Storm In A B Cup by Lindy Dale Review



“It’s my funeral. If I want you to play Bon Jovi as they wheel my body away to be cremated you’ll do it.”
The horrified look on Brendan’s face says he’ll do anything but. “People will laugh.”
“I want them to. I want a funeral where everyone stands around and remembers the funny things I did, and then they get really pissed.”
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Cover Reveal: Faery Marked


Today I am thrilled to be a part of the cover reveal for FAERY MARKED, a YA Paranormal Romance by Mary Waibel releasing this summer from BookFish Books. The cover was designed by the amazingly talented Anita B. Carroll from Learn more about the behind the scenes of this cover, as well as about Anita herself, at Waibel’s World
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Danielle Sibarium’s And Forever + Giveaway


First, I would like to thank you for allowing me to announce my special message on your blog. I am so honored to be here today. I understand your blog is a reflection of you and so I thank you for giving me this opportunity. Next, I’d like to thank every reader that has ever picked up one of my books and given them a chance. And finally I’d like to thank all of my fans that have felt compelled to reach out to me. I have appreciated all of your letters, messages, and support, whether it came in an email, or just a short and sweet tweet.

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Promo Blitz: The Dead Wife’s Handbook + Giveaway!!


Ages ago (January), I posted my love letter to the first chapter of The Dead Wife’s Handbook and now it’s publication week and I could not be more excited to see the UPS man when he brings me my beloved package!!!

Anywho, I’m absolutely thrilled to be a part of Hannah’s promo blitz for The Dead Wife’s Handbook.

Watch the lovely video below and then enter the GIVEAWAY!


Hannah’s Website | Twitter

The Dead Wife’s Handbook is the stunning emotional debut from author Hannah Beckerman.

‘Today is my death anniversary. A year ago today I was still alive.’

Rachel, Max and their daughter Ellie had the perfect life – until the night Rachel’s heart stopped beating.

Now Max and Ellie are doing their best to adapt to life without Rachel, and just as her family can’t forget her, Rachel can’t quite let go of them either. Caught in a place between worlds, Rachel watches helplessly as she begins to fade from their lives. And when Max is persuaded by family and friends to start dating again, Rachel starts to understand that dying was just the beginning of her problems.

As Rachel grieves for the life she’s lost and the life she’ll never lead, she learns that sometimes the thing that breaks your heart might be the very thing you hope for.


Book Blitz: The First Time We Met



The First Time We Met by Pippa Croft


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Blurb: When US Senator’s daughter, Lauren Cusack, arrives at the enchanting Wyckham College of Oxford University she hopes to mend her broken heart by throwing herself into her studies.
But then English aristocrat Alexander Hunt walks into her life and everything changes. Handsome, brooding, and with his own dark past to escape, Alexander is exactly what Lauren doesn’t need – but she finds herself helplessly drawn towards him.

Both Alexander and Lauren know that they should stay away from each other… but sometimes desire is so powerful that it conquers all else.

The First Time We Met is the first novel in Pippa Croft’s Oxford Blue Series. Fans of Sylvia Day, E L James and Beth Kery will love this compelling romance series.

About Pippa: Pippa Croft is the pen name of an award-winning romantic novelist. After studying English at Oxford, she worked as a copywriter and journalist before writing her debut novel, which won the RNA’s New Writers’ award and was later made into a TV movie. She lives in a village in the heart of England with her husband and daughter.



Lauren Cusack is an American student, newly arrived to start her master’s in Art History at Wyckham College, Oxford. As she unloaded her luggage, she glimpsed a strikingly handsome guy, and has wondered ever since who he is…


In spite of my words, my pulse rate spikes as I take in the dark brown hair and those quarterback shoulders. I know him. He’s the guy from the Range Rover.

He can’t be that much older than me, but there’s something behind those eyes that makes me think he’s lived much longer and seen so much more than I ever have or will. He glares down at me as if I’ve committed a crime.

‘You’ve been crying,’ he says.

‘No, I have not.’ But damn, my hand brushes over my cheek as I deny the obvious.

‘Yes, you have. Your eyes look red and your face is wet.’

‘So my contacts are irritating. Is there a law against it?’

His nostrils flare slightly. ‘Of course not. Wait.’ He pulls a clean white square from the pocket of his suit and his voice softens. ‘May I? There’s a lash in the corner of your eye. I don’t want to smudge your mascara any more than it already is. Tilt your head up, please.’

It may be a request but the way he says it, there’s no room for negotiation.  I tilt and my heart thumps like a road drill. Reaching out, he dabs at the tear tracks on my cheek with his handkerchief. I know I ought to feel patronised but it’s such an unexpectedly tender gesture from this granite-hewn guy that I don’t want to stop him. As his fingers brush across my damp skin, there’s a tightening low in my belly that I can’t mistake for anger or nerves. As he touches me, my skin prickles all over and not in a bad way.

‘Just relax,’ he orders and I’m in no position to disobey with my gaze turned skyward. I feel the cool of metal softly graze my cheek and realise he has a ring on his little finger. This close, he smells of freshly laundered linen. No cologne, no booze, just cool and clean and composed.

‘That’s it.’

There’s a moment where I don’t think I will ever be able to move again, then I glance down and the eyelash is the tiniest thing on the tip of his little finger. And there’s the ring. A gold signet ring like my grandfather used to wear.

‘Thank you.’

‘A pleasure.’ His expression doesn’t match his words but he adds, ‘That didn’t hurt a bit, did it?’

If he says it doesn’t hurt, I guess it doesn’t. The wind is blowing through the cloisters and has pasted my damp dress to my body like shrink wrap. I feel naked before him and throw my arms around my chest, not that it’s any kind of protection from a gaze that seems to penetrate my flesh and bones.

A smile flickers over his face and for that brief second, his austerely handsome profile is transfused with warmth. My God, he is beautiful. Scary but divine. What is he doing here at Wyckham?

‘Don’t look so scared. I don’t bite.’