publication date: January 31st 2024<br>Genres: Adult, Cozy Mystery</p><blockquote><p>Sam Green is a newly minted art school graduate, excited to attend her first artist residency. But the pretty, serene Vermont surroundings soon turn sinister.</p>
<p>After a few months spent looking for the right project, Sam has landed a dream opportunity: three blissful weeks of working at a beautiful artist residency program in remote northern Vermont. But almost as soon as the residency begins, strange things start happening. Eager to settle into her work and make new friends, Sam tries to ignore the vaguely sinister feelings trying to warn her that something is afoot. But when a body is discovered, Sam can’t ignore what’s going on any longer.</p>
<p>If she has any chance of getting out of here – alive – Sam will have to figure out who the killer is.</p>
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/205485751-drawn-to-murder" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> / <a href="https://amzn.to/491IgvE" target="_blank">Amazon</a></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">—</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>EXCERPT:</strong></p>
<p>“Sam, it’s your turn.”</p>
<p>I jolted out of my daydreaming, looking up at the dark-eyed, even darker-haired man across from me at the table. From the intensity of his expectant stare, you’d think we were plotting world domination, not playing a simple getting-to-know-you game. If you could call revealing unexpected or odd facts about yourself a game. Everyone was just trying to one up each other in achievements, fame or outright weirdness – because this was a group of artists, after all.</p>
<p>“Uh, sure. I’m Sam. Samantha, but everyone calls me Sam,” I said, stumbling over my words and sure that my cheeks were as bright red as they felt. Whatever I had been planning to say was instantly forgotten. Was there anyone who actually enjoyed these kinds of introductions?</p>
<p>“I’m here from Boston,” I continued. “I just graduated from school in the spring and I’m…taking a kind of gap year at the moment. I primarily work in ceramics and sculpture, especially miniatures.” I paused, willing anyone else to make a comment or ask a question, anything to save me from having to think of an interesting fact to share. What was there to say that was appropriate for this group? I grew up in New York? I have a cat named Paul? I once tripped over the body of a dead famous sculptor who’d been poisoned?</p>
<p>There were polite smiles around the table, which I returned, slightly nodding my head, signaling that I was done with my intro. I was saved from further humiliation-by-spotlight by the woman on my right, who moved her wheelchair closer to the table so everyone could see her.</p>
<p>“I’m Tony. Tonya, but everyone calls me Tony,” she said, throwing a small smile my way. “I’m here from LA, where I make immersive installations that challenge viewers’ perceptions of their interactions with, and limitations within, the physical world.” Tony waited a beat, tilting her chin as if daring any of us to ask the obvious question. There were more polite smiles, although I noticed about half of our group were studiously avoiding eye contact.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, only Eliot took the bait. “What inspired you towards that kind of work?” he asked with a kind of forced obliviousness. I didn’t think any of us needed more of an introduction to Eliot: over the course of the previous twenty-four hours since we’d gotten to the Winterbrook Artist Residency, he’d made himself known as the type of pompous, arrogant artist that gives the rest of us a bad name.</p>
<p>“Well, Eliot,” Tony said, returning his tone. “I’ve used a wheelchair since I was a kid, after a spinal injury. So after all these years experiencing a very different side of the physical world, I thought I’d give other people the chance to have a similar view.” The pair politely smiled at each other (although, one did have to admit – and admire – that Tony’s smile had more than a hint of crocodile to it) while the rest of us avoided engaging. “But if you’ll forgive me, I think I’ll actually head up to bed now,” Tony said, wheeling away from the table. “It was great to meet all</p>
<p>of you!” she called cheerily as she turned towards the door, her wheelchair making an unmistakable bumping motion over Eliot’s foot as she left. I couldn’t help but grin.<br />
<br class="blank" /></p>
<img src="https://www.xpressobooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/sites/3/2024/02/Sarah.jpeg" alt="" style="float: left; margin: 0 15px 15px 0; display: inline-block;">
<blockquote style="margin-top: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px;">
<p>Author Bio:</p>
<p>Sarah Vernon is an author and artist based in Massachusetts, where she writes the Triple-Decker Mystery Series.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://vernonmysteries.com/" target="_blank">Website</a> / <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3268031.Sarah_Vernon" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> / <a href="https://www.instagram.com/vernonmysteries/" target="_blank">Instagram</a></p>
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<p style="text-align: center;">Ogitchida Kwe's Book Bloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00102723974141437176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8661358495692374194.post-59775639692551542792024-02-19T16:24:00.002-05:002024-02-19T16:24:24.716-05:00Art of The Chase Book Blitz <p> </p><div style="text-align: center; margin: 0 auto 15px;">
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<p><strong>Art of the Chase</strong><br><strong>Jennifer Giacalone</strong><br>Publication date: October 9th 2023<br>Genres: Adult, LGBTQ+, Mystery, Romance</p><blockquote><p><strong>When a notorious art thief surfaces, warring detective exes reunite for the hunt. A second-chance lesbian romantic suspense that fuses the fine line between love and hate.</strong></p>
<p>Six years ago, the “Fabulous Gustave” slipped the grasp of Agent Fleur van Beekhof, making off with a priceless artwork…and Fleur’s beautifully ordered life. Suddenly the cool, pragmatic Europol detective lost her detective partner and wife, her rising career, and her control, thanks to the addictive lure of cards.</p>
<p>When a new Italian art theft bears all the markings of Gustave’s taunting style, Fleur is put back in the field, because no one knows him better. She jumps at the chance to correct the mistake that ruined her life. The hitch? She has to work with her fiery ex-wife.</p>
<p>Where Fleur is by the book, Renata skirts the rules, leaps into danger, and looks frustratingly hot while doing it.</p>
<p>As Fleur and Renata chase flamboyant Gustave around Europe, will their case push them back into each other’s arms, or shatter what’s left of Fleur’s heart?</p>
</blockquote>
<p style="font-size: 130%; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/195082241-art-of-the-chase" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> / <a href="https://amzn.to/3usTGJz" target="_blank">Amazon</a> / <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/art-of-the-chase-jennifer-giacalone/1144236654" target="_blank">Barnes & Noble</a> / <a href="https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/art-of-the-chase" target="_blank">Kobo</a></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">—</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>EXCERPT:</strong></p>
<p>“It really is odd that Gustave went for this painting, isn’t it?” Fleur said.</p>
<p>She closed her laptop and stretched her long frame out on the bed, allowing herself to relax into nostalgia despite herself.</p>
<p>“It did occur to me.” The sound of a lighter flicking and Renata taking a drag off a cigarette followed. “It seems like something he’d take if he specifically wanted us to chase him, you know? It’s easy enough to find out that I have a particular relationship with Artemisia’s work.”</p>
<p>“You’re saying it feels personal?”</p>
<p>“I guess I am, yes. But didn’t it always with him?”</p>
<p>Fleur and Renata had spent nearly a year chasing him all over Europe. Four thefts in that time, and each time the games grew more byzantine, more public. He had found in Fleur and Renata some sort of favorite adversaries and would often leave taunts aimed squarely at them.</p>
<p>“I suppose it did. Like the typewritten note he sent after the Cezanne in Amersfoort?”</p>
<p>“He complimented my jacket.” Renata sounded newly annoyed by it.</p>
<p>“The cashmere Prada? It was beautiful.”</p>
<p>“Of course it was, because I don’t wear shit. But it was very creepy, you know?”</p>
<p>“Don’t worry. When we do catch him, I’ll rough him up a bit for you.”</p>
<p>Renata chuckled again. “You would deny me the pleasure of doing it myself?”</p>
<p>Fleur was still feeling a little loose from the wine. “Oh, forgive me. I would never want to deny you pleasure.” It slipped out sounding suggestive, and she hadn’t intended it to, but a stubborn little voice in her said <em>Don’t you</em> <em>dare apologize.</em></p>
<p><br class="blank" /></p>
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<blockquote style="margin-top: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px;">
<p>Author Bio:</p>
<p>Jen Giacalone is a former rock star, a graphic artist, a parent, a baker, amateur plumber and a timelord. She toured much of the east coast of the U.S. as a musician in her 20s, spent her 30s in corporate boardrooms of fortune 500 companies as a graphic artist, and in her 40s, became a published author. </p>
<p>She's the author of the novel "Loud Pipes Save Lives," published by Carnation Books, about a damaged detective pursuing a gang of vigilante lady bikers, and the current romantic suspense, "Art of the Chase," a tale of a divorced detective couple thrown back together to pursue a notorious art thief who has come out of retirement. She writes whenever she can and when she can't, she's thinking about writing: novels, screenplays, poetry with clever heroines, ill-advised romance, arts, and usually some weaponry.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.jenstalltales.com/" target="_blank">Website</a> / <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/19707411.Jennifer_Giacalone" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> / <a href="https://www.facebook.com/giacaloneart" target="_blank">Facebook</a> / <a href="https://www.instagram.com/jengiacalone/" target="_blank">Instagram</a> / <a href="https://twitter.com/jen_giacalone" target="_blank">Twitter</a></p>
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<p style="text-align: center;">Ogitchida Kwe's Book Bloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00102723974141437176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8661358495692374194.post-32511811567804765442024-02-19T16:23:00.002-05:002024-02-19T16:23:27.127-05:00Sip of Pleasure Book Blitz <p> </p><div style="text-align: center; margin: 0 auto 15px;">
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<p><strong>Sip of Pleasure Anthology</strong><br>Publication date: February 9th 2024<br>Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance</p><blockquote><p><strong>Nothing brings more satisfaction than a Sip of Pleasure.</strong></p>
<p>Satisfy your desire for pleasure with a dozen BRAND NEW smoking hot power exchange stories from the romance authors you love.</p>
<p>Featuring stories from:<br />
Sara Fields<br />
Laylah Roberts<br />
Kate Oliver<br />
Ines Johnson<br />
Livia Grant<br />
Tara Crescent<br />
Sue Lyndon<br />
Stella Moore<br />
Allie Belle<br />
Publisher’s Note: The Sip of Pleasure Anthology contains brand new material never published before. It is the perfect chance to revisit series you already love and also find new authors you will enjoy reading.</p>
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<p style="font-size: 130%; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/198851041-sip-of-pleasure" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> / <a href="https://amzn.to/4bqIiPa" target="_blank">Amazon</a> / <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/sip-of-pleasure-livia-grant/1144249770" target="_blank">Barnes & Noble</a> / <a href="https://books.apple.com/us/book/sip-of-pleasure/id6470036763" target="_blank">iBooks</a> / <a href="https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/sip-of-pleasure" target="_blank">Kobo</a></p>
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<p style="text-align: center;">Ogitchida Kwe's Book Bloghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00102723974141437176noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8661358495692374194.post-14904645948075047752024-02-19T16:22:00.002-05:002024-02-19T16:22:31.010-05:00A Not So Bollywood Meet Cute Book Blitz <p> </p><div style="text-align: center; margin: 0 auto 15px;">
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<p><strong>A Not So Bollywood Meet Cute</strong><br><strong>Miya Malai</strong><br>Publication date: January 6th 2024<br>Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance</p><blockquote><p>Katrina Shah just wants out of the fame game, away from her high-profile family’s drama. But dodging the spotlight? Tough luck. Especially when she collides with Hollywood’s golden boy, Evan Kristof. Her heart doesn’t seem to have received the memo to steer clear of him.</p>
<p>Evan’s used to the spotlight, the parties, the glitz. Yet, he’s craving a break, some peace. Then he meets Katrina, and suddenly, tranquility’s the last thing on his mind.</p>
<p>As they both try to escape their pasts, sparks fly between the girl who wants anonymity and the movie star. But can they navigate crazy families, an over-the-top wedding, and their undeniable chemistry without getting burned? Their fling might just turn into something much bigger than they bargained for.</p>
</blockquote>
<p style="font-size: 130%; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/204960960-a-not-so-bollywood-meet-cute" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> / <a href="https://amzn.to/3UCJNUC" target="_blank">Amazon</a></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">—</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>EXCERPT:</strong></p>
<p>And now Evan is standing there, his soft gaze burning me, as he takes in everything, my jewelry, my low-cut top, my pierced belly button. He steps closer and I turn around, ready to run again. I hear a small gasp escape from him, as he sees the back of my dress, or lack of.</p>
<p>And as I take a step forward, a smug smile on my face, I feel a tug on my dupatta. I turn around and he is gripping it with a playful smile. Right now, at this very moment, I feel like it’s just me and him alone in this hall of hundreds of people. I bite my lower lip, begin playing with my necklace, and slide my hand to my cleavage slightly.</p>
<p>When he’s completely distracted, staring at my boobs with his mouth slightly open, I pull my dupatta out of his now-loosened grip. As I’m walking at a fast pace, I glance around at the crowd and everyone is so busy enjoying the night, no one notices us.</p>
<p>That gives me the confidence to go behind a column, into a secluded corner, where the curtains separate us from the other guests. He’s following close behind. And I’m leaning against the wall.</p>
<p>He ducks into the little corner, his hand goes on my bare waist, the other bracing the wall by my head. He kisses my neck, and I close my eyes as my stomach flutters—I feel myself already wet. He’s licking me right below my earring, kissing and biting my neck.</p>
<p>And just as I’m contemplating whether to ruin my lipstick and kiss him, the DJ stops the music and makes an announcement.</p>
<p>“Everyone please take your seats,” he says through the speakers. “The bride and groom are about to enter.” Evan pulls his head back and raises an eyebrow.<br />
“I’ll go first,” I whisper. I make to leave, but he grabs my wrist.</p>
<p>“You look beautiful tonight,” he says, looking into my eyes. “And I thought I’d never fall for a white man in Indian clothes,” I say back . . . I bite my lip and put a hand over his heart. “It’s sexy.”</p>
<p>And cue 3:06 of “Yeh Ladka Hai Allah,” because that’s exactly how he’s looking at me right now. And I’m about to maul him right here and now, but my family is probably waiting for me for Amir and Bianca’s entrance. My eyes linger on him, with a regretful look, and then I sneak out of our little corner.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.xpressobooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/sites/3/2024/02/8CE5C759-EEB7-4E69-8351-92CC3A4EB4F1.jpg"><img src="https://www.xpressobooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/sites/3/2024/02/8CE5C759-EEB7-4E69-8351-92CC3A4EB4F1.jpg" alt="" style="max-width: 100%; height: auto;" /></a></p>
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<blockquote style="margin-top: 15px; margin-bottom: 15px;">
<p>Author Bio:</p>
<p>Miya Malai was a second-generation confused brown girl with conservative parents, who would have looked at Bridgerton with horror. But little did they know she would sneak Julia Quinn books from the library when she was in high school. She grew up with DDLJ playing at least once a week in her Dadi's bedroom. And she longed for her favorite Bollywood heroine's character to be in a book. After years of scouring through smutty romance novels, she thought she'd combine her two favorites on her own. </p>
<p>Miya wants to empower the voice of brown girls struggling with stigmas in the South Asian community, while also appreciating the culture. </p>
<p>When Miya isn't writing, she's drinking chai or spending time with her husband and three young children on Long Island, NY.</p>
<p>You can find her online as Miya Malai on Twitter, TikTok, and Instagram.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.instagram.com/miyamalai" target="_blank">Instagram</a> / <a href="https://twitter.com/miyamalai" target="_blank">Twitter</a> / <a href="https://www.tiktok.com/@miyamalai" target="_blank">TikTok</a></p>
</blockquote>
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