LISA'S REVIEW: Heartnapped (Jessica Lane)

Contemporary / Interracial Romance

Date Published: July 9, 2014

   

Jayla Simmons never imagined herself working in a place like Vice, but what's a girl to do when she has a child to support all on her own? Her disdain for the place isn't limited to her occupation. Her boss, Carter Rossi, has had a strange fixation on her since she started dancing at Vice, and though she's reluctant to admit it, she's drawn to him as well. Carter Rossi is tired of the cat and mouse game he's been playing with Jayla's since the day she walked into his club. The son of Don Antonio Rossi has been denied few things in life, and Jayla Simmons will be no exception. He'll have her by any means necessary.

REVIEW:

Holy Crap, I cannot wait for the next part of this series. I am so pulled into this. It ended way to fast! Be warned this is a short story that will leave you begging for more. I love Jayla's character and Carter is something else. This is such a great start. I hope this just gets better and better. I don't know what to say with out telling you everything. I feel like I could go on an on here. But, if I did then you would know it all! Jayla has it hard being a single mom and I really felt for her character and the life she was being force to lead. I think Carter is going to be a very interesting character and I want so much more of him. Wow is about all I can say! Great start Jessica Lane, I can't wait for more!

RATING:

  

Excerpt:

I ignored them. After two years of doing this job, I'd become a pro at blocking out the cat calls and

propositions of the vultures that always seemed to surround me here.

"You're doing this for Jorden," I reminded myself as I finished my "dance."

Working as a stripper wasn't so bad. I mean, I could forget my morals and put my self respect on

the back burner for a few nights a week, right? What I hated so much was having to live in the

small town where this place was located.

I'd come to Barton, Texas, pregnant and alone, almost four years ago. My mother kicked me out

two days before my eighteenth birthday when I told her I was carrying Jorden. I stopped in Barton

originally just to grab a bite to eat, and saw a flier advertising $600 rentals with utilities included. I

dialed the number on the bottom of the neon sheet of paper, and the rest was history.

Not many of the citizens of Barton were outright hostile to me, but the leering glances from men

and the death glares I received from their wives spoke volumes. My skin crawled knowing that

most of the male population in town knew what I looked like beneath my clothes. I'd only been

intimate with one person in my entire life, and that was Jorden's father. That didn't stop me from

feeling dirty and violated every time I stepped offstage.

I hated this, but I didn't have many other options, so I swallowed my pride and went backstage to

change for the next number.

The stench of hairspray mixed with booze and cigarette smoke permeated the cramped changing

room as girls rushed in and out wearing sparkly, lacy next­to­nothings.

"There's the superstar," Joanne croaked, her voice mangled by age and years of smoking. "I was

beginning to think I'd have to entertain your boyfriend tonight."

My dark complexion made me a hot commodity around here. That had its benefits. For starters, it

meant that I usually made the best tips out of all the girls I worked with because I... stood out. It

also meant that I never had to 'work the floor.' No lap dances and no private room quickies. The

boss wanted to keep me as desirable as possible to the clientele, so I only ever did stage

performances. "Everybody wants what they can't have. You'll be like a star; beautiful and distant."

Those were his exact words to me, and how I'd chosen my stage name.

"Mr. Rossi is not my boyfriend. He's my boss!"

Carter Rossi had given me this job on sight. He'd tried to talk me into being a waitress, but I knew

that I'd make more dancing. Almost immediately after I started working at Vice, Carter became

oddly fixated on me, leaving the other girls to think that something was going on between us. Little

did they know that I wouldn't dream of touching Carter Rossi with a 10­foot pole.

The man wasn't a gargoyle or anything, far from it. He was gorgeous beyond belief, and he knew it

too. The cocky bastard would strut into Vice every night like he owned the place... okay, he

technically did, but it still got on my nerves. His black hair always looked like he'd just rolled out

of bed, but the nonchalant nature of it suited the handsome, rich boy who'd probably never had to

work for anything in his life. His eyes were so green they had to have been contacts. I'd never seen

eyes like that before in my life. He had a body worthy of his Adonis­esque face, and all 6­foot-
infinity­inches of him towered over everyone in the room, making all stop and take notice.

In short, he was the type of man that was used to getting any woman he wanted, and unfortunately,

he'd set his sights on me. If I was a different kind of woman, or even the me that I was four years

ago, I might have enjoyed the attention Carter chose to lavish me with, but life had seen fit to make

me wiser than my years about the ways of men. I knew Carter's kind ­I'd lost everything to a guy

just like him four years ago­ and I wasn't about to be taken in by good looks and a few sly words.

It wasn't just my heart at stake this time. I had Denny to think about. The last thing she needed was

for me to provide her with a lackluster male role model when she'd already been asking me for the


past year about her dad.

I grew up in a tiny town with lots of room for my imagination to grow, and never outgrew my love for playing make believe. I developed my love for storytelling when I was very young, and used it as a way to escape and explain the world around me. That storytelling ability has grown and evolved a lot since then and taken me many different places. I'm having fun following where it leads me. I've been writing since I was a child; seriously, my mom has the crayon illustrated short stories to prove it. My writing has been mostly private since the end of my UIL creative writing days circa 1998. The writing bug bit me again when I was a freshman in high school, and I finally had the guts to publish my first e-book, Purple Hearts, in July of 2013! Now, I'm hooked, and determined to make a career out of this little passion of mine. My writing style is very direct with a little bit of humor. Alpha males are my guilty pleasure, but don't expect my female main characters to be passive damsels in distress. Every girl needs a little spark to her to keep the guys on their toes, right? I write mostly interracial/paranormal romance, but I've been toying with contemporary and historical romance plots as well. In short, I'm a dreamer by nature and an artist by trade. I endeavor to take my readers on a different journey with every new story I write.

Website: http://jessicalaneworld.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Jessica-Lane-Writes/166249123547208

Twitter: https://twitter.com/daydreamingj

Blog: http://livingmapless.blogspot.com/

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7206127.Jessica_N_Lane

LEANN'S REVIEW: Elise's Choice (Rachel M. Stiber)

Young Adult / Fantasy

Date Published: August 25, 2014

   

Elise and her best friend Anton grew up in the medieval village of Petheralm, where life, though hard, is good. When a stranger arrives in her village injured and unconscious, his handsome face and sweet demeanor take in Elise.

However, according to ancient legend, the forest surrounding their small town is enchanted, and any stranger unworthy to enter the village would be stopped there. The village is leery of this stranger and wants nothing more than for him to leave.

Elise pays no mind to the silly legend, and is shocked to discover that he’s no ordinary peasant as everyone first thought. Before the stranger is strong enough to leave Petheralm, she is forced to make a startling choice between following her dreams and following her heart. Although Elise feels strongly that she made the correct choice, the day soon comes when she and everyone she loves must deal with the repercussions of her choice.

Excerpt

“Scorching flames burst from the dragon’s nostrils as the prince braced behind his shield,” I said, leaning closer to my young audience of two with my hands accenting my words. “Ignoring the deadly heat that enveloped him, the prince raised his sword and stood before the fair maiden. He never wavered as the scaly beast stalked toward him.

“‘I will kill you, oh, mighty prince,’ the dragon roared, its foul breath reeking of sulfur and its wings blotting out the sun.”

Areya, the younger of the two, shrank as I stalked toward her with my hands up like claws. “What happened next, Elise?” she asked, hiding behind her brother.

“The prince killed the dragon and rescued the maiden,” replied nine-year-old Kevel. “Stories always end like that.” He rolled his eyes as he spoke the words, trying to convince his sister that my story had not affected him. His reddened cheeks and wide eyes said otherwise.

I shook my head. “Not this one.”

With knitted brows, they glanced at each other and then at me.

“What do you mean?” asked Kevel.

“The prince couldn’t kill the dragon,” I said. “The dragon was too quick, too powerful, and too cunning. The prince fought bravely, slashing the dragon with his sword and leaping to dodge the beast’s blows, but he soon grew tired and staggered beneath the weight of his armor. He faltered. Sweating from the heat of battle and the dragon’s fire, he dropped his shield. Seizing the opportunity, the dragon’s chest swelled and his mouth opened. The prince perished in the flames.”

“Wait a minute.” Areya raised a tiny finger. “The dragon won?”

“So it seemed,” I replied. “The dragon insisted that the maiden marry him. ‘I would rather die,’ she said. So, with another burst of flames, the dragon turned her to ash, too.”

“That’s the strangest story you’ve ever told.” Kevel shook his head. “I’m not sure I like it.”

I held up my hand. “But that isn’t the end. When the maiden’s ashes mingled with the prince’s, they joined to form a large stone that sang the sweetest love song anyone had ever heard. The dragon couldn’t bear to hear its loving notes. In his rage, he smote the stone with fire, claws, and tail, but the stone stood firm. With a final deafening roar, he spread his wings and fled. No one has seen him since.”

“Is that why there aren’t any dragons?” asked Areya.

I shrugged my shoulders. “It could be. I’ll bet somewhere in the Enchanted Forest we could find the singing stone.”

“Will you help us find it?” Kevel asked.

“Someday.” I smiled sadly at my small audience. Two, when there used to be five.

I had been telling stories to my friends Anton and Carajil and all of Carajil’s siblings for as long as I could remember. It was our ritual. Every day when the weather and the chores allowed, we gathered in the meadow between our cottages, and I retold ancient legends or created legends of my own. I had captivated my audience with vivid descriptions and theatrics. However, the years had stolen most of my audience. Carajil’s older brother, Davin, had been the first to leave when he began herding sheep with their father and starting a family of his own. Anton soon followed when his father’s untimely passing left him with the responsibility of caring for his family’s farm and little time for my stories. Now with Carajil betrothed, she spent less time with us each week. Only Kevel and Areya eagerly sought my entertainment.

“Didn’t Carajil say she was going to join us today?” I asked.

Kevel shrugged his shoulders. “She was, but then Danith showed up with a basket of food. She went with him instead.”

Areya pursed her lips. “They went on a picnic without us.”

Danith, Carajil’s betrothed, was the blacksmith’s son and apprentice. With the spring planting in full force, he kept busy sharpening and repairing tools for the villagers. I could imagine Carajil’s delight when he surprised her with a picnic.

“I’m sure they’re making plans for the wedding.” I playfully elbowed Areya’s ribs. “You wouldn’t want to listen to that, now would you?”

She shook her head, tossing her tousled raven curls in every direction.

“Can you tell us another story?” Kevel asked.

“Not today,” I said with a giggle. “We’ll meet again tomorrow. Maybe Carajil will join us then.”

I watched them leave. Bounding, skipping, and giggling, they raced across the meadow. With a sigh, I reclined in the soft grass. The heady scent of heather filled the air. Draping my left arm across my forehead, I gazed upward. Fluffy white clouds floated lazily across the azure sky. My mind wandered like the carefree clouds. Had it only been three weeks since Carajil’s eighteenth birthday? It seemed much longer. Nearly everyone in Petheralm had attended the celebration. Not only had we celebrated a birthday, but also a betrothal. No words could describe the way Carajil’s eyes sparkled when Danith took her hand and announced his intentions.

I rejoiced in my friend’s happiness and looked forward to her upcoming wedding, but my heart pulled me in a different direction. My dream lay not in the traditional path of marriage, but in storytelling. I longed to be a minstrel roaming from village to village and telling tales as tall as the mountains. Once I tired of traveling, I would return to Petheralm as a scribe, penning my own tales of dashing heroes who undertook daring quests.

I shook my head. Who was I kidding? Those were impossible choices for a maiden in Petheralm. I hid the dream within my heart, for if I shared it, everyone would laugh. Everyone except Anton. He understood.

Although a year older than Carajil and me, Anton completed our circle of friends. He was my closest and dearest friend, the only one who completely understood me. I shared everything with him, including my impossible dream. He always lent a listening ear and a shoulder to carry my tears. Regardless of how the world changed, I knew I could always count on him to be there for me.

Someone called my name, shaking me from my reverie. Mama.

“E-e-e-lise!” The breeze carried her voice across the meadow.

I slapped my forehead. She had sent me to collect the eggs. Shaking grass from my dress, I grabbed my empty basket and ran toward our thatched-roof cottage. She waited outside, her silver hair glistening in the sun.

“Where have you been, child?”

“The meadow,” I replied breathlessly. “I met Kevel and Areya, and . . .”

She wiped her hands on her apron. “The eggs?”

I sheepishly handed her the empty basket. “I’m sorry, Mama.” I did not make excuses, for she had heard them all.

She shook her head. “Elise, child, what am I going to do with you?”

I followed her inside our humble, two-room cottage. A hearth and a preparing table filled the right side of the main room. Papa’s handmade table with four chairs stood in the middle. My parents’ double bed and chest occupied the left side. The smaller room belonged to me. When I asked why he and Mama had given me the room instead of claiming it for themselves like Carajil and Anton’s parents, Papa tousled my hair and replied, “A maiden needs her privacy.”

But I knew the truth. Although they never complained, their aching backs made it difficult to sleep in a bed, and they spent most nights in the chairs. They had given me the room so they would not disturb me. Their thoughtfulness warmed my heart, but I worried about them more than they would ever know.

Mama placed the egg basket on the table and sat in one of the chairs. I took the chair across from her, my guiltiness warming my face.

“I’m sorry about the eggs. I got caught up in one of my stories, and forgot about them. I know it’s a lame excuse.”

She caressed my cheek with her work-worn hand. “You have a wonderful mind, child, but you’re going to have to learn to control yourself if you’re ever going to run your own household.”

“If only the animals listened as well as Kevel and Areya.”

Her deep, musical laugh shook her frail frame. “Then you would never get anything done.”

“I should collect the eggs.” I reached for the basket.

“Leave them to me. I need you to take this to Jorlene.” She handed me another basket containing a clay jar and a loaf of bread.

“Is she any better?”

Jorlene lived across the Lagone River deep in the forest. Her husband had died a couple years ago, leaving her childless and alone. Mama took responsibility for her well-being.

Mama shook her head. “Worse, I fear. I made a special broth to give her nourishment. Please don’t dawdle, child. I want you out of the forest before dark.”

“Of course, Mama.”

I skipped along the well-worn path that led across the wooden bridge to Jorlene’s cottage. The smell of honeysuckle sweetened the afternoon air. Mama’s warning rang in my ears. I would obey, but refused to hurry. With the longer spring evenings, I would be home long before dark.

I paused, mesmerized by the surrounding scenery. Northward, the Somudon Mountains loomed tall and majestic, their dusky peaks silhouetted against the deep blue sky. The meadow with its lush carpet of heather and abundance of wildflowers beckoned me to stray from the path. I wanted to answer its call and run through it, stopping only when my legs grew too tired to carry me further. In the distance, the bridge stretched across the Lagone River, pointing the way into the forest. With a delighted sigh, I finally resumed my walk. Surely no place in all of Ogden compared to the splendor that surrounded me.

Stopping midway across the bridge, I gently dropped the basket, leaned over the splintered rails, and gazed into the clear water. A smallmouth bass rippled the water, its red eye gleaming in the sun. I envied its freedom.

Strands of unruly auburn hair escaped the braid I had carefully plaited earlier. I shook the braid loose and thoughtfully twirled a strand around my finger. There must be a way for me to fulfill my dream. Friar Hildric, the head of the council and a leader in our village, enjoyed my stories. Once I turned eighteen and entered womanhood, perhaps he would allow me to entertain the villagers with storytelling during feast days and celebrations.

The squeaking of wheels interrupted my thoughts. Anton emerged from the forest, struggling to pull a wheelbarrow.

“Thank goodness you’re here,” he said. “I need your help.”

As he came closer, I saw what, or actually who, made the wheelbarrow difficult to pull. A young man lay motionless in the wheelbarrow. Blood oozed through the rag tied around his head.  A makeshift splint constructed of sticks and rags held his right arm. Anton must have used his tunic as bandages, for it lacked a large section of its hem.

“What happened?” I asked.

“I found him,” Anton pointed to the young man, “lying at the edge of the forest as I searched for a runaway horse. He has a gash on his right temple, and his arm may be broken. I bandaged him as well as I could.”

His words sent chills up my spine. One of the ancient legends claimed the forest was enchanted and any stranger unworthy to enter the village would be stopped there. Thus, the villagers called it the Enchanted Forest. I loved to tell the story, but never truly believed it. Could the legend be true? Was the young man in the wheelbarrow unworthy to enter our village, and had the enchantment tried to stop him? I shook my head to clear it. He needed my help, not my superstitions.

Review:

This YA is written in such a way that readers of all ages will enjoy. It is quite lengthy. The perfect read for those rainy or cold days you want to cuddle up with a book. I always love paranormal romance, although I am not a huge fan of historical. Stiber does a fantastic job with her imagery and truly makes the story come to life.

I like the story line. Stiber creates an interesting story about peasant life. The enchanted forest is interesting and shapes the lives of the towns people. There are a few twist and turns but none bigger than the ending. I can't wait to see if there is more to the story. A large part of me hopes for it. 

Rating:

  

Rachel M. Stiber

Rachel Stiber lives in a small town in rural Missouri with her husband, three rambunctious cats, and a lovable dog. She has the privilege of teaching English Language Arts to seventh grade students at the local junior high.

Website: www.rachelstiber.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/rachel.stiber

Blog: http://www.rachelstiber.com/blog

BUY LINKS

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Elises-Choice-Rachel-M-Stiber-ebook/dp/B00N20NJRQ/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1410697656&sr=1-1&keywords=elise%27s+choice
Barnes and Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/elises-choice-rachel-m-stiber/1120146690?ean=2940150678026
Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/469861

PRE-ORDER BLITZ: Dust (Sarah Daltry)

Who makes YOUR choices?

"I was once the type of person who was impressed by starlight; the type of person who would dance beneath glass ceilings and let the world swim in its loveliness. The sky reminds me of the parties we used to throw - parties like the one last night. The memories bring back the trill of harps and endless ripples of satisfied laughter. Now, though, when I try to recall what I felt, all I hear is screaming."

In a world ravaged by war and oppressive forces of evil, a princess must fight to claim her bloodright and save her people.

When the princess, Alondra, falls for the beautiful, blue eyes of a hooded stranger, it awakens in her a taste for freedom and an escape from her duty.

But her parents have other plans; they have a kingdom to protect and Alondra must marry to ensure the peace between nations. Only what happens when your parents choose a cold-hearted assassin as your betrothed?

As lies, illusions, and long hidden vendettas surface, the princess has to confront a very secret history. One that makes her realize that she not only risks losing her liberty, but also everything she has known and loved.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Sarah Daltry is a varied author, known best for the contemporary New Adult series, 'Flowering', a six-title series that explores the complexities of relationships, including how we survive the damage from our pasts with the support of those who love us. Although the books are no longer in print, they are being rewritten and redeveloped for future publication. Please visit Sarah's website for more details.

As a former English teacher and YA library coordinator, Sarah has always loved Young Adult literature and 'Dust', an epic fantasy novel where romance blends with the blood and grit of war, is her second official foray into YA, following the gamer geek romantic comedy, 'Backward Compatible'. Most of Sarah's work is about teens and college students, as it's what she knows well.

Sarah's passion in life is writing - weaving tales of magic and beauty. The modern and vast social networking world is an alternative universe that she makes infrequent trips to, but when she does, readers will find her attentive, friendly and happy to discuss the magic of stories and reading. Please stop by and say hello anywhere Sarah is online! You can find these places at http://sarahdaltry.com

Sarah has moved back and forth between independent and traditional publishing. Her first novel, 'Bitter Fruits', is with Escape, an imprint of Harlequin Australia, and she signed with Little Bird Publishing in the spring of 2014.

Sarah has also written 'The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,' a reimagining of one of her favorite poems in a contemporary setting.

She is an obsessive Anglophile who spends more time watching BBC TV than any human being should, as well as a hardcore gamer and sarcastic nerd.

Email: sarahdaltrybooks@gmail.com

Stay up to date with news at Facebook (Personal Profile), Sarah's Facebook Page, Twitter, tumblr, Instagram, Google Plus, LinkedIn, Goodreads, and Pinterest.

Sarah's book trailers are available on YouTube.

You can also check out samples of Sarah's work at DeviantArt and Wattpad.