Michelle Lindo-Rice's Blog, page 13
August 23, 2020
Same Book, New Look: THE RESOLUTION by Michelle Lindo-Rice
THE RESOLUTION is such a fun read that I knew I wanted to refresh the cover while still capturing the essence of Geneva's and Joshua's story. I'd love to hear your thoughts!
Order your CopyA good girl needs a stand-in. Will the bad boy get the chance?
When Geneva Samson’s fiancé breaks up with her via text message, she resolves she will not allow this heartbreak to discourage her. So, she posts a wanted ad on her social media page for a ‘stand-in’ to go with her on what would have been her honeymoon to Montego Bay, Jamaica, for the New Year. She never expected to become an overnight sensation. Geneva receives over 1,000 offers by men bearing the same name. When the ultimate bad boy of showbiz volunteers, will this good girl grant his request?
Joshua James has been on tour for fifteen months and is tired of the fast life, fast food and fast women. He resolves that after the New Year, he will make some much-need lifestyle changes. When he sees the ad, the lure of relaxing at the luxurious Iberia Star in Montego Bay calls out to him and he decides to put his name in the mix. He could use a vacation from the spotlight. But when he meets the woman behind the ad, will he settle for being her stand-in or will he want a taste of the real thing?
Review: Secret Crush Seduction
Secret Crush Seduction by Jayci LeeMy rating: 3 of 5 stars
Secret Crush Seduction is my first Jayci Lee read. First of all, the cover, the cover, the cover. That was one of the main reasons why I wanted to read this book. It is absolutely beautiful.
So, I was hoping the story would suit the cover. Adelaide song is a heiress trying to overcome her past reputation and be taken seriously to take her place in the Hansol empire. Michael Reynolds is a PR person for the family. I didn't read the first installment. They both have an intense attraction that they can't resist and soon embark on a temporary relationship. The problem is their hearts yearn for a permanent solution.
For me, it was a nice read but not one that I totally fell in love with. But I did finish it.. Their conflict could have been resolved by a conversation. I liked the aspect of the story where Adelaide designs clothes for people with Autism and I also liked the familial story line.
I look forward to seeing this author will grow in her craft.
Thank you Harlequin and #Netgalley.
View all my reviews
August 16, 2020
Review: Wrath
Wrath by Victoria Christopher MurrayMy rating: 5 of 5 stars
Wrath is a story of Chastity Butler and Xavier Owens who share an instant connection. They have so much in common and their love story is a fairy tale. They are swept away by an attraction that is so strong that they marry within months of meeting each other. Ignoring the advice of friends and family, they jump all in.
But Chastity and Xavier each have baggage that interfere with the success of their relationship and eventually their marriage. Chastity's father was once a cheat and Xavier was a produce of abuse.
Chastity has parents who dotes on her while Xavier has never felt truly loved by the adults in his life. Within him is an anger that grows and grows until he unleashes it in a way from which he can never recover.
From chapter 14 onward, I was in a groove, drawn in by the work of Ms. Christopher Murray's pen. She has a way of writing that grabs and draws you in as the story unfolds. There were many moments where I found myself rooting for Xavier. But can you root for someone who refuses to get help or acknowledge a deep-rooted issue? However, this is mastery at its best, because I would have been his champion if he had been willing to listen. We can hear so many things but to truly listen requires action. Change. A desire to change is not the same as actually changing.
A poignant scene was the sermon presented by Chastity's own father. What a message. Inspiring. True. An on-time word.
When I got to the end of the story, I was left in a state of deep thinking. I had to marinate on what I read. Reality can be jarring. Sad. The issue of domestic violence is still one that needs to be addressed in several mediums. I believe Victoria Christopher Murray taking this approach will leave many of us with takeaways long after it's done.
View all my reviews
August 12, 2020
Review: Lies, Lies, Lies
Lies, Lies, Lies by Adele ParksMy rating: 2 of 5 stars
In Lies, Lies, Lies, Simon and Daisy both have a lot of secrets that will be revealed. As the title suggests, there are lies on both sides--small and great--that comes out. Simon struggles with alcoholism and his wife and friends all make excuses until his daughter suffers because of it.
As if that isn't enough, there are so many other tragic plot points - think of the most traumatic events you read about and it is in here - that I am left shaking my head.
The author did a great job showing the downward spiral associated with alcoholism. But there were many scenes and descriptions in the narrative that were too too many. I skipped through pages and was still able to get the main plots of the story. It took me awhile to finish.
The twist at the end had me trying to visualize, HOW? and Say what, now?
But it is a creative concept. The cover is amazing and makes you want to read.
Thank you, Netgalley!
View all my reviews
August 6, 2020
Review: Trust Fund Fiancé
Trust Fund Fiancé by Naima SimoneMy rating: 5 of 5 stars
In Trust Fund Fiance by Naima Simone, good friends Zeke and Reagan decide to marry so she can receive her trust fund. Once she receives her inheritance, the two will part ways. What they didn't count on was their chemistry. And it is charged and hot. Though they have their reasons for entering the marriage, they might find themselves with an even better reason to stay in it.
Naima Simone wrote with such great visual descriptions and imagery that I had no problem visualizing everything that took place - from the love scenes to the fight scenes, she laid it down. I loved Zeke's depth and Reagan's story of coming into her own. I was excited from the first page until the very end. Very sharp, good writing.
This has all the components of a good romance read:
alpha male
strong heroine (love that)
drama
scandal
And of course, a great journey to happy-ever-after.
A great emotional, passionate read.
Thank you, #Netgalley/Harlequin.
View all my reviews
August 2, 2020
Someone's Listening
SOMEONE’S LISTENINGAuthor: Seraphina Nova GlassISBN: 9781525836749Publication Date: July 28, 2020Publisher: Graydon House Books
Buy Links: Harlequin Barnes & NobleAmazonBooks-A-MillionPowell’s
Social Links:Author WebsiteTwitter: @SeraphinaNovaInstagram: @SeraphinaNovaGlassFacebook: @SeraphinaNovaGlassGoodreads
Author Bio: Seraphina Nova Glass is a professor and Playwright-in-Residence at the University of Texas-Arlington, where she teaches Film Studies and Playwriting. She holds an MFA in playwriting from Smith College, and has optioned multiple screenplays to Hallmark and Lifetime. Someone's Listening is her first novel.
Book Summary:
You’re not alone. Someone’s waiting. Someone’s watching…Someone's listening.
In SOMEONE’S LISTENING (Graydon House Books; July 28; $16.99) Dr. Faith Finley has everything she’s ever wanted: she’s a renowned psychologist, a radio personality—host of the wildly popular “Someone’s Listening with Dr. Faith Finley”—and a soon-to-be bestselling author. She’s young, beautiful, and married to the perfect man, Liam.
Of course Liam was at Faith’s book launch with her. But after her car crashes on the way home and she’s pulled from the wreckage, nobody can confirm that Liam was with her at the party. The police claim she was alone in car, and they don’t believe her when she says otherwise. Perhaps that’s understandable, given the horrible thing Faith was accused of doing a few weeks ago.
And then the notes start arriving—the ones literally ripped from the pages of Faith’s own self-help book on leaving an abusive relationship. Ones like “Secure your new home. Consider new window and door locks, an alarm system, and steel doors…”
Where is Liam? Is his disappearance connected to the scandal that ruined Faith’s life? Who is sending the notes? Faith’s very life will depend on finding the answers.PROLOGUE
WHEN I WAKE UP, IT’S BLACK AND STILL; I FEEL A light, icy snow that floats rather than falls, and I can’t open my eyes. I don’t know where I am, but it’s so quiet, the silence rings in my ears. My fingertips try to grip the ground, but I feel only a sheet of ice beneath me, splintered with bits of embedded gravel. The air is sharp, and I try to call for him, but I can’t speak. How long have I been here? I drift back out of consciousness. The next time I wake, I hear the crunching of ice under the boots of EMTs who rush around my body. I know where I am. I’m lying in the middle of County Road 6. There has been a crash. There’s a swirling red light, a strobe light in the vast blackness: they tell me not to move.“Where’s my husband?” I whimper. They tell me to try not to talk either. “Liam!” I try to yell for him, but it barely escapes my lips; they’re numb, near frozen, and it comes out in a hoarse whisper. How has this happened?I think of the party and how I hate driving at night, and how I was careful not to drink too much. I nursed a glass or two, stayed in control. Liam had a lot more. It wasn’t like him to get loaded, and I knew it was his way of getting back at me. He was irritated with me, with the position I’d put him in, even though he had never said it in so many words. I wanted to please him because this whole horrible situation was my fault, and I was sorry.When I wake up again I’m in a hospital room, connected to tubes and machines. The IV needle is stuck into a bruised, purple vein in the back of my hand that aches. In the dim light, I sip juice from a tiny plastic cup, and the soft beep of the EKG tries to lull me back to sleep, but I fight it. I want answers. I need to appear stabilized and alert. Another dose of painkiller is released into my IV; the momentary euphoria forces me to heave a sigh. I need to keep my eyes open. I can hear the cops arrive and talk to someone at a desk outside my door. They’ll tell me what happened.There’s a nurse who calls me “sweetie” and changes the subject when I ask about the accident. She gives the cops a sideways look when they come in to talk to me, and tells them they only have a few minutes and that I need to rest.Detective John Sterling greets me with a soft “Hello, ma’am.” I almost forget about my shattered femur and groan after I move too quickly. Another officer lingers by the door, a tall, stern-looking woman with her light hair pulled into a tight bun at the base of her skull. She tells me I’m lucky to be alive, and if it had dropped below freezing, I wouldn’t have lasted those couple hours before a passing car stopped and called 911. I ask where Liam is, but she just looks to Sterling. Something is terribly wrong.“Why won’t anyone tell me what happened to him?” I plead. I watch Detective Sterling as he picks his way through a response.“The nurse tells me that you believe he was in the car with you at the time of the accident,” he says. I can hear the condescension in his voice. He’s speaking to me like I’m a child.“They said ‘I believe’ he was? That’s not a— That’s a fact. We came from a party—a book signing party. Anyone, anyone can tell you that he was with me. Please. Is he hurt?” I look down at my body for the first time and see the jagged stitches holding together the bruised flesh of my right arm. They look exaggerated, like the kind you might draw on with makeup and glue for a Halloween costume. I close my eyes, holding back nausea. I try to walk through the series of events—trying to piece together what happened and when.Liam had been quiet in the car. I knew he’d believed me after the accusations started. I knew he trusted me, but maybe I’d underestimated the seeds of doubt that had been planted in his mind. I tried to lighten the mood when we got in the car by making some joke about the fourteen-dollar domestic beers; he’d given a weak chuckle and rested his head on the passenger window.The detective looks at me with something resembling sympathy but closer to pity.“Do you recall how much you had to drink last night?” he asks accusingly.“What? You think…? No. I drove because he… No! Where is he?” I ask, not recognizing my own voice. It’s haggard and raw.“Do you recall taking anything to help you relax? Anything that might impair your driving?”“No,” I snap, nearly in tears again.“So, you didn’t take any benzodiazepine maybe? Yesterday…at some point?”“No— I— Please.” I choke back tears. “I don’t…” He looks at me pointedly, then scribbles something on his stupid notepad. I didn’t know what to say. Liam must be dead, and they think I’m too fragile to take the news. Why would they ask me this?“Ma’am,” he says, standing. He softens his tone. This is it. He’s going to tell me something I’ll never recover from.“You were the only one in the car when medics got there,” he says, studying me for my response, waiting to detect a lie that he can use against me later. His patronizing look infuriates me.“What?” The blood thumps in my ears. They think I’m crazy; that soft tone isn’t a sympathetic one reserved for delivery of the news that a loved one has died—it’s the careful language chosen when speaking to someone unstable. They think I’m some addict or a drunk. Maybe they think the impact had made me lose the details, but he was there. I swear to God. His cry came too late and there was a crash. It was deafening, and I saw him reach for me, his face distorted in terror. He tried to shield me. He was there. He was next to me, screaming my name when we saw the truck headlights appear only feet in front of us—too late.
Excerpted from Someone’s Listening by Seraphina Nova Glass, Copyright © 2020 by Seraphina Nova Glass.
Published by Graydon House Books
REVIEW: Someone's Listening
FOUR STARS ★★★★
Dr. Faith Finley has written a bestseller and then finds herself embroiled in a scandal that threatens her credibility. She also becomes a suspect in her husband's disappearance. Her life unravels and she is left to put it all together as her life might be in jeopardy.Piece by piece, layer by layer, I was sucked into the story. I didn't see the turn of events coming. A good thriller.Thank you, Netgalley, Graydon Books for this good read.
Buy Links: Harlequin Barnes & NobleAmazonBooks-A-MillionPowell’s
Social Links:Author WebsiteTwitter: @SeraphinaNovaInstagram: @SeraphinaNovaGlassFacebook: @SeraphinaNovaGlassGoodreads
Author Bio: Seraphina Nova Glass is a professor and Playwright-in-Residence at the University of Texas-Arlington, where she teaches Film Studies and Playwriting. She holds an MFA in playwriting from Smith College, and has optioned multiple screenplays to Hallmark and Lifetime. Someone's Listening is her first novel.Book Summary:
You’re not alone. Someone’s waiting. Someone’s watching…Someone's listening.
In SOMEONE’S LISTENING (Graydon House Books; July 28; $16.99) Dr. Faith Finley has everything she’s ever wanted: she’s a renowned psychologist, a radio personality—host of the wildly popular “Someone’s Listening with Dr. Faith Finley”—and a soon-to-be bestselling author. She’s young, beautiful, and married to the perfect man, Liam.Of course Liam was at Faith’s book launch with her. But after her car crashes on the way home and she’s pulled from the wreckage, nobody can confirm that Liam was with her at the party. The police claim she was alone in car, and they don’t believe her when she says otherwise. Perhaps that’s understandable, given the horrible thing Faith was accused of doing a few weeks ago.
And then the notes start arriving—the ones literally ripped from the pages of Faith’s own self-help book on leaving an abusive relationship. Ones like “Secure your new home. Consider new window and door locks, an alarm system, and steel doors…”
Where is Liam? Is his disappearance connected to the scandal that ruined Faith’s life? Who is sending the notes? Faith’s very life will depend on finding the answers.PROLOGUE
WHEN I WAKE UP, IT’S BLACK AND STILL; I FEEL A light, icy snow that floats rather than falls, and I can’t open my eyes. I don’t know where I am, but it’s so quiet, the silence rings in my ears. My fingertips try to grip the ground, but I feel only a sheet of ice beneath me, splintered with bits of embedded gravel. The air is sharp, and I try to call for him, but I can’t speak. How long have I been here? I drift back out of consciousness. The next time I wake, I hear the crunching of ice under the boots of EMTs who rush around my body. I know where I am. I’m lying in the middle of County Road 6. There has been a crash. There’s a swirling red light, a strobe light in the vast blackness: they tell me not to move.“Where’s my husband?” I whimper. They tell me to try not to talk either. “Liam!” I try to yell for him, but it barely escapes my lips; they’re numb, near frozen, and it comes out in a hoarse whisper. How has this happened?I think of the party and how I hate driving at night, and how I was careful not to drink too much. I nursed a glass or two, stayed in control. Liam had a lot more. It wasn’t like him to get loaded, and I knew it was his way of getting back at me. He was irritated with me, with the position I’d put him in, even though he had never said it in so many words. I wanted to please him because this whole horrible situation was my fault, and I was sorry.When I wake up again I’m in a hospital room, connected to tubes and machines. The IV needle is stuck into a bruised, purple vein in the back of my hand that aches. In the dim light, I sip juice from a tiny plastic cup, and the soft beep of the EKG tries to lull me back to sleep, but I fight it. I want answers. I need to appear stabilized and alert. Another dose of painkiller is released into my IV; the momentary euphoria forces me to heave a sigh. I need to keep my eyes open. I can hear the cops arrive and talk to someone at a desk outside my door. They’ll tell me what happened.There’s a nurse who calls me “sweetie” and changes the subject when I ask about the accident. She gives the cops a sideways look when they come in to talk to me, and tells them they only have a few minutes and that I need to rest.Detective John Sterling greets me with a soft “Hello, ma’am.” I almost forget about my shattered femur and groan after I move too quickly. Another officer lingers by the door, a tall, stern-looking woman with her light hair pulled into a tight bun at the base of her skull. She tells me I’m lucky to be alive, and if it had dropped below freezing, I wouldn’t have lasted those couple hours before a passing car stopped and called 911. I ask where Liam is, but she just looks to Sterling. Something is terribly wrong.“Why won’t anyone tell me what happened to him?” I plead. I watch Detective Sterling as he picks his way through a response.“The nurse tells me that you believe he was in the car with you at the time of the accident,” he says. I can hear the condescension in his voice. He’s speaking to me like I’m a child.“They said ‘I believe’ he was? That’s not a— That’s a fact. We came from a party—a book signing party. Anyone, anyone can tell you that he was with me. Please. Is he hurt?” I look down at my body for the first time and see the jagged stitches holding together the bruised flesh of my right arm. They look exaggerated, like the kind you might draw on with makeup and glue for a Halloween costume. I close my eyes, holding back nausea. I try to walk through the series of events—trying to piece together what happened and when.Liam had been quiet in the car. I knew he’d believed me after the accusations started. I knew he trusted me, but maybe I’d underestimated the seeds of doubt that had been planted in his mind. I tried to lighten the mood when we got in the car by making some joke about the fourteen-dollar domestic beers; he’d given a weak chuckle and rested his head on the passenger window.The detective looks at me with something resembling sympathy but closer to pity.“Do you recall how much you had to drink last night?” he asks accusingly.“What? You think…? No. I drove because he… No! Where is he?” I ask, not recognizing my own voice. It’s haggard and raw.“Do you recall taking anything to help you relax? Anything that might impair your driving?”“No,” I snap, nearly in tears again.“So, you didn’t take any benzodiazepine maybe? Yesterday…at some point?”“No— I— Please.” I choke back tears. “I don’t…” He looks at me pointedly, then scribbles something on his stupid notepad. I didn’t know what to say. Liam must be dead, and they think I’m too fragile to take the news. Why would they ask me this?“Ma’am,” he says, standing. He softens his tone. This is it. He’s going to tell me something I’ll never recover from.“You were the only one in the car when medics got there,” he says, studying me for my response, waiting to detect a lie that he can use against me later. His patronizing look infuriates me.“What?” The blood thumps in my ears. They think I’m crazy; that soft tone isn’t a sympathetic one reserved for delivery of the news that a loved one has died—it’s the careful language chosen when speaking to someone unstable. They think I’m some addict or a drunk. Maybe they think the impact had made me lose the details, but he was there. I swear to God. His cry came too late and there was a crash. It was deafening, and I saw him reach for me, his face distorted in terror. He tried to shield me. He was there. He was next to me, screaming my name when we saw the truck headlights appear only feet in front of us—too late.
Excerpted from Someone’s Listening by Seraphina Nova Glass, Copyright © 2020 by Seraphina Nova Glass.
Published by Graydon House Books
REVIEW: Someone's Listening
FOUR STARS ★★★★
Dr. Faith Finley has written a bestseller and then finds herself embroiled in a scandal that threatens her credibility. She also becomes a suspect in her husband's disappearance. Her life unravels and she is left to put it all together as her life might be in jeopardy.Piece by piece, layer by layer, I was sucked into the story. I didn't see the turn of events coming. A good thriller.Thank you, Netgalley, Graydon Books for this good read.
SOMEONE’S LISTENINGAuthor: Seraphina Nova GlassISBN: 9781...
SOMEONE’S LISTENINGAuthor: Seraphina Nova GlassISBN: 9781525836749Publication Date: July 28, 2020Publisher: Graydon House Books
Buy Links: Harlequin Barnes & NobleAmazonBooks-A-MillionPowell’s
Social Links:Author WebsiteTwitter: @SeraphinaNovaInstagram: @SeraphinaNovaGlassFacebook: @SeraphinaNovaGlassGoodreads
Author Bio: Seraphina Nova Glass is a professor and Playwright-in-Residence at the University of Texas-Arlington, where she teaches Film Studies and Playwriting. She holds an MFA in playwriting from Smith College, and has optioned multiple screenplays to Hallmark and Lifetime. Someone's Listening is her first novel.
Book Summary:
You’re not alone. Someone’s waiting. Someone’s watching…Someone's listening.
In SOMEONE’S LISTENING (Graydon House Books; July 28; $16.99) Dr. Faith Finley has everything she’s ever wanted: she’s a renowned psychologist, a radio personality—host of the wildly popular “Someone’s Listening with Dr. Faith Finley”—and a soon-to-be bestselling author. She’s young, beautiful, and married to the perfect man, Liam.
Of course Liam was at Faith’s book launch with her. But after her car crashes on the way home and she’s pulled from the wreckage, nobody can confirm that Liam was with her at the party. The police claim she was alone in car, and they don’t believe her when she says otherwise. Perhaps that’s understandable, given the horrible thing Faith was accused of doing a few weeks ago.
And then the notes start arriving—the ones literally ripped from the pages of Faith’s own self-help book on leaving an abusive relationship. Ones like “Secure your new home. Consider new window and door locks, an alarm system, and steel doors…”
Where is Liam? Is his disappearance connected to the scandal that ruined Faith’s life? Who is sending the notes? Faith’s very life will depend on finding the answers.PROLOGUE
WHEN I WAKE UP, IT’S BLACK AND STILL; I FEEL A light, icy snow that floats rather than falls, and I can’t open my eyes. I don’t know where I am, but it’s so quiet, the silence rings in my ears. My fingertips try to grip the ground, but I feel only a sheet of ice beneath me, splintered with bits of embedded gravel. The air is sharp, and I try to call for him, but I can’t speak. How long have I been here? I drift back out of consciousness. The next time I wake, I hear the crunching of ice under the boots of EMTs who rush around my body. I know where I am. I’m lying in the middle of County Road 6. There has been a crash. There’s a swirling red light, a strobe light in the vast blackness: they tell me not to move.“Where’s my husband?” I whimper. They tell me to try not to talk either. “Liam!” I try to yell for him, but it barely escapes my lips; they’re numb, near frozen, and it comes out in a hoarse whisper. How has this happened?I think of the party and how I hate driving at night, and how I was careful not to drink too much. I nursed a glass or two, stayed in control. Liam had a lot more. It wasn’t like him to get loaded, and I knew it was his way of getting back at me. He was irritated with me, with the position I’d put him in, even though he had never said it in so many words. I wanted to please him because this whole horrible situation was my fault, and I was sorry.When I wake up again I’m in a hospital room, connected to tubes and machines. The IV needle is stuck into a bruised, purple vein in the back of my hand that aches. In the dim light, I sip juice from a tiny plastic cup, and the soft beep of the EKG tries to lull me back to sleep, but I fight it. I want answers. I need to appear stabilized and alert. Another dose of painkiller is released into my IV; the momentary euphoria forces me to heave a sigh. I need to keep my eyes open. I can hear the cops arrive and talk to someone at a desk outside my door. They’ll tell me what happened.There’s a nurse who calls me “sweetie” and changes the subject when I ask about the accident. She gives the cops a sideways look when they come in to talk to me, and tells them they only have a few minutes and that I need to rest.Detective John Sterling greets me with a soft “Hello, ma’am.” I almost forget about my shattered femur and groan after I move too quickly. Another officer lingers by the door, a tall, stern-looking woman with her light hair pulled into a tight bun at the base of her skull. She tells me I’m lucky to be alive, and if it had dropped below freezing, I wouldn’t have lasted those couple hours before a passing car stopped and called 911. I ask where Liam is, but she just looks to Sterling. Something is terribly wrong.“Why won’t anyone tell me what happened to him?” I plead. I watch Detective Sterling as he picks his way through a response.“The nurse tells me that you believe he was in the car with you at the time of the accident,” he says. I can hear the condescension in his voice. He’s speaking to me like I’m a child.“They said ‘I believe’ he was? That’s not a— That’s a fact. We came from a party—a book signing party. Anyone, anyone can tell you that he was with me. Please. Is he hurt?” I look down at my body for the first time and see the jagged stitches holding together the bruised flesh of my right arm. They look exaggerated, like the kind you might draw on with makeup and glue for a Halloween costume. I close my eyes, holding back nausea. I try to walk through the series of events—trying to piece together what happened and when.Liam had been quiet in the car. I knew he’d believed me after the accusations started. I knew he trusted me, but maybe I’d underestimated the seeds of doubt that had been planted in his mind. I tried to lighten the mood when we got in the car by making some joke about the fourteen-dollar domestic beers; he’d given a weak chuckle and rested his head on the passenger window.The detective looks at me with something resembling sympathy but closer to pity.“Do you recall how much you had to drink last night?” he asks accusingly.“What? You think…? No. I drove because he… No! Where is he?” I ask, not recognizing my own voice. It’s haggard and raw.“Do you recall taking anything to help you relax? Anything that might impair your driving?”“No,” I snap, nearly in tears again.“So, you didn’t take any benzodiazepine maybe? Yesterday…at some point?”“No— I— Please.” I choke back tears. “I don’t…” He looks at me pointedly, then scribbles something on his stupid notepad. I didn’t know what to say. Liam must be dead, and they think I’m too fragile to take the news. Why would they ask me this?“Ma’am,” he says, standing. He softens his tone. This is it. He’s going to tell me something I’ll never recover from.“You were the only one in the car when medics got there,” he says, studying me for my response, waiting to detect a lie that he can use against me later. His patronizing look infuriates me.“What?” The blood thumps in my ears. They think I’m crazy; that soft tone isn’t a sympathetic one reserved for delivery of the news that a loved one has died—it’s the careful language chosen when speaking to someone unstable. They think I’m some addict or a drunk. Maybe they think the impact had made me lose the details, but he was there. I swear to God. His cry came too late and there was a crash. It was deafening, and I saw him reach for me, his face distorted in terror. He tried to shield me. He was there. He was next to me, screaming my name when we saw the truck headlights appear only feet in front of us—too late.
Excerpted from Someone’s Listening by Seraphina Nova Glass, Copyright © 2020 by Seraphina Nova Glass.
Published by Graydon House Books
REVIEW: Someone's Listening
FOUR STARS ★★★★
Dr. Faith Finley has written a bestseller and then finds herself embroiled in a scandal that threatens her credibility. She also becomes a suspect in her husband's disappearance. Her life unravels and she is left to put it all together as her life might be in jeopardy.Piece by piece, layer by layer, I was sucked into the story. I didn't see the turn of events coming. A good thriller.Thank you, Netgalley, Graydon Books for this good read.
Buy Links: Harlequin Barnes & NobleAmazonBooks-A-MillionPowell’s
Social Links:Author WebsiteTwitter: @SeraphinaNovaInstagram: @SeraphinaNovaGlassFacebook: @SeraphinaNovaGlassGoodreads
Author Bio: Seraphina Nova Glass is a professor and Playwright-in-Residence at the University of Texas-Arlington, where she teaches Film Studies and Playwriting. She holds an MFA in playwriting from Smith College, and has optioned multiple screenplays to Hallmark and Lifetime. Someone's Listening is her first novel.Book Summary:
You’re not alone. Someone’s waiting. Someone’s watching…Someone's listening.
In SOMEONE’S LISTENING (Graydon House Books; July 28; $16.99) Dr. Faith Finley has everything she’s ever wanted: she’s a renowned psychologist, a radio personality—host of the wildly popular “Someone’s Listening with Dr. Faith Finley”—and a soon-to-be bestselling author. She’s young, beautiful, and married to the perfect man, Liam.Of course Liam was at Faith’s book launch with her. But after her car crashes on the way home and she’s pulled from the wreckage, nobody can confirm that Liam was with her at the party. The police claim she was alone in car, and they don’t believe her when she says otherwise. Perhaps that’s understandable, given the horrible thing Faith was accused of doing a few weeks ago.
And then the notes start arriving—the ones literally ripped from the pages of Faith’s own self-help book on leaving an abusive relationship. Ones like “Secure your new home. Consider new window and door locks, an alarm system, and steel doors…”
Where is Liam? Is his disappearance connected to the scandal that ruined Faith’s life? Who is sending the notes? Faith’s very life will depend on finding the answers.PROLOGUE
WHEN I WAKE UP, IT’S BLACK AND STILL; I FEEL A light, icy snow that floats rather than falls, and I can’t open my eyes. I don’t know where I am, but it’s so quiet, the silence rings in my ears. My fingertips try to grip the ground, but I feel only a sheet of ice beneath me, splintered with bits of embedded gravel. The air is sharp, and I try to call for him, but I can’t speak. How long have I been here? I drift back out of consciousness. The next time I wake, I hear the crunching of ice under the boots of EMTs who rush around my body. I know where I am. I’m lying in the middle of County Road 6. There has been a crash. There’s a swirling red light, a strobe light in the vast blackness: they tell me not to move.“Where’s my husband?” I whimper. They tell me to try not to talk either. “Liam!” I try to yell for him, but it barely escapes my lips; they’re numb, near frozen, and it comes out in a hoarse whisper. How has this happened?I think of the party and how I hate driving at night, and how I was careful not to drink too much. I nursed a glass or two, stayed in control. Liam had a lot more. It wasn’t like him to get loaded, and I knew it was his way of getting back at me. He was irritated with me, with the position I’d put him in, even though he had never said it in so many words. I wanted to please him because this whole horrible situation was my fault, and I was sorry.When I wake up again I’m in a hospital room, connected to tubes and machines. The IV needle is stuck into a bruised, purple vein in the back of my hand that aches. In the dim light, I sip juice from a tiny plastic cup, and the soft beep of the EKG tries to lull me back to sleep, but I fight it. I want answers. I need to appear stabilized and alert. Another dose of painkiller is released into my IV; the momentary euphoria forces me to heave a sigh. I need to keep my eyes open. I can hear the cops arrive and talk to someone at a desk outside my door. They’ll tell me what happened.There’s a nurse who calls me “sweetie” and changes the subject when I ask about the accident. She gives the cops a sideways look when they come in to talk to me, and tells them they only have a few minutes and that I need to rest.Detective John Sterling greets me with a soft “Hello, ma’am.” I almost forget about my shattered femur and groan after I move too quickly. Another officer lingers by the door, a tall, stern-looking woman with her light hair pulled into a tight bun at the base of her skull. She tells me I’m lucky to be alive, and if it had dropped below freezing, I wouldn’t have lasted those couple hours before a passing car stopped and called 911. I ask where Liam is, but she just looks to Sterling. Something is terribly wrong.“Why won’t anyone tell me what happened to him?” I plead. I watch Detective Sterling as he picks his way through a response.“The nurse tells me that you believe he was in the car with you at the time of the accident,” he says. I can hear the condescension in his voice. He’s speaking to me like I’m a child.“They said ‘I believe’ he was? That’s not a— That’s a fact. We came from a party—a book signing party. Anyone, anyone can tell you that he was with me. Please. Is he hurt?” I look down at my body for the first time and see the jagged stitches holding together the bruised flesh of my right arm. They look exaggerated, like the kind you might draw on with makeup and glue for a Halloween costume. I close my eyes, holding back nausea. I try to walk through the series of events—trying to piece together what happened and when.Liam had been quiet in the car. I knew he’d believed me after the accusations started. I knew he trusted me, but maybe I’d underestimated the seeds of doubt that had been planted in his mind. I tried to lighten the mood when we got in the car by making some joke about the fourteen-dollar domestic beers; he’d given a weak chuckle and rested his head on the passenger window.The detective looks at me with something resembling sympathy but closer to pity.“Do you recall how much you had to drink last night?” he asks accusingly.“What? You think…? No. I drove because he… No! Where is he?” I ask, not recognizing my own voice. It’s haggard and raw.“Do you recall taking anything to help you relax? Anything that might impair your driving?”“No,” I snap, nearly in tears again.“So, you didn’t take any benzodiazepine maybe? Yesterday…at some point?”“No— I— Please.” I choke back tears. “I don’t…” He looks at me pointedly, then scribbles something on his stupid notepad. I didn’t know what to say. Liam must be dead, and they think I’m too fragile to take the news. Why would they ask me this?“Ma’am,” he says, standing. He softens his tone. This is it. He’s going to tell me something I’ll never recover from.“You were the only one in the car when medics got there,” he says, studying me for my response, waiting to detect a lie that he can use against me later. His patronizing look infuriates me.“What?” The blood thumps in my ears. They think I’m crazy; that soft tone isn’t a sympathetic one reserved for delivery of the news that a loved one has died—it’s the careful language chosen when speaking to someone unstable. They think I’m some addict or a drunk. Maybe they think the impact had made me lose the details, but he was there. I swear to God. His cry came too late and there was a crash. It was deafening, and I saw him reach for me, his face distorted in terror. He tried to shield me. He was there. He was next to me, screaming my name when we saw the truck headlights appear only feet in front of us—too late.
Excerpted from Someone’s Listening by Seraphina Nova Glass, Copyright © 2020 by Seraphina Nova Glass.
Published by Graydon House Books
REVIEW: Someone's Listening
FOUR STARS ★★★★
Dr. Faith Finley has written a bestseller and then finds herself embroiled in a scandal that threatens her credibility. She also becomes a suspect in her husband's disappearance. Her life unravels and she is left to put it all together as her life might be in jeopardy.Piece by piece, layer by layer, I was sucked into the story. I didn't see the turn of events coming. A good thriller.Thank you, Netgalley, Graydon Books for this good read.
July 14, 2020
Review: A Winning Season
A Winning Season by Rochelle AlersMy rating: 3 of 5 stars
Baseball ace Sutton Reed’s returned home and has moved next door to Zoey Allen and her brother. He volunteers to be a mentor for her brother and blossoms under his care, During that time, he gets closer to Zoey and things heat up. A nice girl/boy next door story.
View all my reviews
July 13, 2020
Welcome to the blog: THE LAST WIFE
THE LAST WIFEAuthor: Karen HamiltonISBN: 9781525831744Publication Date: July 7, 2020Publisher: Graydon House Books
Buy Links:HarlequinBarnes & NobleAmazonBooks-A-MillionPowell’s
Social Links:Author WebsiteTwitter: @KJHAuthor
Instagram: @karenhamiltonauthorFacebook: @KarenHamiltonWriterGoodreads
Author Bio:Karen Hamilton spent her childhood in Angola, Zimbabwe, Belgium and Italy and worked as a flight attendant for many years. Karen is a recent graduate of the Faber Academy and, having now put down roots in Hampshire to raise her young family with her husband, she satisfies her wanderlust by exploring the world through her writing. She is also the author of the international bestseller The Perfect Girlfriend.
Book Summary:
In Karen Hamilton’s shocking thriller, THE LAST WIFE (Graydon House, July 7, $17.99) Marie Langham is distraught when her childhood friend, Nina, is diagnosed with a terminal illness. Before Nina passes away, she asks Marie to look out for her family—her son, daughter, and husband, Stuart. Marie would do anything for Nina, so of course, she agrees.Following Nina's death, Marie gradually finds herself drawn into her friend's life—her family, her large house in the countryside. But when Camilla, a mutual friend from their old art-college days, suddenly reappears, Marie begins to suspect that she has a hidden agenda. Then, Marie discovers that Nina had long suppressed secrets about a holiday in Ibiza the women took ten years previously when Marie's then-boyfriend went missing after a tragic accident and was later found dead.Marie used to envy Nina's beautiful life, but now the cards are up in the air and she begins to realize that nothing is what it seemed. As long-buried secrets start surfacing, Marie must figure out what’s true and who she can trust before the consequences of Nina’s dark secrets destroy her.
PROLOGUE
Clients trust me because I blend in. It’s a natural skill—my gift, if you like. I focus my lens and capture stories, like the ones unfolding tonight: natural and guarded expressions, self-conscious poses, joyous smiles, reluctant ones from a teenage bridesmaid, swathed in silver and bloodred. The groom is an old friend, yet I’ve only met his now-wife twice. She seems reserved, hard to get to know, but in their wedding album she’ll glow. The camera does lie. My role is to take these lies and spin them into the perfect story.I take a glass of champagne from a passing server. I needn’t be totally on the ball during the latter half of the evening because by then, people naturally loosen up. I find that the purest details are revealed in the discreet pictures I snatch during the final hours, however innocuously an event starts. And besides, it seems this event is winding down.The one downside of my job is the mixed bag of emotions evoked. I rarely take family photos anymore, so normally, I’m fine, but today, watching the wedding festivities, the longing for what I don’t have has crept up on me. People think that envy is a bad thing, but in my opinion, envy is a positive emotion. It has always been the best indicator for me to realize what’s wrong with my life. People say, “Follow your dreams,” yet I’d say, “Follow what makes you sick with envy.”It’s how I knew that I must stop deceiving myself and face up to how desperately I wanted to have a child. Delayed gratification is overrated.I place my camera on a table as the tempo eases and sit down on a satin-draped chair. As I watch the bride sweep across the dance floor with her new husband, I think of Nina, and an overwhelming tide of grief floods through me. I picture her haunted expression when she elicited three final promises from me: two are easy to keep, one is not. Nonetheless, a vow is a vow. I will be creative and fulfill it. I have a bad—yet tempting—idea which occasionally beckons me toward a slippery slope.I must do my best to avoid it because when Nina passed the baton to me, she thought I was someone she could trust. However, as my yearning grows, the crushing disappointment increases every month and the future I crave remains elusive. And she didn’t know that I’d do anything to get what I want. Anything.
ONE
Ben isn’t at home. I used to panic when that happened, assume that he was unconscious in a burning building, his oxygen tank depleted, his colleagues unable to reach him. All this, despite his assurance that they have safety checks in place to keep an eye out for each other. He’s been stressed lately, blames it on work. He loves his job as a firefighter, but nearly lost one of his closest colleagues in a fire on the fourth floor of a block of flats recently when a load of wiring fell down and threatened to ensnare him.No, the reality is that he is punishing me. He doesn’t have a shift today. I understand his hurt, but it’s hard to explain why I did what I did. For a start, I didn’t think that people actually sent out printed wedding invitations anymore. If I’d known that the innocuous piece of silver card smothered in horseshoes and church bells would be the ignition for the worst argument we’d ever had, I wouldn’t have opened it in his presence.
Marie Langham plus guest…
I don’t know what annoyed Ben more, the fact that he wasn’t deemed important enough to be named or that I said I was going alone.“I’m working,” I tried to explain. “The invitation is obviously a kind formality, a politeness.”“All this is easily rectifiable,” he said. “If you wanted me there, you wouldn’t have kept me in the dark. The date was blocked off as work months ago in our calendar.”True. But I couldn’t admit it. He wouldn’t appreciate being called a distraction.Now, I have to make it up to him because it’s the right time of the month. He hates what he refers to as enforced sex (too much pressure), and any obvious scene-setting like oyster-and-champagne dinners, new lingerie, an invitation to join me in the shower or even a simple suggestion that we just shag, all the standard methods annoy him. It’s hard to believe that other couples have this problem, it makes me feel inadequate.One of our cats bursts through the flap and aims for her bowl. I observe her munching, oblivious to my return home until this month’s strategy presents itself to me: nonchalance. A part of Ben’s stress is that he thinks I’m obsessed with having a baby. I told him to look up the true meaning of the word: an unhealthy interest in something. It’s not an obsession to desire something perfectly normal.I unpack, then luxuriate in a steaming bath filled with bubbles. I’m a real sucker for the sales promises: relax and unwind and revitalize. I hear the muffled sound of a key in the lock. It’s Ben—who else would it be—yet I jump out and wrap a towel around me. He’s not alone. I hear the voices of our neighbors, Rob and Mike. He’s brought in reinforcements to maintain the barrier between us. There are two ways for me to play this and if you can’t beat them…I dress in jeans and a T-shirt, twist my hair up and grip it with a hair clip, wipe mascara smudges from beneath my eyes and head downstairs.“You’re back,” says Ben by way of a greeting. “The guys have come over for a curry.”“Sounds perfect,” I say, kissing him before hugging our friends hello.I feel smug at the wrong-footed expression on Ben’s face. He thought I’d be unable to hide my annoyance, that I’d pull him to one side and whisper, “It’s orange,” (the color my fertility app suggests is the perfect time) or suggest that I cook instead so I can ensure he eats as organically as possible.“Who’s up for margaritas?” I say with an I’m game for a big night smile.Ben’s demeanor visibly softens. Result. I’m forgiven.The whole evening is an effortless success.Indifference and good, old-fashioned getting pissed works.
Excerpted from The Last Wife by Karen Hamilton, Copyright © 2020 by Karen HamiltonPublished by Graydon House Books
REVIEW*** 3 StarsTHE LAST WIFE was my first read from Karen Hamilton. This was a domestic drama centered around Marie, whose friend Nina dies, and she steps in to take over her friend's life. As you read, each layer unfolds and you realize each of the characters has their own lies, deception that makes for a crazy read. The main thing that stuck with me, is that we have to be careful what we ask for. Sometimes what we think we want, isn't what we actually want or need.Thank you #Netgalley and Graydon books
Buy Links:HarlequinBarnes & NobleAmazonBooks-A-MillionPowell’s
Social Links:Author WebsiteTwitter: @KJHAuthor
Instagram: @karenhamiltonauthorFacebook: @KarenHamiltonWriterGoodreads
Author Bio:Karen Hamilton spent her childhood in Angola, Zimbabwe, Belgium and Italy and worked as a flight attendant for many years. Karen is a recent graduate of the Faber Academy and, having now put down roots in Hampshire to raise her young family with her husband, she satisfies her wanderlust by exploring the world through her writing. She is also the author of the international bestseller The Perfect Girlfriend.Book Summary:
In Karen Hamilton’s shocking thriller, THE LAST WIFE (Graydon House, July 7, $17.99) Marie Langham is distraught when her childhood friend, Nina, is diagnosed with a terminal illness. Before Nina passes away, she asks Marie to look out for her family—her son, daughter, and husband, Stuart. Marie would do anything for Nina, so of course, she agrees.Following Nina's death, Marie gradually finds herself drawn into her friend's life—her family, her large house in the countryside. But when Camilla, a mutual friend from their old art-college days, suddenly reappears, Marie begins to suspect that she has a hidden agenda. Then, Marie discovers that Nina had long suppressed secrets about a holiday in Ibiza the women took ten years previously when Marie's then-boyfriend went missing after a tragic accident and was later found dead.Marie used to envy Nina's beautiful life, but now the cards are up in the air and she begins to realize that nothing is what it seemed. As long-buried secrets start surfacing, Marie must figure out what’s true and who she can trust before the consequences of Nina’s dark secrets destroy her.PROLOGUE
Clients trust me because I blend in. It’s a natural skill—my gift, if you like. I focus my lens and capture stories, like the ones unfolding tonight: natural and guarded expressions, self-conscious poses, joyous smiles, reluctant ones from a teenage bridesmaid, swathed in silver and bloodred. The groom is an old friend, yet I’ve only met his now-wife twice. She seems reserved, hard to get to know, but in their wedding album she’ll glow. The camera does lie. My role is to take these lies and spin them into the perfect story.I take a glass of champagne from a passing server. I needn’t be totally on the ball during the latter half of the evening because by then, people naturally loosen up. I find that the purest details are revealed in the discreet pictures I snatch during the final hours, however innocuously an event starts. And besides, it seems this event is winding down.The one downside of my job is the mixed bag of emotions evoked. I rarely take family photos anymore, so normally, I’m fine, but today, watching the wedding festivities, the longing for what I don’t have has crept up on me. People think that envy is a bad thing, but in my opinion, envy is a positive emotion. It has always been the best indicator for me to realize what’s wrong with my life. People say, “Follow your dreams,” yet I’d say, “Follow what makes you sick with envy.”It’s how I knew that I must stop deceiving myself and face up to how desperately I wanted to have a child. Delayed gratification is overrated.I place my camera on a table as the tempo eases and sit down on a satin-draped chair. As I watch the bride sweep across the dance floor with her new husband, I think of Nina, and an overwhelming tide of grief floods through me. I picture her haunted expression when she elicited three final promises from me: two are easy to keep, one is not. Nonetheless, a vow is a vow. I will be creative and fulfill it. I have a bad—yet tempting—idea which occasionally beckons me toward a slippery slope.I must do my best to avoid it because when Nina passed the baton to me, she thought I was someone she could trust. However, as my yearning grows, the crushing disappointment increases every month and the future I crave remains elusive. And she didn’t know that I’d do anything to get what I want. Anything.
ONE
Ben isn’t at home. I used to panic when that happened, assume that he was unconscious in a burning building, his oxygen tank depleted, his colleagues unable to reach him. All this, despite his assurance that they have safety checks in place to keep an eye out for each other. He’s been stressed lately, blames it on work. He loves his job as a firefighter, but nearly lost one of his closest colleagues in a fire on the fourth floor of a block of flats recently when a load of wiring fell down and threatened to ensnare him.No, the reality is that he is punishing me. He doesn’t have a shift today. I understand his hurt, but it’s hard to explain why I did what I did. For a start, I didn’t think that people actually sent out printed wedding invitations anymore. If I’d known that the innocuous piece of silver card smothered in horseshoes and church bells would be the ignition for the worst argument we’d ever had, I wouldn’t have opened it in his presence.
Marie Langham plus guest…
I don’t know what annoyed Ben more, the fact that he wasn’t deemed important enough to be named or that I said I was going alone.“I’m working,” I tried to explain. “The invitation is obviously a kind formality, a politeness.”“All this is easily rectifiable,” he said. “If you wanted me there, you wouldn’t have kept me in the dark. The date was blocked off as work months ago in our calendar.”True. But I couldn’t admit it. He wouldn’t appreciate being called a distraction.Now, I have to make it up to him because it’s the right time of the month. He hates what he refers to as enforced sex (too much pressure), and any obvious scene-setting like oyster-and-champagne dinners, new lingerie, an invitation to join me in the shower or even a simple suggestion that we just shag, all the standard methods annoy him. It’s hard to believe that other couples have this problem, it makes me feel inadequate.One of our cats bursts through the flap and aims for her bowl. I observe her munching, oblivious to my return home until this month’s strategy presents itself to me: nonchalance. A part of Ben’s stress is that he thinks I’m obsessed with having a baby. I told him to look up the true meaning of the word: an unhealthy interest in something. It’s not an obsession to desire something perfectly normal.I unpack, then luxuriate in a steaming bath filled with bubbles. I’m a real sucker for the sales promises: relax and unwind and revitalize. I hear the muffled sound of a key in the lock. It’s Ben—who else would it be—yet I jump out and wrap a towel around me. He’s not alone. I hear the voices of our neighbors, Rob and Mike. He’s brought in reinforcements to maintain the barrier between us. There are two ways for me to play this and if you can’t beat them…I dress in jeans and a T-shirt, twist my hair up and grip it with a hair clip, wipe mascara smudges from beneath my eyes and head downstairs.“You’re back,” says Ben by way of a greeting. “The guys have come over for a curry.”“Sounds perfect,” I say, kissing him before hugging our friends hello.I feel smug at the wrong-footed expression on Ben’s face. He thought I’d be unable to hide my annoyance, that I’d pull him to one side and whisper, “It’s orange,” (the color my fertility app suggests is the perfect time) or suggest that I cook instead so I can ensure he eats as organically as possible.“Who’s up for margaritas?” I say with an I’m game for a big night smile.Ben’s demeanor visibly softens. Result. I’m forgiven.The whole evening is an effortless success.Indifference and good, old-fashioned getting pissed works.
Excerpted from The Last Wife by Karen Hamilton, Copyright © 2020 by Karen HamiltonPublished by Graydon House Books
REVIEW*** 3 StarsTHE LAST WIFE was my first read from Karen Hamilton. This was a domestic drama centered around Marie, whose friend Nina dies, and she steps in to take over her friend's life. As you read, each layer unfolds and you realize each of the characters has their own lies, deception that makes for a crazy read. The main thing that stuck with me, is that we have to be careful what we ask for. Sometimes what we think we want, isn't what we actually want or need.Thank you #Netgalley and Graydon books
July 6, 2020
Review: A Walk Along the Beach
A Walk Along the Beach by Debbie MacomberMy rating: 3 of 5 stars
Willa has been like a mother to her sister, Harper, once their mother died. She has tended for her sister through cancer before and then discovers it has returned. This was heartwarming and showed the power of love for family. Family can be a rock during tough times. I loved the interaction between Willa, her siblings and their father.
Sean is looking to start a new career as a photographer. He had to set his priorities in order - his job or his woman. He loves Willa but will his actions match up to that declaration?
I enjoyed the read although I questioned Sean's actions a lot - meaning, I didn't see his growth as a character by the end of the story. I felt Willa had a big heart and I wasn't sure if he truly truly deserved it.
Thank you, Netgalley for this ARC.
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