Freitag, 24. Juni 2016

Excerpt Reveal for "Filthy English" by Ilsa Madden-Mills



Chapter 1

Remi

Plain and simple, this night sucked.
Sadly, it was my honeymoon.
I sighed heavily and gazed around Masquerade, an intimately lit London nightclub where everyone wore black domino masks, some elaborate and some plain, to hide their identity. A few die-hards even sported dark clothing with long, loose cloaks. Not me though. I’d gone modern with a slinky little number and three-inch heels, putting my height at nearly six feet. Yep, I’m the giant in the blue dress, towering over every girl and some guys at the bar.
My top teeth dug into my bottom lip as I gazed around the smoky club, my eyes bouncing off random faces. Even in a room full of party people, music, and strobe lights, I was lonely.
My groom was missing.
That’s right. Hartford Wilcox, Jr., aka Mr. Nice Guy at Whitman University in North Carolina, had jilted me two weeks before the big wedding day as we had dinner at our favorite Italian restaurant, Mario’s.
And now here I was—on my honeymoon and getting trashed with my best friend Lulu who’d decided to skip her beach vacation and come with me at the last minute.
She poked me with her finger as we sat in front of the heavy wooden bar of the club. “Hey, Earth to Remi, get that glazed look out of your eyes and order a drink already. I’m thirsty.” She fluffed her pixie-cut pink hair and straightened her black tutu, eyes scoping out the club. “Dang, the men in here are hotter than a billy goat with a blow torch,” she said in her honeyed southern drawl.
I half-heartedly agreed, not really caring, more intent on scanning the bottles behind the bar. “I want tequila,” I murmured. “A whole bottle.”
Her face snapped back to me and her green eyes widened. “Uh-uh. No way. I know what happens when you drink that crap. You either eat a ton of tacos and puke, or you wrap yourself around some cocky bastard with a well-developed tush.”
True. I did love a tight muscular ass.
But I wouldn’t get one tonight.
A short laugh burst out of me, one of those I’m-miserable-but-pretending-to- be-okay-laughs that I’d been doing a lot of lately. For the past two weeks, I’d vacillated between a sobbing mess and an angry woman who became so incensed that “fuck” was the only word that seemed appropriate in any given situation. Going to the post office to mail he dumped me, but thank you anyway cards. Fuck. Going to the wedding venue and not getting the ten thousand dollar deposit back. Fuck. Realizing I was homeless fall semester—which was in two weeks—fuck. Listening to my mother tell me it was my fault. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
The bartender delivered my bottle and poured me a shot. I sucked the tequila down while Lulu watched me warily. It tasted like bad decisions and gasoline, but tonight was about forgetting. The sooner the better.
A few minutes later, Lulu went out to dance with a British guy she’d been making eyes at. I sat glumly at the bar, fiddling with my diamond tennis bracelet, rubbing it like rosary beads. I needed to forget Hartford, and according to Lulu, that meant hooking up with someone.
Was she right?
Fate answered in the form of a beautiful man—and by beautiful I mean drop-dead sexy with a backside so delectable and muscular my mouth plopped open.
I snapped my lips shut and adjusted my velvet half-mask—the annoying feathery plumes on the sides kept sticking to my red lipstick—and turned ever so slightly to check him out, not wanting to appear obvious. He slid into the seat next to me, tall and broad with rippling shoulders and a massive frame. 
I checked my appearance in a mirror behind the bar, mentally analyzing the odds of a girl like me snagging a hottie like him.
Although no one had ever called me beautiful, I did have two—okay, maybe three—things going for me in the looks department. My shiny, golden-brown hair that hung down in waves to my shoulders, my fluffy “pillow lips” as Lulu described them, and lastly, I had an itsy bitsy space between my two front teeth which were otherwise white and perfect. Lulu claimed the gap lent me an exotic look, like Madonna or Sookie Stackhouse. Whatever. I was a True Blood fan. I went with it.
He shifted on the stool, leaning closer to me. His cologne swirled in the air, the smell of expensive Scotch and musk mingling together to create a heady, slightly dangerous scent. I paused, goosebumps rising on my bare arms. The spicy whiff triggered a distant memory just out of reach.
As slyly as I could, I studied his profile from top to bottom. Like me he wore a black mask, although his was more masculine, not hiding his chiseled, movie star jawline. His lips were carnal and luscious, the bottom more plump than the top with a slight indentation in the middle. As I watched, his tongue swept out and caressed it, his top teeth biting it as if he were deep in thought. He raked a hand through his dark, longish messy hair, held it suspended above his head for a few seconds and then released it, letting it swish back into its tousled yet perfect place.
I tore my eyes away.
Something about him sent loud warning bells ringing in every atom of my body.
Danger, danger. Don’t touch that.
But my gaze would not be denied as I took in the tight black shirt and sculpted chest that was obviously used to the inside of a gym, right down to an arm that looked like it could snap a board in half—or me.
Nice biceps, Mr. Beautiful.
The pièce de résistance was the vivid blue and orange dragonfly tattoo displayed on his left arm. It was larger than my hand and took up most of his bicep. My eyes traced the contours of the design from the papery wings to the multi-faceted eyes. A bold black color outlined the insect, giving it a masculine feel.
Gorgeous.
True Religion jeans stretched down long legs and ended in a pair of black Converse without socks, giving him a boyish quality that was in direct contrast to the crazy-sexy-bad-boy vibe he had going on.
Him tonight?
Maybe. He was the polar opposite of Hartford who was blond, lean, and tattoo-free.
I nibbled on my fingernail. How do I get him to notice little ol' me?
Just then a redhead with fluffy Farrah Fawcett hair strode up to his stool, bold as brass, wearing a tight, white mini-skirt that barely covered her booty. She brought with her the smell of sweet, cloying perfume, the kind I always got spritzed with at the mall.
She flicked her hair over her shoulder, casually rubbed her finger down his arm and struck up a conversation. Her fake, black lashes—which she’d somehow managed to get outside the eyeholes of her mask—batted. She puffed out her well-developed chest.
He smiled back at her with a wicked grin, his relaxed body language telling me he was confident when it came to women. She whispered in his ear, boobs right in his face, but whatever he said back wasn’t what she wanted to hear because a few ticks later, she crossed her arms, glared at me, and stalked away.
I blinked. What had I done?
Then he turned and pointed his devastating smile at me.
Shit, he’d made eye contact—as much as you could with a claustrophobic mask on.
But wait…
Was he crazy?
Because if he’d turned down her flirtation, I didn’t have a shot.
I didn’t know how to do the fingers-tip-toeing-up-his-arm-thing and sexy hair flicking. I didn’t know a thing about applying fake eyelashes. I didn’t know how to make my breasts sit up that high. I looked away from him and took another shot, feeling anxious and strangely off-kilter.
Mr. Beautiful ordered a drink from the bartender, his British accent smooth as silk as it washed over me. I froze. I almost knew that voice—deep with soft rounded vowels that made you tingle in your lady parts.
What was it about this guy that had me all jacked up and hot for him?
Hello, tequila, my inner voice said. But it was more than that.
Getting brave, I pivoted on my barstool, and found Mr. Beautiful’s eyes on me once more, searching my face. As if he too recognized the pull between us.
My heart played hopscotch, jumping against my chest. My skin prickled. I shivered.
Did I know him?
It clicked.
Dax Blay?
It was his voice, the same deep quality, the kind of voice that made you want to hop into his bed and ride him like a cowgirl.
My breath hitched, and I swallowed down the emotion that zipped up my spine whenever I thought of him. He was my one mistake, the time I’d tossed inhibitions and carefully laid plans aside and went with my instincts, only to have them tossed back in my face.
But the man next to me wasn’t Dax. Thank God.
Last spring at the campus-wide end of the year fraternity party with Hartford, I’d seen Dax, and he’d had shorter hair, like always, and zero tattoos. Yeah. No way.
Plus, last I heard, he was in Raleigh where his father lived.
Yet…
Dax was British. He could have family here. Maybe he got a tattoo?
Nah. I mean, what were the odds of us both being at the same club on the same night in a country where neither of us lived?
I tore my eyes off Mr. Beautiful and waved at a bartender for more limes, but somehow my tennis bracelet snagged on the bodice of my dress, leaving my wrist dangling like a wet dishrag in a most inappropriate place.
I wiggled my arm.
Jiggled it.
Even went so far as to jerk, but it wouldn’t separate.
Sweat popped out on my forehead. Holding my breath, I twisted and tugged the bracelet, forcing the delicate material in my bodice to stretch beyond normal limits.
“Well, hell,” I breathed, pausing to assess.
Skin-tight with a plunging neckline, the dress was mostly a stretchy fabric held together by sequined straps and a zipper on the side. Slated as part of my honeymoon wardrobe, it was a Tory Burch and had cost four hundred dollars, the most I’d ever paid for a fun outfit, and no way did I want to damage it. I might have to return it to rent an apartment at Whitman.
Lulu. I needed Lulu. She was a whiz with wardrobe malfunctions.
I spun around on the barstool and used my free hand to wave at her, but she was slinging herself around dancing, having a great time and completely oblivious. I resorted to flapping both hands at her, one high and one low. Several people waved back with baffled expressions, but Lulu didn’t notice. Dammit.
I groaned and slumped down in my seat, ready to scream. Now what? Go to the bathroom and repair it there? Good plan.
But the club tilted when I stood, the strobe lights making me squint as they flashed in my face. I wobbled in my leopard print heels—that Lulu had insisted I wear—and grabbed the stool to keep my balance. `
I sucked in a breath to gather myself, but I couldn’t think straight. The room spun, and I was suddenly queasy, and why did I slam all that tequila, and oh my god, my wrist is currently attached to my tit like a T. rex arm.
I had to get out of here before someone noticed what an idiot I was.
Trying to be stealth like, I reached across the bar to get my beaded clutch, but because it was my left hand and not my right that I used most of the time, I got off balance and stumbled—and my ankle folded in on itself. I yelped as my shoe catapulted off my foot and vaulted off toward the dance floor, while I fell forward, straight into Mr. Beautiful’s lap.

Filthy English (unedited excerpt)
Copyright Ilsa Madden-Mills

The British are HERE!  
Are you ready for Filthy English? 
Add to your TBR for a July 11th release here: http://bit.ly/28MpTlk


Blurb


A smokin’ hot British player…
A jilted girl…
One night of mistaken identity…

Two weeks before her wedding, Remi Montague’s fiancé drops her faster than a drunken sorority girl in stilettos. Armed with her best friend and a bottle of tequila, she hops a plane to London to drown her sorrows before fall semester begins at Whitman University.

She didn't plan on attending a masquerade party.

She sure didn’t plan on waking up next to the British bad boy who broke her heart three years ago—the devastatingly handsome and naked Dax Blay. Furthermore, she has no clue how they acquired matching tattoos.

Once back at Whitman together, they endeavor to pretend they never had their night of unbridled passion in London. 

But that’s damn hard to do when you live in the same house…

One night. Two damaged hearts. The passion of a lifetime.

*A modern love story inspired by Romeo and Juliet*


About the Author

New York Times and USA Today best-selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills writes about strong heroines and sexy alpha males that sometimes you just want to slap.

She's addicted to all things fantasy, including unicorns and sword-wielding heroes in books. Other fascinations include frothy coffee beverages, dark chocolate, Instagram, Ian Somerhalder (seriously hot), astronomy (she's a Gemini), Sephora make-up, and tattoos. 

She has a degree in English and a Master's in Education.

When she's not pecking away on her computer, she shops for cool magnets, paints old furniture, and eats her weight in sushi.


SOCIAL MEDIA LINKS:

You can stalk her on her website as well as get signed books: http://www.ilsamaddenmills.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authorilsamaddenmills?pnref=lhc

IG: https://instagram.com/ilsamaddenmills/

Twitter: @ilsamaddenmills


Ilsa Madden-Mills’ other books:

VERY BAD THINGS
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1RH9CJY
iBooks: http://apple.co/1gl5Yaj
BN: http://bit.ly/1bOyH2g
Kobo: http://bit.ly/1D0BVw5 

VERY WICKED BEGINNINGS
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1K5NvX8 

VERY WICKED THINGS
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1NvRIr5
iBooks: http://apple.co/1mVS3Wo
BN: http://bit.ly/1mT1cDB
Kobo: http://bit.ly/1C9EZt3

VERY TWISTED THINGS
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1cvvkkh
iBooks: http://apple.co/1eN7Clh
BN: http://bit.ly/1KK0ljh
Kobo: http://bit.ly/1BHcK4R


THANK YOU!

Donnerstag, 16. Juni 2016

Rezension: "Maresi - Das Lied der Insel" von Maria Turtschaninoff



Verlag: Heyne
Paperback, Klappenbroschur
Seiten: 240
ISBN: 978-3-453-31699-7
Erschienen: 09.05.2016
----------------------------------------------

Inhaltsangabe (Heyne Verlag):
In einer Welt, in der Mädchen keine Rechte haben, erscheint eine Insel, auf der nur Frauen leben und dort die Mythen der Göttin studieren, wie ein Märchen. Für die junge Maresi ist dieser Traum Wirklichkeit geworden: Sie ist bereits seit vier Jahren als Novizin auf der Insel und damit in Sicherheit. Bis eines Tages Jai – helles, wildes Haar, vor Schmutz starrende Kleider und Narben auf dem Rücken – einem Boot entsteigt. Sie sucht Schutz vor schrecklicher Gefahr und unvorstellbarer Grausamkeit. Doch als Jais Verfolger in der Roten Abtei auftauchen, muss Maresi über sich selbst hinauswachsen, um sich, Jai und ihr Zuhause zu retten ...

Meine Einschätzung: 
Als ich die Pressemitteilung zu "Maresi - Das Lied der Insel" von Maria Turtaschninoff erhielt fand ich das Cover sehr ansprechend (mysteriös) und der Klappentext klang interessant und vielversprechend. So zögerte ich auch nicht lange und habe mir direkt ein Rezensionsexemplar (DANKE hierfür) angefordert. 
Kaum hielt ich es in meinen Händen konnte ich es kaum erwarten das Buch zu lesen.

Und nun, tja was soll ich sagen? Als ich das Buch keine drei Stunden später zuklappte war ich ziemlich enttäuscht, denn eigentlich hatte ich etwas gänzlich anderes erwartet ...

Der Schreibstil von MT war ganz angenehm zu lesen und doch konnte es mich nicht wirklich vom Hocker reißen. Es ließ sich ganz gut lesen und trotzdem wirkte alles ziemlich nüchtern, distanziert und unterkühlt - kurz: Maresi und ihre Geschichte konnte mich nicht berühren.

Die Handlung und die Idee hinter dem Buch klang vielversprechend und nichts desto trotz fand ich persönlich, dass man mehr hätte aus der Handlung herausholen können. Es gab einige Aspekte, die man sich sicherlich ausbauen hätte können, aber wer bin ich schon dies zu beurteilen.
Die Geschichte hatte Potential, doch in meinen Augen wurde es nicht genutzt und zu schnell abgehandelt. Oft fand ich es stellenweise auch ziemlich verwirrend ...
Es gab nur wenige Überraschungen und meiner Meinung nach plätschert die Handlung langsam und ohne nennenswerte Höhepunkte vor sich hin.

Die Charaktere waren nett, aber selbst nach dem ich das Buch beendet hatte wusste ich nicht WER Maresi ist oder Jai (die ich übrigens nicht mochte).

Das ganze Buch wirkte mehr wie ein trister, nüchterner Bericht, als ein Roman.

Mein Fazit: 
2 Sterne - Nicht ausgeschöpftes Potential, zu nüchtern und konnte mich schlussendlich einfach nicht überzeugen.

Mittwoch, 15. Juni 2016

Excerpt Reveal of "The Billionaire´s favorite Mistake" by Jessica Clare


Hallöchen ihr Lieben, 

momentan ist es eher ruhig auf dem Blog, was nicht zuletzt daran liegt, dass ich meinen BlogGroove wieder finden möchte - was das angeht habe ich gute Nachrichten: Ich bin auf dem besten Weg!! 

Doch der Blog soll nicht gänzlich zum erliegen kommen, weshalb ich gelegentlich an Blogtouren amerikanischer Autoren teilnehme. 

Heute habe ich einen Excerpt Reveal (Sprich, ich darf euch einen größeren Ausschnitt aus dem Buch vorstellen, der euch Lust darauf machen soll das komplette Buch zu lesen. Ich habe es bereits letztes Wochenende gelesen und regelrecht verschlungen, dazu wird es aber mehr in meiner Rezension in einiger Zeit geben. 

Nun will ich euch gar nicht länger auf die Folter spannen und präsentiere euch endlich den Auszug auf "The Billionaire´s Favorite Mistake" von Jessica Clare. 




Excerpt

Greer smiled and approached, keeping her hands at her side so she didn’t hide the fantastic low cleavage of her dress. If she knew anything about men, it was that they could be diverted from anything with a nice pair of boobs.
As if determined to prove her theory right, Asher paused mid-conversation and stepped to the side, directly in her path. “Greer?”
“Hi, Asher.” Her voice was breathless with excitement. He was here. He was here and he was noticing her. In fact, she was pretty sure he was staring at her, hard.
“You look . . . different.” His voice was low, sexy.
Yes! He was noticing! Oh crap, what should she say to pull him away from the others? He had a mask slung in one hand and a drink in the other. “What’s your costume?”
“Pimp daddy,” one guy said, and the men around him guffawed.
Asher turned away from Greer and slugged a guy in the shoulder. “Fuck off, guys. This is Greer. She’s like a little sister to me.”
Her nostrils flared with irritation. Little sister? Really? Did he not see her tits hanging out of this fucking skimpy dress? But then the men started laughing and talking over each other all at once, and she nearly screamed with frustration. She needed to get him away from the group of ex–frat boys if she was ever going to get a word in edgewise. Time to use her nonexistent wiles.
When Asher turned back to a guy telling a story, she moved forward and leaned in, pushing her breasts against Asher’s arm. That got his attention. He looked down at her, and she was short, which meant he had a fantastic view of her cleavage. She was pleased when his gaze stuck there, and he downed the rest of his drink, ignoring his chatty friend.
“Can we go someplace private and catch up, Asher?” Sure, they had lunch last week, but maybe there’d be some catching up to do between now and then, right?
He nodded, transfixed by her cleavage, and handed his empty glass to a passing server, grabbing a fresh one. “You lead the way.”
Perfect.


  

A hot one night stand between friends might spark true love in The Billionaire’s Favorite Mistake by Jessica Clare!

Pre-order your copy for a June 21st release!

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/260YeQ5
iBooks: http://apple.co/1UOkyr6
Nook:  http://bit.ly/1S4rPyp 
Kobo: http://bit.ly/1UirAnR


Blurb

A hot one night stand between friends might spark true love in the latest Billionaires and Bridesmaids novel from the New York Times bestselling author of Billionaire Takes a Bride.

Greer has always been there for Asher, but she wishes she could break through her shyness and show how much she truly loves him. But after a steamy, mindless fling at Hunter and Gretchen’s engagement party, Greer finds herself tossed aside and forced to admit that you can’t love someone who doesn’t acknowledge you exist.

It’s a shame he got her pregnant.

After his fiancée betrayed him and tanked his business in one fell swoop, Asher has spent his time trying to rebuild his wealth and forget the past. But he doesn’t understand why Greer blew him off after their night together—until he catches a glimpse of her belly.

Now Asher is willing to do whatever it takes to convince Greer she belongs with him. And he’s very skilled at the art of persuasion.



About the Author


Jessica Clare
This is a pen name for Jill Myles.
Jill Myles has been an incurable romantic since childhood. She reads all the 'naughty parts' of books first, looks for a dirty joke in just about everything, and thinks to this day that the Little House on the Prairie books should have been steamier.

After devouring hundreds of paperback romances, mythology books, and archaeological tomes, she decided to write a few books of her own - stories with a wild adventure, sharp banter, and lots of super-sexy situations. She prefers her heroes alpha and half-dressed, her heroines witty, and she loves nothing more than watching them overcome adversity to fall into bed together.

Website: http://jillmyles.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorJessicaClare?directed_target_id=0
Twitter: https://twitter.com/_JessicaClare
Goodreads: http://tinyurl.com/q4272wf




THANK YOU!

Freitag, 10. Juni 2016

Cover Reveal "Filthy English" by Ilsa Madden - Mills



Presents

COVER REVEAL:

Filthy English
By Ilsa Madden-Mills




Cover Reveal 


Filthy English by Ilsa Madden- Mills releases on July 11th!
Add to your TBR at: http://bit.ly/1t7pvC5


Author: Ilsa Madden-Mills
Cover: Luminos Graphic House
Model: Quinn Biddle
Photography: David Vance

*A Standalone Book*



Blurb

A smokin’ hot British player…
A jilted girl…
One night of mistaken identity…

Two weeks before her wedding, Remi Montague’s fiancé drops her faster than a drunken sorority girl in stilettos. Armed with her best friend and a bottle of tequila, she hops a plane to London to drown her sorrows before fall semester begins at Whitman University.

She didn't plan on attending a masquerade party.

She sure didn’t plan on waking up next to the British bad boy who broke her heart three years ago—the devastatingly handsome and naked Dax Blay. Furthermore, she has no clue how they acquired matching tattoos.

Once back at Whitman together, they endeavor to pretend they never had their night of unbridled passion in London. 

But that’s damn hard to do when you live in the same house…

One night. Two damaged hearts. The passion of a lifetime.

*A modern love story inspired by Romeo and Juliet*




About the Author

New York Times and USA Today best-selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills writes about strong heroines and sexy alpha males that sometimes you just want to slap.

She's addicted to all things fantasy, including unicorns and sword-wielding heroes in books. Other fascinations include frothy coffee beverages, dark chocolate, Instagram, Ian Somerhalder (seriously hot), astronomy (she's a Gemini), Sephora make-up, and tattoos. 

She has a degree in English and a Master's in Education.

When she's not pecking away on her computer, she shops for cool magnets, paints old furniture, and eats her weight in sushi.


A Wall Street Journal, NYT & USA Today Bestselling Author


DIRTY ENGLISH - #1 Amazon Bestseller
Amazon


VERY BAD THINGS - Briarcrest Academy Series #1 
Amazon 

VERY WICKED BEGINNINGS - Briarcrest Academy Series #1.5 
Amazon 

VERY WICKED THINGS - Briarcrest Academy Series #2
Amazon

VERY TWISTED THINGS - Briarcrest Academy Series #3
Amazon 


Website | Facebook | Twitter | Pinterest | Goodreads | Instagram





THANK YOU!

Donnerstag, 9. Juni 2016

Cover Reveal: "Anti - Stepbrother" by Tijan

Presents COVER REVEAL:


Anti-Stepbrother
By Tijan

I came to college with daydreams about being with my stepbrother, but what would happen if I fell in love with the anti-stepbrother instead? Anti-Stepbrother is releasing August 2016!
Pre-order the Anti-stepbrother on the following retailers:
Amazon Paperback: http://amzn.to/1WGmyFl
(September 12th delivery)

Blurb He told me to 'settle, girl.' He asked if 'something was wrong with me?' He said I was an ‘easy target.’ That was within minutes when I first met Caden Banks. I labeled him an *sshole, but he was more than that. Arrogant. Smug. Alpha. He was also to-die-for gorgeous, and my stepbrother’s fraternity brother. Okay, yes I was a little naive, a tad bit socially awkward, and the smallest amount of stalker-ish, but if Caden Banks thought he could tell me what to do, he had another thing coming. I came to college with daydreams about being with my stepbrother, but what would happen if I fell for the anti-stepbrother instead? Author Information
I didn't begin writing until after undergraduate college. There'd been storylines and characters in my head all my life, but it came to a boiling point one day and I HAD to get them out of me. So the computer was booted up and I FINALLY felt it click. Writing is what I needed to do. After that, I had to teach myself how to write. I can't blame my teachers for not teaching me all those years in school. It was my fault. I was one of the students that was wishing I was anywhere but at school! So after that day, it took me lots of work until I was able to put together something that resembled a novel. I'm hoping I got it right since someone must be reading this profile! And I hope you keep enjoying my future stories. Stalk Her: Facebook | Twitter | Website | Goodreads THANK YOU!




Formular Random House Challenge 2016

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