Friday, January 20, 2017

FRIDAY'S FEATURED TITLE: Rain can move in a slow and gentle rhythm. Rain can move with the fury of a storm. Fast and steady like a heartbeat, dancing across the street in the darkness of night. THE RHYTHM OF RAIN BY C. L. SCHOLEY



Author: C. L. Scholey
ISBN: 978-1-62420-106-6

Genre: Erotic Ménage Romance
Excerpt Heat Level: 1
Book Heat Level: 5


Book Title - The Rhythm of Rain
Author - C. L. Scholey
Stars - 5
Buy Link – AMAZON



This book was a different kind of story and I have to say I wasn't sure how it was going to progress but the more I read and the more the story unfolded the more this story gripped me and took me for a very emotional ride.

Rain has always danced during a storm but she really wasn't sure why. It was like something was calling to her because when it started storming,  Rain felt like the storm was calling to her. Rain had a rough childhood even though she couldn't remember much. She did see her mom get shot during a storm. When the police found Rain that horrible night, she was alone and that was the night she went to live with her grandparents.
Rain was in love with Telor. Telor had watched Rain dance ever since he was eight and she was four. Rain's dancing had gotten better over the years and her movements always look as if she was telling a story. A story only Rain knew how it ended.

There was excitement through the entire book. Rain couldn't remember her past and she figured one day, she would figure it out. But the past has a way of making you deal with it on it's own  terms and this how Rain's past came back to her.  She was at the building where she practice her dancing and a man called Jaron was there. When Rain shook his hand, it was like she knew him from somewhere but then the feeling left. Jaron and Telor play a big part in this story. Little by little you learn more about both of them and each of them have Rain's best interest at heart. Jaron has a big part in Rain's past and he came back to keep her safe while she learns about that fateful night that her mother was killed. Telor has Rain's heart but it's like something is still missing from making her whole. You find out more and more about what makes Rain, Rain. Why she dances in storms and why it seems something is missing.

I cried throughout this story because the way the author wrote this book. It was like I could feel that part that was missing from Rain. The description of how she danced in storms, I could see what she looked like dancing. I could hear the rain falling and seeing her in the middle of the storm dancing. Rain has to come to terms with something in her past and it seems to all hit her at once. This book has drama between Telor, Rain and Jaron. It's hard to be in love with two guys and she doesn't want to hurt either one. The ending made me cry even more. This is so worth reading. Can't wait to read more from this author.

Barb gives The Rhythm of Rain
Description: https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-I_0ctS_wq-0/Uo40Rmn_U2I/AAAAAAAADxg/NvFHdnmoZs8/w1015-h186-no/5.png



The Rhythm of Rain
C. L. Scholey
978-1-62420-106-6

By Nickie Fleming 
5 Stars out of 5

As I've told before, I am a proofreader for Rogue Phoenix Press (next to being one of its authors, of course). I don't always like the books I go through, but sometimes I come across one I really enjoy. An example of this is The Rhythm of Rain.

Rain is a young (black) ballerina. Dancing is her passion. When it rains, she is driven outside to dance in the downpour, as in trance. She doesn’t know why she does this – this mystery is revealed later on in the novel.

Telor, who lives in the neighborhood, often watches Rain dancing in the dark. He loves the girl, but isn’t sure she has the same feelings for him.

One day, Rain meets another dancer, Jaron, in the studio. There is something familiar about him, but she can’t pinpoint the memory.

Rain has to go back to the past and solve the mystery involving her. She is helped by the two men who love her.

I found this novel well-written and keeping pace. The author sets the tone with the first pages already and you’re quickly drawn into the mystery of Rain’s need to dance.


BLURB:

Rain can move in a slow and gentle rhythm. Rain can move with the fury of a storm. Fast and steady like a heartbeat, dancing across the street in the darkness of night. Jaron likes the sound of Rain in a fury, fiery passion. Telor aches for Rain's caress as it slides down his back, soothing his heated skin. Rain dances to her own song. True to her name, Rain is an element of mystery. It will take two lovers to ward off a flood of despair as Rain dances for her life.

EXCERPT element of mystery. It will take two lovers to ward off a flood of despair as Rain dances for her life.

From the recess of the darkness he watched her. Why on earth she had been named Rain he would never know. She was a tempest; she was a flurry; she was poetry in motion, and she meant absolutely everything in the world to him and more.
The storm crashed around them in the midsummer night. Thunder pounded out a staccato rhythm in sync with his drumming heartbeat. Lightning lit up the sky, zipping across the heavens—a force to be reckoned with—and still Rain danced, unfazed. Her clothing was saturated, as was his. Water plastered her white shirt to her chest, molding across the generous swell of Rain's breasts.
It was the same dance Telor had watched since he was a boy of eight and Rain was four. Ever since she and her grandparents had moved to his "nothing ever happens" little hick town eighteen years ago. Their houses were on a lonely dirt road, side by side, and backed onto a sparsely wooded forest near a small creek. They shared a gravel driveway that veered into a Y at the end.
Telor had seen Rain dancing from his window that first night many years ago—as he had tonight. Her movements over the years had matured with experience to create a story only she could tell, but didn't seem to know.
Telor remained frozen, hypnotized by her movements. Rain was a flurry of freestyle and ballet. She twirled, then dropped and crawled across the grass. Her movements were painstakingly slow. She let her head fall forward as though something were trying to defeat her.
Then determinedly, or perhaps defiantly, grass was ripped from the ground in chunks as she pulled her hands from the sodden earth. She rolled, jumped to her feet, and leaped gracefully in a grand jeté into the air over a stump. Her luscious legs stretched to their limits, one before her, one behind. Landing, Rain then spun in place with a fouette rond de jambe en tournant.
Around and around she went as the raindrops flew from her as fast as they landed. One deliciously slender foot tucked quickly behind the knee, then down, then up. All the while she whirled in place, making him dizzy as he tried to focus on her beautiful face.
Rain slumped to her hands and knees, remaining motionless for brief seconds while Telor caught his breath from the sidelines. She swung her head right then left in quick succession.
Slowly Rain stood; her body arched forward and went rigid as she let her hands slide sensually up her sides. She was on the move again, faster. She twisted and dropped, then up and spinning. Rain laced her fingers through the long strands of the tall willow tree to her right. Farther ahead she pirouetted. Whirling, turning her feet a batterie as they beat together in the air to the sound of thunder.
Telor felt his heart pound in his ears with the storm as Rain became one with the ferocity of the elements. Her movements were best described as a duende: Rain wasn't one with the dance—she was the dance. One could almost see rhythm flow through her blood with an undenied force. Making him—making him believe in an emotion so powerfully gripping, he went with her on her journey into the unknown…even if it caused his demise with his heart in his throat and his pulse pounding.
Then suddenly down Rain dropped once more and lay still, gasping, her hand to her chest. Telor clutched at his own chest, waiting. His breath caught and held. Oh God. Rain's rise to her feet was heartbreaking—a broken ballerina. With her legs shaking she fluttered her hands, but it was hopeless. Telor's eyes always went teary at this part. Her legs buckled and down she went. "Death of a dancer" was what Telor called this dramatic end.
Rain curled into a tiny ball, then emerged and drifted to her feet. It was as though her spirit came to life. Her gaze was mournful as she cast a woeful glance on where her body would be. Arms across her breasts, head bowed, she took tiny, flittering steps away from the scene as though unwilling to leave—but she had to. When she moved forward, she outstretched her hand with hesitance, reaching for something, someone.





Thursday, January 19, 2017

When Emma St. John received her brother's letter imploring her to escape her stepfather's vengeful scheme and to trust Dakota Barringer with her life, she was willing to chance it. DAKOTA'S BRIDE BY CHRISTINE YOUNG



Excerpt Heat Level: 1
Book Heat Level:


BLURB:

When Emma St. John received her brother's letter imploring her to escape her stepfather's vengeful scheme and to trust Dakota Barringer with her life, she was willing to chance it. But the handsome, brooding riverboat owner Emma found in Natchez a danger of another kind. For Emma soon found herself surrendering to an unrelenting desire.

Raised by the Sioux when his parents were killed, Dakota had been betrayed once before by a white woman. He wasn't about to trust another, especially one claiming that her stepfather, a powerful U.S. senator, had framed her as a murderess. But he couldn't let Emma's intoxicating effect on him. Now Dakota would risk his very life to protect the innocent beauty who had seduced him with her tender love.

EXCERPT:

Moonless and frigid, the December night sent chills down Emma's spine. Yet she didn't stop at the lighted inn nearby, nor did she break stride when she stumbled over a rut in the muddy road. Instead, she pulled her skirts higher. A carriage raced by, hell-bent in the same direction, spitting mud as it flew past

A frantic look over her shoulder did nothing to relieve the fear. He was closing on her, forcing her from her hiding place. She stopped for a moment while she quickly shook the mud off her cape, then she turned to the little girl.

"You all right, Clare?" Emma asked.

The little girl nodded but didn't say anything, her face screwed tight with concentration, her breaths ragged and hard.

The big Mississippi paddle wheeler, due to leave in ten minutes, let out two loud, booming whistles. To Emma's frayed nerves, the sound was heart-stopping.

The wind from the docks smelled of fish and tar. When it shifted, she could make out the aroma of fresh baked scones coming from the inn. Emma gripped the tiny hand she held in her own a little tighter, and prayed that Clare could keep up the pace.

"It's only a wee bit farther. We can make it," Emma told the little girl, her sister. Half sister, she reminded herself.

Clare's father was not her own. His demonically hand­some face leering at her while he calmly explained what he meant for Emma to do in the bordello was something she'd never forget.

Clare was a tiny and very fragile seven-year old. She had loving green eyes and a long, slender nose coupled with delicate cheekbones. Emma knew that someday Clare would grow into a classic beauty.

One long blond lock of hair slipped loose from Clare's cap. The little girl pushed it away with her free hand, wrinkling her nose disgustedly.

Frost coated the road, and each hurried step caused the almost frozen mud to crunch beneath their feet. A horse and rider passed them, the man tipping his hat as he and his mount thundered by. Church bells rang out, the sound hollow and thin. It was almost six o'clock. She had five minutes to reach the boat.

A gust of wind caught her broadside and whisked the hood of her cape off the top of her head. She grabbed the soft fur and pulled the fabric back where it belonged. Distracted by the wind and her haste to reach the boat, Emma caught the toe of her shoe on a rock and balanced precariously for an instant.

She swore softly under her breath.

Had only one month passed?

No, three weeks ago her mother had died and two weeks ago she had learned the awful truth. Lawrence Stevens had slowly poisoned her mother. He had given her a small dose of arsenic each day until finally her mother took to her bed. Several days later Emma had held her mother's hand while she breathed her last.

Emma would never have known about the murder if she hadn't overheard Stevens speaking in harsh whispers with a friend of his. There were other things said and promised, things Emma had not wanted to acknowledge.

Disbelief and denial had caused her to waste precious time. Seven days had come and gone since she'd had her last horrible encounter with her stepfather. It was an encounter that had left her with no doubts that everything she'd heard was the god-awful truth. Stevens had meant to sell her to a whorehouse. Still, she'd had a difficult time believing the extent of Lawrence Stevens's depravity. But when he'd installed her in Madame leBon's bordello, she realized too late that her life was in grave jeopardy.

And Clare, sweet, sweet Clare, had understood all she'd told her and perhaps more. With the eyes of a child, Clare had somehow sensed the evil that surrounded her father long before anyone else did.

Five long days and nights they'd spent on the run. Clare had not complained. No matter how exhausted or hungry she was, the little girl had pressed on, understanding the imminent danger that faced Emma. Clare had somehow known that Emma had to get as far away from Lawrence as possible.



This incredible romance is one I positively fell in love with and is good enough to read again and again.
Cherokee
Reviewer for Coffee Time Romance & More
4 Cups
I can’t remember the last time I was so engrossed in a book: Dakota’s Bride took over my weekend, and even now, am wishing to go peruse it one more time…

Rating: 4.5 Books
Reviewed by Snapdragon Long and Short Reviews

Wednesday, January 18, 2017

There is a lot of dodging bad guys, dodging another shape shifter, and trying to keep secrets from each other. In the end, Catching Meara is pretty entertaining. CATCHING MEARA BY CHRISTINE YOUNG FREE ON KU



Author: Christine Young
Genre: Erotic Romance
Excerpt Heat Level: 1
Book Heat Level: 5


10% of all profits from this book goes to the World Wildlife Federation to help save endangered species.

BLURB:
Meara Thorton was a feisty, world-class computer hacker—cornered by the FBI and shockingly given the chance to be their newly acquired technical analyst.  Brilliant and intuitive, yet aching with the loss of everyone she has cared about, her restless heart led her to discover a love she fought and a world she didn't know could possibly exist.

Jace McKenna was an enigma, a loner, impossibly handsome, sincere and committed. The Apache shapeshifter blood running through his veins burned hotter than the blistering Sierra Madre sun. Jace knew the moment he caught Meara's scent she was his for eternity.

Review:

Delane of Coffee Time Romance & More says:

"Catching Meara is a superbly written mystery that draws readers in and makes them a part of the team. The characters are vivid and provide a perfect canvas for the life of a unique team that catches some truly nasty villains. Ms. Young provides a perfect blend of paranormal, mystery and romance providing the reader an entertaining adventure."
Rating: 4 cups out of 5

REVIEW:

Manic Reader Review
Rating:  4 1/2 stars out of 5
Reviewer: Alberta
Review:

Meara is a loner, content to spend time with her computers, without the bother of having too many people around her. When she turns from hacker to government computer specialist, she meets Jace, who knows she is his mate, but all he has to do is tell her he is a panther shape shifter and that she is destined to be his.

There is a lot of dodging bad guys, dodging another shape shifter, and trying to keep secrets from each other. In the end, Catching Meara is pretty entertaining, and I liked both characters, despite Meara’s dysfunctional personality.


EXCERPT:

Meara had been seconds from revelation, mere seconds. Now quivering with terror, she huddled in the corner of her electrified office while lights flashed and popped all around her, knowing there was no where to run. Monitors flashed and burst, exploding and sending shards of liquid fire into the air. A cop entered the small room, his arms stretched forward, gun in both hands and a flashlight on top of his gun.

Three more cops followed behind. No, they were government agents. The logo printed in white across their chest announced their profession.

Bright lights swept the room in a slow steady arc, searching for her. Finally resting on her face, she shielded her eyes. Smoke from the crucified computers filled the cubicle, making the agents choke. Sweat from fear beaded on her forehead, and her heart lurched to her throat. She closed her hands over her heart as if she could slow the furious beating.

"Hewitt, check this out. There might be more than this one. Barrister go search through the other rooms."

"Right, McKenna."

"My name is Jace McKenna," the man said as he approached cautiously, kicking debris from under foot until he stood above her. "Put your hands in the air."

His voice held so much authority and sounded so calm. For a moment she thought he meant to reassure then she remembered she was his prisoner. Well, she would be as soon as she complied with his demands.

Jace appeared dark, dangerous, handsome and tall, she noted at first. Very tall, which was hard to miss, since she was skinny and short. His eyes were an amber color with a hint of green. He towered over her. Beneath the deceiving bulkiness of his bulletproof vest, she observed next, his shoulders were very broad, and though his hips were lean, his thighs, tightly hugged by his jeans, were muscled and powerful.

His hair was blacker than the midnight sky, nearly indigo with its sheen, his amber eyes were cast into a rugged face that appeared naturally tanned. He was probably somewhere in his late twenties or early thirties. He seemed fierce, alive with a striking tension and a volatile energy that seemed to exude from him.

Shaking, sweat dripping down her face, Meara slowly raised her trembling arms. "D-don't shoot--me, please" She heard the pathetic whimper in her voice as she blinked the stinging sweat from her eyes where it melded with her mascara. Her heart pounded so hard against her chest she was sure it would burst through her ribs.

"Stand up, slowly." He swept the flashlight as well as the gun up and down the length of her body, which had been curled into a tight fetal position.

Rising to her feet, she leaned against the wall behind her, trying to keep her hands up and not fall flat on her face. She wiggled her butt against the wall and inched her way to a standing position. Her life flashed in front of her in a series of leaps and bounds until she saw the faces of her parents.

"Do as he says," they whispered. "Everything will turn out fine. You'll see. We love you." Then, just as they appeared, they vanished.

Their faces faded into the smoke and flashing lights. Her eyes open wide, she gazed at her enemy--her jailor. The man who was here to arrest her. Mind games, or was it mind think that her parents used to play with her, teaching her to communicate through thoughts instead of words. She focused on his brain, sending out feelers, trying to read his thoughts and trying to tell him she was no threat.

The next moment he was beside her, grasping one of her arms, and in one swift move he had turned her, both hands were behind her back and handcuffed. Her breath stopped for a moment. The movement had been so sudden she was thrown against the wall. Her face flattened on the smooth surface. Yet she was glad for that because the impact brought her back to the reality of this moment. Her mind cleared for a brief second. For courage she inhaled a swift deep breath.