Series: Lost Love Trilogy #2
Author: Belle Brooks
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: April 22, 2021
Memories are defined as the faculty by which the mind stores and remembers information.
What would you do if you learned your memories were incorrect? That they’d been obscured to hide a bitter truth? Is that even possible?
Abigail McMillian now knows it is, after a life she chose to forget—a life she chose to change—comes flooding back. Suffering from retrograde amnesia triggered by a fall, Abigail must try to piece together her real memories from the ones she’s fictionally created.
Face to face with Marcus again, the love of her life and the man she’s forgotten for seven years, Abigail’s left with one decision: remember the pain she chose to erase, or remain forever blissful in a fictitious world of her own creation.
Unless all is not what it seems.
Goodreads Review - “Oh my word! The twists and turns that you won't see coming!” Goodreads Review - “Well there certainly are some unpredictable twists and turns in this second book and I love when that happens.”
Belle Brooks is the International bestselling author of eight novels and multiple novellas. She lives out in the country of Queensland with her incredibly tolerant and crazy family. She writes contemporary romance, romantic comedy and contemporary women's fiction ranging from young adult to adult audiences. She also writes crime and psychological thrillers.
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Absolution
-- EXCERPT: Rachel lifted the quilt covering Nicolas and slipped beneath it. He made as much room for her as he could, but his legs were already hanging over the far arm, his back pressed against the cushions. Rachel didn’t need much room as she snuggled into his side, tucking the quilt back around them. “It’s freezing in here,” she said, her voice husky and low, her breath feathering against his neck. “You need to check your insulation,” he said. “And probably get new windows.” “I’ll get right on that,” she said in a voice that implied the opposite. She shivered, and Nicolas allowed himself the indulgence of pulling her closer against him. In the name of keeping her warm. “What are you doing up?” Rachel’s hand found his waist under the blanket, her fingers icy against his bare skin, but he didn’t dare flinch, lest he scared her off. “I wanted to see if you showed up. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” “It’s good you got some rest.” “More like I sobbed myself to sleep in Naomi’s bed, but yeah, sleep was good. How are you?” He sighed, at a loss for words to describe how he was feeling. His face ached, his body felt drawn, like he’d worked out too hard without enough food afterward. Nicolas couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. He wasn’t even sure he had a digestive tract anymore. Who had room for food when they were filled with heartbreak and betrayal? Was it possible to be yawning open with emptiness and full of dread and darkness all at the same time? It felt like the same thing, and yet entirely different. Rachel’s hand was playing over his torso in a way that she probably didn’t even realize she was doing, but in a way that was distracting, allowing temptation to edge in on the periphery.
GIVEAWAY!
Title: Grayson's Way
Series: Forever Love #2
Author: Lisa Eugene
Genre: Adult Contemporary Romance
Release Date: April 23, 2021
BLURB
Love is patient.
Love is kind.
But love is never perfect.
Grayson and Angie’s marriage isn’t typical. Grayson suffers from schizophrenia, a mental disorder of delusion and fantasy.
Their deep love, and an unyielding bond have allowed them to endure. This gorgeous, kind, sexy man has refused to be defined by his diagnosis.
When Grayson spirals into psychosis, Angie is powerless to stop it. He retreats into a world of delusions and paranoia, distrusting everyone around him.
The danger he perceives appears to be an elaborate mental concoction, a reckoning of his tragic past and crumbling present. Are forces working against them? Are the OTHERS real or has Grayson finally succumbed to the demons in his head?
This time, can Angie be his salvation, or will this crisis leave their family in ruins?
Love is patient.
Love is kind.
Love can also be devastating.
PURCHASE LINKS
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EXCERPT
My mouth met hers and I tasted her lips, her devotion, her constancy. My entire being sighed as I invaded her lusciousness with my hungry tongue. Snaking her arms around my neck, she deepened the kiss. When her tongue met mine to twirl and tease, I groaned and secured my grip. Desire tingled my skin, tightened my body. With a rumble from her throat, Angie pulled away. She laughed and shoved me playfully.
“I can’t read you today, Gray.” She clucked her tongue. “One minute we’re dancing, the next you’re cross with Peter, the next you’re seducing me in a dark basement.”
I threw my head back and laughed. “Seducing you? Is that what I’m doing?”
“Yes!” she accused, but a pretty blush stained her cheeks.
“Then let’s get on with it.” I smushed my face in her neck and blew raspberries, tickling her smooth skin. “We have time for a quickie.”
She laughed and pushed me away. “Quickie dicky? Maybe later, Casanova. We have some barrels to go through.” Taking my hand in hers, she skillfully redirected me toward the storage room. “I want you to come with me.”
“That was my plan.”
“Grayson!” Her head swiveled, voice clipping a mock censure. I loved the amusement sparkling her eyes, the smile she couldn’t hide. “You are so naughty.”
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AUTHOR BIO
Lisa Eugene began writing as a way to mentally escape from the hectic medical world where she has been a practicing nurse practitioner for over twenty years. She loves to incorporate her medical background into her steamy, romantic reads. Her books are fast paced, emotional roller-coasters---and her fans always enjoy the ride.
When she's not plotting her next dangerous, fast-paced, sexy adventure, you can find her juggling a full time job, playing soccer mom, or curled up reading a good romance.
Reclaiming Ryda
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- EXCERPT: Crispin A large circular room greater than thrice my height in diameter lay beyond the gate. On all sides from the floor to about two feet below the ceiling, which was well beyond my reach, were shelves laden with all manner of written records. Binders, scrolls, bound volumes, drawers, boxes, and files lined each shelf. Small tags hung from many of them—each card covered in neat writing. Over them, a wooden ladder hung by hooks on a rail that ran the circumference of the room. Above the track, small rectangular windows nested in the thick stone walls between the top shelves and the carved ceiling. In the center of the rotunda lay a thick round carpet. On it sat a large wooden table that had clearly been made to match the shelves and five padded chairs. I crossed to the table and set my scribe’s bag on the polished surface. As I surveyed the shelves wondering where I ought to begin my search, I came up short. Someone was singing—a woman by the sound of it. Leaving my bag behind, I turned around searching for the source of the voice, which was how I discovered the stairs. Tucked behind the shelves opposite the gate by which I entered, they could not be seen from the entrance. The narrow steps led upwards, following the curve of the stone tower wall. In the niches where the straight wooden boards of the stairs didn’t quite match the curve of the stone, someone had tucked all kinds of odd things, like clay jars, colorful baskets, and crocheted blankets. As I climbed, I struggled to focus on the singer’s words. The words weren’t from my native tongue. However, the melody sounded familiar. I came to a halt on the landing just outside a second room almost precisely like the one below, the sounds fell into place. She was singing in Saruthian. Pale as the moon all still and lovely, Her honeyed voice washed over me. Blinking in the glow of the late-morning light pouring in the octagonal windows above the shelves on this level, I studied the singer as she continued her work. She was perched halfway up the ladder against the shelf with a bag full of tomes strapped to her hip and a long golden-brown braid falling down her back like a thick rope. I couldn’t help thinking of the ancient Saruthian tale of the captive of the rampion witch. She was definitely fetching enough to play the role of the captive. With the long length of hair, the color of honey, the hue falling between the alfalfa and buckwheat honeys my bees produced at home, she could snare any man. Her form appeared pleasant as well, slender and curved in all the right ways. As she reached the last of the verses in the poem, I fully expected her to stop. Stepping into the room, I prepared to introduce myself. But she didn’t stop. As she set the second-to-last book in place, she began to sing a verse I had never seen in any of my references. My mind scrambled to translate it as she sang. Then she turned around. A soft squeak escaped her, followed by a heavy thud as the last book fell from her suddenly lax fingers and hit the floor. “Who are you?” she demanded.
GIVEAWAY!
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