Uvi Poznansky's Blog, page 32

Spring is in the Air: Join our audiobook event

A select group of authors has joined forces with me

To bring you amazing stories, beautifully narrated.

Looking for a stories to listen to on a breezy spring evening? 

Come listen to our audiobooks  and join us as a going guest

for a chance to win of them:

Spring is in the Air

(Just ahead of Mother’s Day)

Uvi Poznansky

Ash Suspense thrillers: Trilogy

Dancing with Air

Apart from Love

The Edge of Revolt

Aaron Paul Lazar

For the Birds

Sanctuary

Essentially Yours

Betrayal

Allen Kent

The Shield of Darius

Cary Allen Stone

Seeds: The Journey Begins

Seeds: The Journey Continues

Seeds: The Journey Home

Casi McLean

Virtually Timeless

Between the Shadows

The List: Alyssa’s Revenge

CB Samet

Romancing the Spirit (books 1-6)

The Rider Files: Meridian File

Romancing the Spirit (books 7-12)

The Rider Files: Matisse File

Colleen Mooney

Drive Thru Murder

Dog Gone & Dead

Dead and Breakfast

Politians, Potholes & Pralines

Inge-Lise Goss

Compelled

Diamonds and Lies

Fatal Limit

J.C. Fields

The Last Insurgent

Libby Fischer Hellmann

A Bend in the River

A Bitter Veil

Linnea Tanner

Apollo’s  Raven

Dagger’s Destiny

Amulet’s Rapture

Marisa Masterson

Ginger Snap

A Bride for Bode

A Shadowed Groom for Christmas

Mimi Barbour

Special Agent Francesca

Patrice Wilton  

Play Right by Me

S.R. Mallery

Tea, Anyone?

Genteel Secrets

The Dolan Girls

Sewing Can Be Dangerous

She must have been eager, at first, to meet the notoriously dashing young hero

 Seeing how exhausted I am, Abishag takes the feather, ever so gently, from my fingers, careful not to touch the tip, and withdraws from me. Washing the ink off at the other end of the chamber, she bends over the windowsill, glancing at the lush trees swaying down there, in the royal gardens. Without words, she hums a little tune under her breath, and her voice is so sad, so melodious, that it tells me how desperately she misses her faraway village, from where she was taken to the palace. 

She must have been eager, at first, to meet the notoriously dashing young hero, the slayer of Goliath, the idol drawn so perfectly out of legends that belong to a dying generation. Only now does she realize that I belong nowhere else but in her aging mother’s dreams. I tell her, “Listen, daughter, and pay careful attention. Forget your people and your father’s house. Let the king be enthralled by your beauty. Honor him, for he is your lord.”And at once I wonder, why do I take this fatherly tone with her, all of a sudden? And why do I speak of myself as if I were not here?Abishag cannot help but yawn, which I happen to understand, because the lecture I have aimed at her bores me, too. “So many young men, out there,” she whispers.“So much noise,” I complain, over her excitement.“If it’s disturbing to you, your majesty, I can go down,” she offers. “I can ask them to keep things more quiet, for you.”“No,” say I. “Stay with me.”“Are you cold? Shall I close the curtains?” “No. Keep them open.”Then, with slight hesitation, “Your son,” she says. “What does he want? Why did he come?”“He loves me so,” I say, hoping she would not catch the irony in my voice. “Once in a long while he comes up here, to check if I’m still breathing.”Abishag says nothing in reply. After a long pause she asks, “Did he invite you to the festivities? I would love to escort you—”“Festivities?” say I. “No one tells me anything these days, which is why I am becoming so pitifully suspicious.”“I see him down there,” she says. “His guests are arriving now, gathering around to greet him. They’re laughing. He’s not.”At that I wave my hand. “Adoniah must be tired. He’s utterly weary of life here, in my palace. Luxury can be such a boring thing when you’re born into it.”She glances back at me, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Is it, really?”“It must be,” say I. “Unlike me, he’s never fought for what he has. To entertain him, his mother throws one party after another in his honor.”“He’s young,” says Abishag. “And so tense. She just wants to make him happy.”

★ Love historical fiction? Treat yourself to a gift ★Historical Fiction with a Modern Twist...The complete series:The David Chronicles

Volume III: 

The Edge of Revolt

Audiobook US ★ UK ★ FR ★ DE ★ iTunes

Paperback ★ Hardcover ★ Barnes&Noble

"At times startling, as times awe-inspiring, and at all times fine reading, this is a welcome addition to the growing library of one our more important writers"  -Grady Harp, Hall of Fame Reviewer

This book wasn't what I was expecting

The White Piano is not an easy read. It is an intimate look into family secrets and how they affect each one of its members. I'm so glad to read this review for the book:

Janice Hamman5.0 out of 5 stars Mesmerizing

Reviewed in the United States on March 23, 2021

This book wasn't what I was expecting. I was expecting a light read. However, it is much more as it deals with relationships within a family dealing with an estranged son who has returned home without being told of his parents divorce and his Mother's Alzheimers. He also learns of his Father's new, young wife. All of this is hard for him to accept and blames his Father. It is an enlightening book and well worth reading. This author definitely knows how to write. I want to read more of her books

Before he could guess what kind of trouble I had cooked up in my head, I kissed him

The minute our eyes met, I knew what to do: so I stopped in the middle of what I was doing, which was dusting off the glass shield over the ice cream buckets, and stacking up waffle cones here and sugar cones there. From the counter I grabbed a bunch of paper tissues, and bent all the way down, like, to pick something from the floor. Then with a swift, discrete shove, I stuffed the tissues into one side of my bra, then the other, ‘cause I truly believe in having them two scoops—if you know what I mean—roundly and firmly in place. Having a small chest is no good: men seem to like girls with boobs that bulge out. It seems to make an awful lot of difference, especially at first sight, which you can always tell by them customers, drooling. I straightened up real fast, and it didn’t take no time for him to come in. I was still serving another customer, some obnoxious woman with, like, three chins. She couldn’t make up her mind if she wanted hot fudge on top or just candy sprinkles, and what kind, what flavor would you say goes well with pistachio nut, and how about them slivered almonds, because they do seem to be such a healthy choice, now really, don’t they. He came in and stood in line, real patient, right behind her. So now I noted his eyes, which was brown, and his high forehead and the crease, the faint crease right there, in the middle of it, which reminded me all of a sudden of my pa, who left us for good when I was only five, and I never saw him again—but still, from time to time, I think about him and I miss him so.I could feel Lenny—whose name I didn’t know yet—like, staring at me. It made me hot all over. For a minute there, I could swear he was gonna to ask me how old I was—but he didn’t. And so, to avoid blushing, I turned to him and I said, boldly, “It’s a crime?” And he said, “What?” And I said, “To be sixteen. It’s a crime, you think?” And he said, “Back in the days when I was young and handsome, that was no crime.” And I countered with, “Handsome you still are!” He had no comeback for that, and me, I didn’t have nothing with which I could follow it up. So I asked, “So? What kind of cone for you?” but that woman cut in, ‘cause I was still holding her three-scoops tower of pistachio nut on a sugar cone. And she started to cry out, and like, demand some attention here, because hey, she was first in line and how about whipped cream? Or some of that shredded coconut? So I smiled at her, in my most cool and polite manner, and squeezed out a big dollop of whipped cream, which was awesome, ‘cause it calmed her down right away. And I scattered some of them coconut flakes all over—quite a heap—and went even further, adding a cherry on top. At last, I raised the thing to my lips, because at this point, it was starting to drip already.Then, winking at him, I passed my tongue over the top, and all around the ice cream at the rim of the cone, filling my whole mouth and, just to look sexy, also licking the tips of my fingers. Then I came around the counter, swaying my hips real pretty, and steadying myself over the wobbly high heels. I came right up to him, and before he could guess what kind of trouble I had cooked up in my head, I kissed him—so sweet and so long—on his lips, to the shouts and outcries of the offended customer. 

Many readers asked me about Anita, the girl in the midst of a firestorm of passion in my new book, Apart from Love. She is so different... How, some of you have wondered out loud, did she spring from your mind?

The answer is, at first I decided to model her as the-opposite-of-me. By which I mean a lot more that just her use of language (talking in sentences laden with 'like' and the dreaded double-negatives.) Anita was to become a bold and spontaneous spirit, anything but repressed. She would be promiscuous. Her voice would be shockingly direct.

I do not even know how it happened, but once Anita started talking in my mind—which she did for nearly a year—I started to like her more and more. I asked myself, how would she play against Ben, who is a complex character, hesitant, highly sophisticated? How would she play against Lenny, a would-be author who is so proud of his refined expressions, when her background is so different from his?

To my surprise, Anita ended up taking over not only the story, but also me.
 

★ Love reading? Treat yourself to a family saga ★

Apart from Love

Audiobook US ★ UK ★ FR ★ DE ★ iTunes

Paperback ★ Hardcover ★ Barnes&Noble

"There is an air of mystery about the book that runs from the beginning to the final pages, but that also draws the reader in and makes the book difficult to put down."  - Kathy Parsons, Top 1000 Reviewer

I knew he needed to hear these words

So later, while sticking the key in the door, I turned to him and said, “Trouble, that’s my middle name,” which was a line I used sometimes, ‘cause it sounded so clever. “No, really?” he said. To which I replied by asking, “What, you think it’s a crime? Like, kissing me, I mean?” And he said, “It’s just... I do not want to start something which can lead nowhere, really.”What could I say to that, except, “There’s no one home. Stay a minute. Is that a crime, too?” I handed him an old record, something slow from the sixties, which years ago used to bring tears to ma’s eyes, because—in spite of looking so tough—she still had a soft spot somewhere in her, even if most of the time you can’t find it. She used to play it often—but now not so much no more. So I thought he might like it. Lenny put it on the record player, so in a second the mood was better, even though the thing squeaked from time to time. He turned to me the minute I untied my pony tail, and told me I reminded him of a girl he used to know, and would I like to dance. I stepped out of my shoes and into his arms, and before he could say anything I slipped out of my dress, too. I thought I looked, like, a little too slender in my panties, so I told him to close his eyes—but at this point, because of being so aroused, and trying so hard not to show it, I forgot all about them tissues at each side of my bra, which now and again, made a slight swoosh. Later I wondered if he wondered about that.I rose to the tips of my toes, feeling the touch of his shirt and the pleat of his pants, right against my bare skin. And I placed my hands on his shoulders, and felt his hands on my hips. And so he held me there, a long, long time in the dark. And me, I got to touch his lips, and that crease up there, on his forehead, and we swayed back and forth: I clinging to him, he—to that one girl, the girl he used to know.Then he moved away abruptly, saying that he was too old for me, and anyway, what was he doing, he had a child, a boy just a year older than me. So I took a step closer, like, to close the gap again. And feeling lost, like a stray kitten out in the cold, I said, “Just hold me, Lenny. Just hold me tight. I need you so bad.” 
And the minute I said it, I knew he needed to hear these words, needed to know that he was really needed.  

★ Love reading? Treat yourself to a family saga ★

Apart from Love

Audiobook US ★ UK ★ FR ★ DE ★ iTunes

Paperback ★ Hardcover ★ Barnes&Noble

"There is an air of mystery about the book that runs from the beginning to the final pages, but that also draws the reader in and makes the book difficult to put down."  - Kathy Parsons, Top 1000 Reviewer

Another installment in a great series

Renee Giraldy is a prolific, avid reader, and she posts her reviews on her lovely blog. I feel so grateful to find what she wrote about my thriller, Overkill:

Reading Renee5.0 out of 5 stars Another installment in a great series

Reviewed in the United States on March 25, 2021

This book starts with the main character from book 1, Ash arriving in Florida. Different scenery with more drama. Although I loved the California scenery from book 1, Florida is a nice change until....school shooting, a kid and Ash. What a fast paced thriller. Every few chapters a new twist and turn. Now in the news we hear all about school shootings, so it is a socially relevant issue.

The other love for me was the secret room. When Ash confronts the landlord, she is told it doesn't exist. This is another part of the mystery I loved.

The latest installment in the series is another page turner. It is a lot to digest. Ash has become a likeable character who constantly gets the wrongs really wrong. Another must read from a great author!

GREAT thriller

Renee Giraldy is a prolific, avid reader, and she posts her reviews on her lovely blog. I feel so grateful to find what she wrote about my novel, Coma Confidential: 

Reading Renee5.0 out of 5 stars GREAT thriller

Reviewed in the United States on March 24, 2021

Verified PurchaseWhen the book opens it is clear that Ash is in a coma. Being trapped in the hospital room and listening to her loved ones. Are they loving? hhhmmm When people are in a coma most Doctors tell family to talk to them, they can hear you. Well this is true! The boyfriend’s motives are clear and Ash is aware.

Uvi Poznansky’s COMA CONFIDENTIAL brings us on a journey. There is a great story here without a lot of medical talk. The author creates the scene with her words making you feel the inner turmoil of a coma patient. The best part for me was the Russian connection. Very original story. Can you actually “like” Russian hackers? Yes! This part was a page turner. A must read series!

She sways her hips to the beat, and I tap the floor

  Mirrored in the open wing of the piano, her face is so young, so alive with the red glow of her hair. Her green eyes shine back from the polished surface. This, I suppose, is why my father is so drawn to Anita. Apparently, he wants her to learn to play the piano, but then—even though she is just a beginner—he expects her to reach a level which no one can sustain. Not even mom.
In our family, forgiveness is something you pray for, something you yearn to receive—but so seldom do you give it to others. “Go away, Ben,” says Anita, without even turning around. “I don’t want to play. And you, you can’t make me! Hell,” she says sharply, “I’ll do as I please.” Now she darts a glance at me as if to ask, What, you laughing at me? No, I wish to say. What I want is... Well, I am not really sure: perhaps, just to lay my head here, on your shoulder. Perhaps, to lean my brow against your lips. Perhaps, to touch the tiny freckles on your cheek. Above all else, I want—but cannot bring myself to tell you—I really want to hear you laugh. Just like here, this note. Listen, can you hear it? This soft sound, rolling, rising, ringing up here?Anita shakes her head, as if she could detect the whisper, the quiet whisper of my thoughts. To me, her pose is so alluring when she bends down to the floor, in the shadow of the piano, to pick up some crumpled piece of paper. Then she starts twisting away under me. For all I know, she is aiming to get up, to leave me here, alone. Is this a game she is playing with me? I do not have the faintest idea. But if it is, perhaps I can beat her in it. So then, bang! I pound the keys, this time fortissimo—with full strength!—as if to cry, Stop! No more darkness, no more gloom! There’s a thud, there’s a boom! Hear this, right here? Hear my voice? Tell me, Yes—you have no choice! And before this phrase fades out Anita straightens her back, and places her hand on the keys. Then, to my astonishment, she plays the next phrase of music, this time with raw, intense force, which I never knew existed in her, bringing it to the verge of destruction, making it explode all around me. And I, in turn, explode with the following one, because how can I let her outdo me? I am, after all, The Entertainer... Here I come! Here I drum! No more woes. Let me close! Let me in, hold me tight! Don’t resist me, do not fight—At this point Anita kicks the bench back, and I tip it over behind us. She sways her hips to the beat, and I tap the floor. And we find ourselves bouncing there, almost dancing in place, playing the piano side by side: she on the high notes, I—on the low. Her intervals are somewhat uneven, her melody is off, here and there. But these things do not matter—not to me, anyway—because just like Anita, or even more than her, I happen to be out of control, maybe because it has been a long while since the last time I practiced. I have not touched the keys for so many years, out of nothing else but rebellion, a silent rebellion against my mother. So my fingers feel a bit rusty—and yet I respond, quite swiftly, to the way Anita plays. I do it in an instant, harmonizing the sound, filling in some of the awkward intervals with a flurry of chords. Sometimes I find myself having to take my hand away, so she can play the same key immediately after me. On some notes, my right hand crosses her left hand, in an exchange that is wild and fiery—like no duet I have ever seen, or listened to! One way or another it blends, it mixes into a sound, which you might call a crude, unruly, unrestrained racket. But to the ears of a madman, it can be called music.If my mother could see me now... If, out of nowhere, she would appear—which would make me jump to attention—I can only imagine how she would draw back, how she would wince at having to listen to this thing, this terrific uproar, which for some reason, makes it all the more delightful to my ears.

★ Treat yourself to a story of family secrets ★ 

Apart from Love

Audiobook US ★ UK ★ FR ★ DE ★ iTunes

Paperback ★ Hardcover ★ Barnes&Noble

“Liberally salted with buttery smooth prose & fascinating insights”

If your path demands that you go through hell, walk like you own

If you can not see this chirbit, listen to it here https://chirb.it/7fk3H2

My pulse is hammering in my ears as I swing away from the car and take my first step across the road. There’s no reason why I should tiptoe my way back—after all, the so-called Dr. Patel is expecting me—but I do, out of fear. With every footfall, I tell myself that it’ll be all right. Nothing bad will happen to me. My boyfriend will watch over me. Even if I find myself in some kind of trouble, he’ll see it on his cellphone and call the police at once. Yes, it’ll be all right.As I pass under the lamppost, steps come rasping over the asphalt behind me. Here comes a tap on my shoulder. I turn around. Michael looks pale, but somehow he manages a faint smile.“Wait,” he breathes, handing me a pair of my elegant high-heels, which he must have found in the back of his car. “You must look your part. Better change into these.”Standing on one foot, then the other, I take off my ballerina flats. “You make me feel like Cinderella, only in reverse.”My attempt at humor is a bit clunky, but we both laugh. Nervously.Despite being aware of how dangerous Kabir is, Michael makes no attempt to stop me. Nor does he even warn me against going forward with this ill-advised date. Saving our friend, Karishma, is now our top concern. It has overridden both his caution and mine.He wraps my shoulders with my red scarf. “Scared?”“Who, me? Of course not,” I say.Both of us know that’s a lie.He kisses me, long, hard, desperate, as if that’s our last moment together. “My mother used to say, ‘If your path demands that you go through hell, walk like you own it.’”“That’s what I’ll do.”Another kiss, and he sinks back into the shadows. 

Ash Suspense Thrillers: Trilogy

Audiobook US ★ UK ★ FR ★ DE ★ iTunes

Paperback ★ Hardcover

By popular demand, all three thrillers in one box!

Coma Confidential

Overkill

Overdose

"I've never read/listened to this author before but I really liked this thriller boxset. Each is a standalone story with characters reoccurring. The suspense is great and has an underlying love story. I'll definitely be looking for more from this author."

Carey Sabala, Audible reviewer

Do not arouse or awaken love until it so desires

 

Just this morning I woke up to a surprise: Bathsheba slipped into my bed, wearing a soft, silky robe that glided, ever so smoothly, off her shoulders. I knew she was in a playful mood—if you know what I mean—because of her sudden cravings. “Strengthen me with raisins,” she murmured in my ear. “Refresh me with apples, for I am faint with love.”I rushed to bring her a tray of ripe fruit. Then I put my arm around her and could not wait until she was done eating. Between one little nibble and another she told me, in her most delicious voice, to slow down. “Do not arouse or awaken love,” she said, “until it so desires.”In place of an answer I reclined back on the bed, and pointed at the blanket. I do not want to brag about it, but the fabric was stretching to a peak over me, tenting my arousal.Just then I thought I heard someone tiptoeing just outside the chamber, in the corridor. I leapt off the bed and was surprised to find little Solomon there, his ear to the door and his hand tucked behind him, hiding something from me. “Show me what you’ve got there,” I said.The kid shook his head till his freckles nearly flew of his nose. “No,” he said, with a stubborn tone.So I warned him, “I know what you’ve done.” His eyes widened. “You do?”“Oh yes,” said I. “You’ve listened to every word we said, and worse: you’ve written it.”“So?” He shrugs. “Is that a crime?”“Only if you publish it.” “Not going to.”“Promise?”“Promise.”“All the same,” I insisted, “show me your hand.”Solomon raised his hand to my eyes. And just as I had expected, the palm of it was covered with minute, inky characters, spelling out the sentence, “Do not arouse or awaken love, until it so desires.”I peered into his innocent eyes. “You have any idea what that means?”“Nope,” said the kid. “But I’m going to figure it out. It must become clear, if I look at it long enough. Then I’ll recite it out loud, before everyone—”I cried, “You what?”The kid smiled, and pulled his hand back. “I’ll tell them things like, ‘Strengthen me with raisins. Refresh me with apples, for I am faint with love.’ People find me adorable when they hear me say such words.”“They what?”“They say it’s pure poetry. They say I take after you, daddy! So it doesn’t really matter, does it, if I don’t get what exactly it all means—they will!”“But, but,” I stammer, “these aren’t your words! They belong to your mom and me!”“Don’t worry,” said Solomon. “I won’t tell them that.”Straddling between anger and an undeniable sense of amusement I wagged my finger at him. “Go wash your hand at once,” I said. “What we talk about, your mom and I, isn’t meant for your ears. It’s private.” “Nope,” he said. “Once I write it down, it’s mine.” “Isn’t,” said I.Having closed the door I climbed back into bed.Holding an apple in her hand Bathsheba offered me a bite and said, “Who was that?”“Oh, no one,” said I. “Now, where were we?”“Don’t you know?” she said, and in her soft, melodious voice, she started humming to me, between one kiss and another. “Kiss me, David, with the kisses of your mouth, for your love is more delightful than wine.”I was about to tell her we must keep it down. Instead I loosened her robe and while caressing her I hummed back, “I will go to the mountain of myrrh, and to the hill of incense. You are altogether beautiful, my darling, there is no flaw in you.”Bathsheba smiled, and over my murmur she went on singing, “No wonder the young women love you! Take me away with you, let us hurry!”“Oh yes,” said I. “Let us hurry.”

Historical Fiction with a Modern Twist...The complete series:The David Chronicles
Volume III: 

The Edge of Revolt

Audiobook US ★ UK ★ FR ★ DE ★ iTunes

Paperback ★ Hardcover ★ Barnes&Noble

"I love this series for its convincing depiction of real people in ancient times, for its unflinching honesty, and for its vividly real characters. This David is no cardboard cutout to be filled in with bright crayoned colors. This Bathsheba is no plaything. And women will stand on the stage of history, will have their voice, and will cry out for love and hate and hope."~Sheila Deeth, Vine Voice