Tuesday, November 21, 2017

Promo Blitz for The Hypnotists Daughter by Brittany Raschdorf



Welcome to my stop on the Promo Blitz, presented by RABT Book Tours, for The Hypnotists Daughter by Brittany Raschdorf.  Please leave a comment or question for Brittany to let her know you stopped by. 




The Hypnotists Daughter
By Brittany Raschdorf

Publisher: Koehler Books;
Release Date: September 1, 2017
Genre: YA Thriller
Length: 277 Pages
ISBN: 978-1633934016
ASIN: B075RP99C8



Purchase Links: 







Though things look beautiful to the naked eye, when you look between the cracks of fame and fortune, things aren’t always what they seem.

Prosperity Baxter (Peri) is selling her soul for fame – figuratively of course. Everyone who is anyone in Hollywood has gone through Jameson Frye to get there. Peri has a once in a lifetime meeting with him, set up by her father Harris Baxter, the biggest name in hypnotism on the entire West Coast.

But in the movie industry, you don’t get something for nothing. Peri pays the ultimate price before she is thrust full speed ahead into her new acting career. The manager Jameson sets her up with, bad-boy HUDSON GREGOR, is known for his amoral reputation. Peri learns early on that Hudson is not to be crossed. But when secrets begin to surface as the scenes from the horror film she is starring in begin to dredge up memories she was never supposed to remember, she will have to learn to rely on him.

Lies, cover-ups and an unthinkable initiation all leave her desperate for answers.

Prosperity is determined to find out if there is enough good in this world to overcome the evil she sees everywhere she looks – even in her own eyes.

Recent Praise for The Hypnotist's Daughter:

"A shocking debut that leaves us pondering the origins of evil and the power of memory." -- J.C. Sasser, author of Gradle Bird

"Raw and hypnotizing. This is the first chapter in what promises to be an unnerving and mysterious series." -- Peter L. Harmon, author of The Happenstances . . . young adult book series

"A triumphant debut novel from Brittany Raschdorf." -- Charlotte Bowyer, author of His Frozen Fingertips


"Imaginative ride into the fantasy realm" -- Meisha Camm, author of Brewer Archives






About the Author   

Brittany Raschdorf is a devoted mother of two who lives in Chesapeake, Virginia with her husband and their two dogs. Growing up, Brittany was always tethered to a book, only putting them down occasionally to play in the mud or roughhouse with her brother. She knew deep down she had a passion for words—it was the way the black jumped off the white and landed in her soul as she read. But it wasn’t until she began to write that she truly came alive. And it wasn’t until she became a mother that she realized she had a story to tell.





Contact Links




RABT Book Tours & PR

Blurb Blitz & #Giveaway for The Christmas Carriage and Other Writings of the Holiday by Alice Jane-Marie Massa

Welcome to my stop on the Blurb Blitz, presented by Goddess Fish Promotions, for The Christmas Carriage and Other Writing of the Holiday Season by Alice Jane-Marie Massa.  Please leave a comment or question for Alice to let her know you stopped by.  You may enter her tour wide giveaway by filling out the Rafflecopter form below.  You may follow all of the stops on the tour by clicking on the banner above.  Good Luck! 


The Christmas Carriage and Other Writing of the Holiday Season
By Alice Jane-Marie Massa

Publisher:  Alice Jane-Marie Massa
Release Date: November 28, 2016
Genre: Short Story Collection
Length: 102 Pages
ISBN: 978-1540573162
ASIN: B01N0KYRPE





About the book:

​To celebrate holiday reading, author Alice Jane-Marie Massa invites you to join her on a snowy, imaginary carriage ride featuring her holiday memoirs, short stories, essays, and poetry from her book, THE CHRISTMAS CARRIAGE AND OTHER WRITINGS OF THE HOLIDAY SEASON.

​Spanning from Thanksgiving through the new year, this collection includes her remembrances of Hoosier holidays in the 1950s and 1960s.  "The Christmas Carriage" (set in Milwaukee) and "The Puppies of New Year's Eve," along with stories about a military family, two holiday weddings, and a homeless person will warm your heart this winter.  From "Zoe's Christmas Eve" to "Snow Dancers," Alice's poetry provides merry and memorable reading for both adults and children.

​With a beautifully festive cover, this book is one you will want to wrap as a holiday gift, as well as a book that you will want to keep beside your chair while you settle into the sparkle and joy of this holiday season.

​For additional information about ordering this 101-page book in either print, electronic, audio, or braille versions, please visit the author's web page:
http://www.dldbooks.com/alicemassa/

​Alice also invites you to visit her weekly blog:
http://alice13wordwalk.wordpress.com




EXCERPT

For at least three decades, Mrs. Nevando's Christmas wish was to have a carriage ride through the city on Christmas Eve.  She never mentioned this wish to her husband:  the idea seemed all too frivolous.  Twelve years ago, when she sat beside  his hospital bed, Mrs. Nevando dozed periodically and dreamed of a Christmas carriage ride.  Each of the past twelve Christmases that she endured with the memories of her deceased, beloved husband, the 74-year-old woman still entertained the thought of  a carriage ride, but then routinely dismissed the notion.  "An old woman riding in a carriage alone on Christmas Eve!  What would people think?" she often found herself wondering aloud--well, in an audible whisper.

In mid-December, Mrs. Nevando was in her usual mode of declining all holiday invitations although she was not receiving as many as she had in earlier years.  One son was somewhere in Europe, and the other son was on the East Coast.  Of course, they knew their mother was a Midwestern girl--old girl--who did not care to join the masses at airports during any holiday season.  After she wrote e-mails to both sons and a few other family members, Mrs. Nevando found herself exploring the website for the city carriage rides.  Although she read that carriage rides were available on Christmas Eve, the cost was too expensive for her taste.  Nevertheless, she reasoned that one carriage ride was certainly way less money than an airline ticket to Italy or even to Boston. 

AUTHOR Bio and Links:

Although Alice Jane-Marie Massa has lived in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, for over 25 years, growing up in the rural Indiana town of Blanford (with a population of approximately 400) influenced the subject matter and style of her writing. After earning master's degrees from Indiana State University and Western Michigan University, Alice, still a Hoosier at heart, taught for 25 years, including 14 years of teaching writing and public speaking at Milwaukee Area Technical College. Having retired from teaching English and grading stacks of student papers, she now focuses on her own writing.

Alice invites you to visit her blog: http://alice13wordwalk.wordpress.com, where, since January of 2013, she has posted weekly her poetry, essays, memoirs, or short stories. Her writings on Wordwalk frequently focus on her Indiana hometown of Blanford, her four guide dogs, her Italian ancestors, and writing. Additionally, some of her writing pieces have been published in Indiana Voice Journal, Magnets and Ladders, Dialogue, Newsreel, and The ACB Braille Forum, as well as in the anthology Behind Our Eyes: A Second Look.

Away from her desk, Alice enjoys reading, container gardening, and the television program Jeopardy. Since March 21, 1990, Alice's guide dogs have added sparkle, spirit, and independence to her life. Currently, most of all, she is grateful for her long walks with her fourth Leader Dog, Willow (a black Labrador), who is following very well in the amazing pawprints of Alice's beloved first three Leader Dogs—Keller (a Golden Retriever), Heather (a Yellow Labrador), and Zoe (a Black Lab/Golden Retriever mix).



Can I just say YUM!


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Book Blast & #Giveaway for Prosecco Christmas by Sylvia Ashby

Welcome to my stop on the Book Blast, presented by Goddess Fish Promotions, for Prosecco Christmas by Sylvia Ashby.  Please leave a comment or question for Sylvia to let her know you stopped by.  You may enter her tour wide giveaway by filling out the Rafflecoper form below.  You may follow all of the stops on the tour by clicking on the banner above. Good Luck!

Prosecco Christmas
By Sylvia Ashby
Pot Love, Book 3

Publisher:  Sylvia Ashby
Release Date: November 2, 2017
Genre: Romantic Comedy/Chick Lit
Length: 274 Pages
ASIN: B076X7VTVK


Buy Link:  Amazon


About the book:

Family is where life begins.
And what better time to spend with your family than Christmas week?

Ashley and Giacomo go to Upper Swainswick, a postcard village ten minutes’ drive from Bath, to stay with Ashley’s mum and stepdad. It’s their last visit before the arrival of their first child.

But babies have a habit of being unpredictable.

So when Ashley goes into labour on Christmas Eve, three weeks ahead of schedule, it takes everyone by surprise.

She’s not ready! Her perfect Birth Plan is packed away in her hospital bag two hundred miles away, she has no going home outfit, and she has a live event planned for New Year’s Eve for her YouTube channel, The Sinking Chef. People have been signing up for it for weeks. She can’t possibly disappoint them on the last day of the year. What is she to do?

The tinsel gets even more tangled when Giacomo’s parents decide to fly from Italy to meet their first grandchild. Hotels are fully booked, so everyone has to stay under the same roof.


Would eleven people in the house, not counting the baby, turn out to be simply too much for Ashley?


EXCERPT

Predictability is key in having an uncomplicated birth, I realise.

Joslyn, a young and tall American lady at the antenatal classes, even tried to use an ancient Japanese fortune-telling device – omikuji to predict the correct birth date for her child. I checked it on the internet and omikuji is basically a paper strip with a prophecy written on it and can be found at shrines and temples throughout Japan.

Only Joslyn wasn’t in Japan, but in England and we don’t have many shrines and temples around. So she made do with a free omikuji generator online. She got “uncertain bad luck”, “uncertain good luck” and “middle bad luck” and was quite hysterical for the rest of her pregnancy. I don’t think she scheduled a Caesarean either.

‘Giacomo, could you give us a hand with the wine? I want to pick some good Prosecco. You stay in the car, darling,’ Mum chirps towards me as she hurries out. ‘We won’t be a mo.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ I cry after her. I don’t fancy spending the next half an hour alone in the car. Mum’s “moments” can be anywhere up to an hour at a time.

I open the car door and put my foot out. I step right into a puddle which soaks my boot with German efficiency.

‘Great.’ I groan.

I turn in my seat and try to get out of the car avoiding the puddle with my other foot. Hopefully, it’ll be warm inside Marks & Spencer’s so my boot will dry out fast. I manage to step over the wet patch and slide out of the seat when a Braxton Hicks hits me so hard I double over in pain. I close my eyes, breathe and pant for a few seconds. Hot sweat flushes down my body and soaks me all the way down to my, already wet, feet.  This contraction is particularly strong. It makes me grip my stomach, huddle my shoulders and shiver against the strong December wind.

I really wish I was at home, in bed, and not in a supermarket car park braving the wind. “I’m pregnant and in pain!” I want to shout after Mum who’s just disappearing through the supermarket’s sliding doors. Next to her is Michael, who is still tapping on his phone and not looking where he’s going.

‘You all right, love?’ I hear a man’s voice from close proximity. I look up. It’s the man I saw this morning collecting donations by the M&S front door. The one with the Rudolf jumper and Santa hat. He’s looking at me with an open interest.

‘I’m fine, thanks.’ I straighten up and brush my hair back. ‘It’s Braxton Hicks,’ I explain. ‘It’s not the real thing.’

The man doesn’t look convinced. He shakes his green donation bucket, making it rattle thoughtfully.

‘Braxton Hicks, uh?’ he says. ‘It’s doesn’t look like Braxton Hicks to me.’

I glare at him, irate. Why does everyone around me think they are childbirth experts? Mum, Michael, now this man in a ridiculous reindeer jumper with a donation bucket.

‘I’ve just been to the hospital,’ I inform him, ‘where I was thoroughly examined,’ “by a nurse with a uterus” I almost add but stop myself. ‘They assured me these are Braxton Hicks’.

‘Right,’ the man doesn’t waver. ‘Who did you say examined you?’

Honestly! Why does this man think I have time for chit-chat when I’m in so much pain?

I lean back against the car for support. I feel quite faint all of a sudden.

‘I can’t remember,’ I tell him breathlessly. ‘And does it really matter anyway?’

The man shakes his donation bucket again.

‘I think they might have got it wrong.’

‘Maybe.’ I force myself to nod politely. ‘What makes you say that?’

‘That wet patch on the front of your jeans is a pretty big telltale,’ he says, eying my legs.

I look down.

‘Oh, my God!’ I squeal. ‘My waters broke!’
AUTHOR Bio and Links:

Sylvia Ashby is fond of the written word: books, blog posts, recipes, even an explanation to the HM Revenue & Customs as to why she thinks skirts should be exempt from VAT - she's written it all!

She likes travelling and has lived all over Europe - London, Brussels, Amsterdam and Sofia, Bulgaria. Currently, she lives in Leuven, Belgium with her husband, daughter, son and a sparrow called Jack, who comes occasionally to peck the seeds she leaves for him on top of the garden shed.







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Blog Tour & #Giveaway for How To Woo A Wallflower by Christy Carlyle


Welcome to my stop on the Virtual Tour, presented by Author’s Pal for How to Woo a Wallflower by Christy Carlyle.  Please leave a comment or question for Christy to let her know you stopped by.  You may follow all of the stops on the tour by clicking on the banner above.  Good Luck!

Meet the Author:


Fueled by Pacific Northwest coffee and inspired by multiple viewings of every British costume
drama she can get her hands on, Christy Carlyle writes sensual historical romance set in the Victorian era. She loves heroes who struggle against all odds and heroines who are ahead of their time. A former teacher with a degree in history, she finds there's nothing better than being able to combine her love of the past with a die-hard belief in happy endings.

Connect: Site | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

About the Book:


An Unconventional Wallflower…

Clarissa Ruthven was born to be a proper lady, but she’s never wanted to live up to the expectations her late father set. Determined to use her inheritance to help the less fortunate women of London, she’s devastated to learn that she won’t be inheriting anything until she marries, a fate she has no interest in. Unwilling to let go of her plans, Clary works at Ruthven Publishing for Gabriel Adamson, a man who’s always hated her. She’s always returned the feeling, but as she begins to turn her family’s publishing company upside down, she finds herself unable to forget her handsome boss.

Never Follows the Rules…

Gabriel Adamson believes in order. He certainly doesn’t believe Clary should be sticking her nose in the publishing company, and she definitely has no business invading his every thought. But Gabe soon finds he can’t resist Clary’s sense of freedom or her passionate kisses and he starts to crave everything she’s willing to give him.

Especially When It Comes to Love…

When Gabe’s dark past comes back to haunt him, he’ll do anything to make sure that Clary isn’t hurt…even if it means giving up the only woman he’s ever loved.

Purchase: Amazon | KindleBarnes & Noble | iBooks | Kobo

Add to Goodreads




EXCERPT

Few visited the Ruthven offices who were not expected. Workroom employees were due at half past seven. Vendors arranged appointments weeks in advance. No meeting was ever scheduled before nine. Gabe imposed order efficiently and effectively on the daily goings-on of the business. If some random Londoner happened across their threshold, it was usually because the poor sod got lost.

Over the years, Gabe had learned the rhythms of the workroom floor by heart, memorizing the clatter of the printing presses and the patterned strikes of Daughtry, his assistant, and other clerks tapping at their typewriters. When productivity waned because of inane chitchat, he caught that too. And immediately cut such nonsense short.

So when he settled behind his desk on Monday morning, a half hour before any other employees were due to arrive, as was his habit, he savored the bliss of quiet. He felt something akin to peace. After weeks of mulling, he’d made a choice. He would inform Kit Ruthven of his plans to leave Ruthven’s and take the position offered by Wellbeck Publishers.

Why shouldn’t he go? He owed no loyalty to the late Leopold Ruthven. The man had been a reprobate, far worse than his family suspected. Only grudgingly, Gabe had come to respect the son. Kit Ruthven trusted him to carry out his duties, rarely questioning or interfering with his management. He even admired the man’s determination to share ownership with his sisters. If he’d been lucky enough to inherit anything of value, he’d have happily shared with Sara too.

Of course, Gabe didn’t believe in luck. Only in scrabbling and fighting for every scrap of good fortune that came his way.

Change was necessary. He needed the higher salary Wellbeck’s offered. He’d been beholden to the Ruthvens for long enough.

Unfolding the letter from Wellbeck’s, he smoothed the document on his desktop. Beside it, he poised a nib pen over a fresh sheet of foolscap and began scratching out a formal reply. A moment later, a noise in the outer workroom jolted his attention, and his nib sputtered blots of ink across the paper.

Hell and damnation. Gabe crushed the ruined page in his fist and shot up from his chair. No one ever arrived this bloody early, and he’d secured the door behind him when he’d let himself in.

After shrugging out of his suit coat, he rolled up his sleeves and moved slowly toward the door. He took care to land his boots softly on the polished wood. A distinctive sound froze him in place. Not the rustling that had initially drawn his notice but a steady, rhythmic tick of type bars hitting the platen of a typewriter.

Plastering himself against the frame of his open office door, Gabe gazed across the workroom to get a glimpse of the early morning typist. Irritation flared, and his chest collapsed in a long sigh.

Bent over Daughtry’s typewriter, Miss Ruthven swiped a strand of hair from her face and then proceeded to jab haphazardly at the keys. With her back to him, her body curved in a perfect hourglass shape. A single loose curl had slipped its pin, hanging down her back in the same sinuous line. Despite the fact that he’d never entered the workroom to find a lovely woman working away at one of the desks, she looked strangely right perched on Daughtry’s chair.

He couldn’t lambast her for skulking into the office and commandeering the old man’s typewriter. This was her office now. Her business. Her typewriter, if she damn well pleased to use the machine. Apparently, she did.

Gabe cleared his throat as loudly as he dared.

She jumped before turning an irritated glare his way. “You startled me.” After an enormous gulp, her tone softened. “I didn’t expect anyone so early.”

“Likewise.”

“Do you always arrive before everyone else?” She collected whatever she’d been composing from the typewriter and turned to face him.

“Always.” Gabe gestured toward Daughtry’s work space. “What required typing so urgently?”

“Nothing.” She shoved the paper behind her.

The movement amused him. How many filched objects had he pushed behind his back or stuffed into his pockets as a child? Once he’d even hidden a stolen pocket watch in his mouth while a constable passed on his nightly rounds. The bitter tang of tarnished metal had lingered on his tongue for days.

“May I?” he asked, palm out, much more politely than any copper had ever cross-questioned him.

She notched up her chin a moment and then relented, shoving the half-covered sheet in front of him. “It’s nothing. Truly.”

The page smelled of flowers. Gabe wondered if she imprinted her scent on everything she touched. Rows of letters typed over and over were broken with lines of text such as “There was no possibility of taking a walk that day.” The words were familiar to Gabe, though he couldn’t recall from where.

“I must become proficient with the typewriter. I came early so as not to disturb anyone.” She stepped closer and snatched the sheet from his fingers. “Did I disturb you, Mr. Adamson?”

“No,” he lied. But she did disturb him. Mightily.

His senses ignited in awareness, every nerve firing. She was the brightest spot in the room, her blouse a bright buttercup yellow that clashed with the darker gold of her hair. And those violet eyes of hers seemed to eat up everything they beheld. She had an eager way of gazing about, as if she was seeing the world for the first time, and every sight fascinated her.

She moved constantly too, like a flower swaying in a stiff breeze. Shuffling her feet, twisting at the hips, she behaved as if the act of standing in one place put a fearsome strain on her patience. “Would you mind if I continue, at least until the other employees arrive?”

Yes, I would mind quite a lot.

“As you wish, Miss Ruthven.”

“Will you be at the meeting later this morning, Mr. Adamson?” she put to him over her shoulder after settling herself back into Daughtry’s chair.

“Of course.” The question irked him, almost as much as her sweet floral scent. Where did she think he’d be? This was his domain. At least for a little while longer. “I’m the one who called the meeting.”

As he headed back to his office, a thought struck like a punch to the gut.

He’d miss this damned place—the tidy workroom, the hum of activity when a shipment came in or a new title started production, even the simple orderliness of his desk. Employees like Daughtry, who believed in working as hard as he did to make the enterprise a success, were a rarity. Would he find the same at Wellbeck’s?

Then another thought came, and a chill spilled down his back like ice water.

“Will you be attending the meeting, Miss Ruthven?”

She shifted her enticing hourglass figure, glanced at him over her shoulder, and shot him an irksome grin. “Since I’m here, I might as well.” 

Wonderful.



Check out the other books in the Romancing the Rules series: 


Giveaway:

  • $30 Amazon Gift Card + Signed copies of Rules for a Rogue and A Study in Scoundrel - US shipping ONLY!


Monday, November 20, 2017

Virtual Book Tour & #Giveaway for If I Want You by Rachel Brimble

Welcome to my stop on the Virtual Book Tour, presented by Goddess Fish Promotions, for If I Want You by Rachel Brimble.  Please leave a comment or question for Rachel to let her know you stopped by.  You may enter her tour wide giveaway by filling out the Rafflecopter form below.  You may follow all of the stops on the tour by clicking on the banner above.  Good Luck!

"Writing Goals for 2017- Flail or Fail?"

I’m not sure Flail or Fail applies to my 2017 writing goals as I’ve achieved everything I set out to do so far this year except for signing a new contract, boo!

I currently have two books under consideration with publishers, one a contemporary mainstream romance and the other an Edwardian romance. Unfortunately, with the publishing business, it can often take MONTHS for a manuscript to be rejected or, preferably, accepted.

The biggest shock to me this year was when Harlequin Superromance announced they were ending the Superromance line with effect from June 2018. I was so upset by the news, but also thankful they had already accepted the final book in my Templeton Cove series. A Stranger In the Cove will be released in January 2018 and I am so glad the series’ devoted fans will get to read the final instalment which revolves around the town’s matriarch, Marian Cohen.

Marian has appeared in all eight books, bar one, and it is in this final book that I reveal her backstory. I am praying I have written a truly satisfying ending to a series that I absolutely adore for more reasons than I can count.

A Stranger In The Cove is available for pre-order right now – here’s the link:

Other good things that have happened this year is the release of Templeton Cove book 7, Ethan’s Daughter in August and now my new release, IF I WANT YOU on Nov 8th. I am SO excited for readers to get hold of this book!

I believe it’s my grittiest romantic suspense to date and a book that I am proud to be published by The Wild Rose Press who were the first publisher to believe in me. If I Want You is a stand-alone story and revolves around the abduction of a young girl and the effect it has on the heroine, Tori Peterson, when she fails to intercept the snatching.

It’s a fast-paced, race against time for Tori to save the girl and also open her heart to the hero, Mark Bolton, who joins her in the quest to find little Abby Brady.

So what’s next? You’ll have to watch this space for my further publishing news, but 2017 isn’t over yet so I’m keeping everything crossed!

I Want You
By Rachel Brimble

Publisher: The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
Release Date: November 8, 2017
Genre: Romantic Suspense
Length: 348 Pages
ISBN: 978-1509218042
ASIN: B0767JBH4R

Buy Link:  Amazon | B&N | Kobo



About the book:


When local journalist, Tori Peterson, fails to prevent a child abduction outside her niece’s school, her horror and guilt sparks a vow to do whatever it takes to get little Abby Brady home to her parents.

While Tori battles the vile memories of her own kidnapping as a child, she accepts the help of widowed father, Mark Bolton. As he and Tori join forces with the local police, their attraction and intimacy grows…along with their fears for Abby.

Links are uncovered between Abby’s disappearance and Tori’s kidnapping, and Tori is forced to accept the monster who held her captive is back. But this time, Tori is all grown up, and there is no way she will let him hurt another little girl.


EXCERPT

It wasn’t the just the smell of fresh air and sandalwood that alerted Tori to the fact Mark had joined them. It was the way his shadow fell over her as though covering her body with his wide, deep and potentially dangerous protectiveness.

She didn’t bother to look at him...even though her Cally was seriously looking. Tori lifted her hand in a half-hearted wave. “Take a seat, superhero.”

“I will.” He sat beside her. “Thank you.”

Every now and then, when she was alone at home, she’d picked up a book. And every now and then, Tori would toss the book across the room whenever she read the words, “the air crackled between them.” Well, whatever instantly plagued the atmosphere between her and Mark as she forced her gaze to his, she was loath to call it crackling. Maybe humming… screaming… burning… but definitely not crackling.

She swallowed. “What are you doing here?”

“Olivia’s staying at a friend’s. I was at a loose end.”

Despite her best efforts to fight her smile, it was ruthless and broke through her barriers like they were made of sugar paper. “Loose end, my ass. You were no doubt pacing around the house and doing everything you could not to get in the car and go get her.”


He smiled and put a glass on the table. “Merlot, right?”

AUTHOR Bio and Links:

Rachel lives with her husband and two teenage daughters in a small town near Bath in the UK. After having several novels published by small US presses, she secured agent representation in 2011. Since 2013, she has had seven books published by Harlequin Superromance (Templeton Cove Stories) and an eighth coming in Feb 2018. She also has four Victorian romances with eKensington/Lyrical Press.

Rachel is a member of the Romantic Novelists Association and Romance Writers of America, and was selected to mentor the Superromance finalist of So You Think You Can Write 2014 contest. When she isn’t writing, you’ll find Rachel with her head in a book or walking the beautiful English countryside with her family. Her dream place to live is Bourton-on-the-Water in South West England.

She likes nothing more than connecting and chatting with her readers and fellow romance writers. Rachel would love to hear from you!

Links:
Amazon Author Page:
Goodreads:
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1806411.Rachel_Brimble





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Spotlight & #Giveaway for Highland Dragon Rebel by Isabel Cooper

Highland Dragon Rebel
By Isabel Cooper
Dawn of theHighland Dragon, Book 2

Publisher:  Sourcebooks Casablanca
Release Date: November7, 2017
Genre: Romantic Paranormal
Length: 354 Pages
ISBN: 978-1492632061
ASIN: B01N4TJ5OB


Buy Links:  Amazon | B&N | Kobo | Google Play | IndieBound


About the book:

By wing, by claw
By fire, by death
So long as dragons rule the skies, Scotland will forever be free.

After a long and bloody war, Scotland has finally won its independence. But Highland dragon Moiread MacAlasdair knows peace balances on the edge of a blade, and she will do anything to keep her homeland from falling to English control.

Even if that means escorting a powerful new ally into the otherworld itself…and defending him with her life.


Madoc of Avandos is on a critical mission to cement alliances against the British. Powerful men would kill to see him fail—but as he and his fiercely beautiful warrior fight their way through hostile lands, Madoc is faced with a difficult choice: sacrifice everything for the cause…or let himself burn for the love of a dragon.



EXCERPT

“You’ll only have to do this the first time,” Moiread said. She sat tailor-fashion on a flattish stone. The brook at her side rushed loudly, swollen with the spring rains. “After, it’ll just be a matter of saying the words. It’s a compact you’re making, like most spells, though I’ve not heard of anything coming in person to agree. Too minor.”

“It’s rare that they do,” Madoc agreed, “or at least rare that they show themselves for it.”

Magic, or most magic, was a matter of talking directly to the forces of the world: the spirits of those forces in the oldest tales, the demons or angels governing their spheres in more modern lore. All spells invoked, most indirectly. Madoc had never been present for an actual summoning. When he was thinking sensibly, he was glad of that. Everything he’d learned said that even the holy ones would frighten the bravest man.

“Good,” said Moiread, evidently sharing his thoughts. “Here.”

She held out a twig of yew, dark needles and bright-red berries attached. In the last village they’d passed through, Moiread had taken them by a churchyard and stopped long enough to break the twig off the tree, which, as in many villages, grew by the gate.

“Now,” she went on, when Madoc had taken the twig, “hold it up and repeat after me.”

Slowly Moiread began, in Latin as good as any priest’s. “In the names of Gabriel, Amariel, Nargeron, and Almighty God, I call upon you, O powers of the worlds. I invoke you, and by invoking, I command you to grant me sight of the union of the spheres. Part the veil that blinds mortal eyes and give me to see the subtle workings of the world, now and whensoever I should invoke it again.”

As Madoc followed her lead, he felt power gathering. It wasn’t much—as Moiread had said, this was a minor spell—but the earth and the air both shifted, as if he could feel them being drawn slightly toward the yew twig. The twig itself began to feel both heavier and less present. Madoc was half worried that his fingers would go through it. In the sun at midday, it was hard to see, but he also thought it glowed. Moiread nodded. “Now crush the berries. Close your eyes, and smear them on your lids.”

The sliminess Madoc had expected lasted barely a moment. Then it turned to a cool tingling across his closed eyelids and, in another heartbeat, vanished. His skin felt untouched.

“And open.”

Madoc did, and caught his breath. He was no stranger to magic, but never had he been able to see the whole world through such entirely different eyes.

A faint haze hung above the grass and trees, a paler shadow of their natural green. The rocks and road looked normal, though their colors were deeper than they had been a moment ago. Madoc looked to the horses, peacefully cropping new grass a few feet away, and saw that each of them glowed a shade of brown: the steady darkness of wheat bread for Moiread’s horse and a slightly lighter color for Rhuddem. Madoc raised a hand in front of his face. His fingers shone red, shot through with streaks of silver. He flexed them, and the colors shifted accordingly.

“By God,” he said. “This is truly a lovely art you’ve shown me.”

“Useful, at times. But aye,” Moiread said admittedly, “rather beautiful too, in its way.”

She was beautiful. The spell stripped her of her illusion. Her hair lengthened slightly, her figure swelled and narrowed, and her face became a shade more delicate, so that a young-looking woman in men’s clothing sat facing him. In the world of the spell, a pattern of dancing lights played across her body, like diamonds set onto the crisp blue that washed over her skin.

In this world, her shadow was nothing remotely human. Two vast wings stretched out behind her, the brook running through their shade. When she tilted her head to watch him, the shape of an immense head, on a serpentine neck, separated itself from the larger shadow and turned toward Madoc. The same pattern of lights glittered in the shadow.

Mayhap it would have been sensible for Madoc to fear her then, but he wished only that he had more time to sit and watch her.

“A bit revealing, aye?” Moiread asked, clearly aware of where he was looking. To his relief, she sounded amused. “That is why we don’t generally teach the spell. We didn’t come up with it, but we’ve enough luck that not many know it.”

“Do you care so greatly for concealment?”

She shrugged a shoulder. “It’s no great peril, in my view of things, to be found out. There are already those who know what we are and speak of it with varying degrees of truth. Once more knew, or we were more willing to admit it, or both.”

“What happened?”

“To us? Time and duty. The world gets fuller. A clan turns from hunting to farming, and it’s no’ such great use for its laird to spend his days flying in dragon shape. Less use still in court, and we must go there to be part of the greater world, to lead a clan rather than a tribe in a cave. Our sires have other duties, and we as well. Our foes have magic of their own. Dragon shape is no sure victory.”

“I have heard that,” said Madoc, “and seen a little too. Only ran into one sorcerer myself.”

“We’ve not fought them often, no’ directly. The English magic turns more toward enchanted weapons”—she rubbed her calf, wincing in memory—“ or strengthening castles. Crafty spells.”

“Like the one I’m doing?” Madoc asked, speaking the words that courtesy would have Moiread avoid.

“No shame in taking a weapon from your foe,” said Moiread. “We may have fought the people we learned this from”—she gestured around her, indicating the world revealed—“ or we may fight them in the years to come. I’m still glad to have it.”

“So am I.”



Isabel Cooper lives in Boston, MA, with her boyfriend and a houseplant she's managed to keep alive for over a year now--a personal best. By day, she's a mild-mannered editor at a legal publishing company. By night, she's really quite a geek: polyhedral dice, video games, and everything. She only travels through time the normal direction, and has never fought any kind of demon, unless you count younger sisters. She can waltz, though.

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