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Hi I'm Janna and I am a book whore! I started this blog after being a part of another for years. While being a big blog may be nice I like to stay true to me having a love for books, that's why I blog. I love books and I want to share that love with my readers of this blog. I love to read, books are my escape and a huge part of my life besides my husband and two children. I am honest and sometimes sassy in my reviews but never mean. Some of my favorite authors include Kristen Ashley, Penelope Douglas, T.M. Frazier, M.N. Forgy, Rachel Van Dyken, Meghan March and Vi Keeland to only name a few!

Please note that I am the ONLY reviewer on the blog beyond a few guest reviews. It has been brought to my attention that people not associated with my blog have been requesting ARCs please if you ever question a request please email me at the blog's email.

Tuesday, October 31, 2017

Release Blitz! Let Her Go By Briana Pacheco

Zoë Whitmore is in love with her best friend, but haunting memories and a guilty conscious have been holding her back from letting her be with him.

Owen Stevenson is unknowingly paying for the sins of his father. He doesn't understand why Zoë can't look at him for more than a few seconds or why his touch is unsettling at times. All he's ever wanted was to love her, to protect her, and to be hers, but it's not so easy.

She pushes, he pulls.
She hurts, he loves.

Both are holding onto ghosts of their pasts and in order for them to peruse a relationship they'll have to let them go.

99c release day only price!


Free in Kindle Unlimited

Author Bio

Briana Pacheco is the author of New Adult novels (DON'T LET ME FALL, SOUNDS OF YESTERDAY, A SKY FULL OF SECRETS, and LET HER GO), a twin, a dreamer, a tattoo lover, easily swooned by accents, and a little bit of an extrovert but a whole lot of introvert. When she’s not reading, writing or people watching, she can be found listening to music, perfecting resting bitch face, or at Dunkin’ Donuts.

Author Links

Monday, October 30, 2017

Release Blitz! Mister McHottie By Pippa Grant

I’ve just bought the woman of my nightmares.
Technically, I bought the company she works for. Point is, she cost me my two best friends ten years ago. It’s payback time, and I’m going to make her life hell.
When I’m not banging her silly and myself stupid.
I need to get my head back in business, because getting off is great, but He was a man who had sex, and lots of it, and in the worst locations, with the woman of his nightmares isn’t the inscription I want on my tombstone.
Even if it’s true.

There are three things I hate:
Bratwurst in any form, my neighbors boinking loudly like farm animals at 3 AM, and Chase Jett.
Mostly I hate Chase Jett. It’s been ten years since he took my virginity—I’d make a bratwurst joke, but the unfortunate truth is that it would have to be a bratbest joke, which also pisses me off—and now he’s not only a billionaire, he’s also my new boss.
Turns out our hate is mutual. And this kind of hate is horrifically twisted, filthy, and banging hot.
I just might have to hate him forever.

Mister McHottie is 45,000 gloriously hilarious, hot, sexy words that your mother warned you about, complete with an organic happy-ever-after (or seven), a Bratwurst Wagon, ill-advised office pranks, and no cheating or cliffhangers.

Mister McHottie was to put it simply, laugh out loud hilarious. I needed this book and the laughs it provided.  This is an enemy to lovers’ romance trope readers dream; I do not recommend drinking or eating while reading this one.  Trust me on that, just trust me.  I am keeping this review short not because I don’t have a lot to say but because every time I start to think about some of the pranks that happened I started laughing uncontrollably yet again and just can’t type.  Mister McHottie is one I plan on reading the next time I am down and needing a good laugh, I have a feeling I may have missed some things and it will be just as funny the second time around.


Free in Kindle Unlimited

Ambrosia May Berger is standing in the elevator bank, peering up at the numbers. She hiccups again. I stop beside her and watch her eyes go wide, then narrow, then cross. Mirrored elevator doors are possibly the second greatest invention known to man.
First, of course, is the internet.
I stare at Bro in the door mirror.
She stares back.
For all the shit she gave me growing up, I always respected her spine. As much as one can respect something that infuriating. She got away with everything. Even when she was reckless.
I can honestly say no woman I’ve been with since her has ever tried to make a break for it in the Bratwurst Wagon.
As long as I block out the month that followed, I can think of the Bratwurst Wagon with a smile.
“Working late or coming in early?” I ask.
“The hogs are mating again,” she replies.
The world believes this woman to be a sane, competent adult. Mind-boggling.
“Do you always wait in elevator banks for women you want to harass?” she asks.
“Only when I’ve gotten bored staking out the bathrooms.” I reach over and hit the up button, because she hasn’t. “Do you always assume the elevators can read your mind?”
“They were doing better than you. I didn’t want to go up.”
“And you’re standing here because…?”
“It’s my thinking spot.”
“It’s 3 AM on a Wednesday morning.”
“Do you see me judging you on wanting to use an elevator at 3 AM on a Wednesday morning? No, you don’t. So why do you have to judge me for wanting to think in an elevator bank at 3 AM? Hmmmmmm?” The hum trills up on the end, right in time with her swiveling to face me. She squints one eye, then the other, before scrunching her face, pointing her index finger at my nose, and making pew, pew noises.
If this is what the security guards were worried I’d find, I’m rather disappointed.
“Drinking on the job again?” I ask.
Again implies I’ve done it before. Which I have not, unless you count that time the guava kale juice fermented, which I don’t, because it only counts as drinking if I enjoy the alcohol. Also, all whiskey was consumed off-premise.”
“So you’re drunk.”
“I’m not drunk. I’m barely buzzed enough to be able to tolerate you.”
I eye her, and decide she’s telling the truth. Her eyes are too focused and her tongue’s too sharp for her to be drunk. I can’t even smell anything on her. Tired, maybe, but not drunk.
“Was it organic?” I ask dryly.
“It’s whiskey, dickhead.”
Christ, that mouth. I want to lick it and tape it shut all at the same time. “You shouldn’t call your superiors names.”
She blows a raspberry. The sight of her ripe pink tongue makes my cock leap to attention.
“Looking for disciplinary action?” I murmur.
“Oh, don’t you wish.” The elevator dings, and she lists inside. I’d try to catch her, but frankly, I wouldn’t mind seeing her crash to the ground.
She comes to a solid stop at the railing along the back paneled wall. “And you’re not my superior,” she says.
“I write your paycheck.”
“Not yet you haven’t.” Spittle shouldn’t be sexy, but her second raspberry gives me a longer look at her tongue. I remember that tongue. Long as a lizard’s, hot as a volcano, talented as a porn star.
That’s as complimentary as I get where Bro Berger is concerned.
“So Mr. Liver-bellied Bratwurst-runner-away-er,” she says, “wouldn’t you be happier owning a grocery store that I don’t work for? Because I’m sure we can find another zagillionaire to take your place.”
I punch the button to the eighteenth floor—where the fresh greens for tomorrow are being picked and packed right now, if all’s on schedule—and give her my worst smile. “Aw, Bro, your inflated opinion of my bank account is touching.”
“You could be a mega-ka-billion-trillionaire, and you still wouldn’t have enough money to buy a soul.”
I’m relatively new to the ranks of the ten-figure club, but it’s still been years since anyone has insulted me to my face.
Her blatant hatred is oddly erotic. “Who needs a soul when I have the power to sack tempestuous employees?”
“Go ahead. I dare you.” She bangs the button for the fourth floor. Then the third, fifth, seventh, ninth, and every odd number to the top. With a frown, she draws her hand down the row of even numbers until every single floor is lit, and if I’d still thought this was alcohol motivating her, the sharp, devious intention in her cold eyes removes any doubt.
She’s fully in control and she’s intentionally trying to bait me.
Heat creeps over my scalp. It’s working.
She’s making this elevator stop on Every. Single. Fucking. Floor.
I whip out my cell phone—security can override her little prank—but as the doors close, my signal dies.
She does the MC Hammer dance, and her breasts jiggle under her swishy spring dress in a way even a celibate Tibetan monk couldn’t resist. There’s no fucking way she’s wearing a bra.
My cock twitches harder.
How did a woman so insanely evil land the world’s most perfect tits?
“Go on, rich boy.” She switches to the Lawnmower, and now her hips are rocking it too. “Buy your way out of that.”
Good Chase, the businessman, the gaming tech genius, the face I show the world, the smarter part of my brain, hops off when the doors open on the second floor, because he appreciates stairs and getting the hell away from this deranged woman.
Bad Chase, though, has possessed my body, and keeps me in the elevator.
I wave goodbye to rational thought and better judgment—who needs those bitches anyway?—and turn to Bro with a growl.
She’s wiggling her sweet curvy ass at me now, arms circling, stirring the batter. “It’s my birthday, happy birthday, it’s my birth—oomph!”
Huh. Emergency stop button works, but it’s a little choppy on the execution. Better have maintenance look at that tomorrow.
I take one large, purposeful step toward Bro.
She fists her hands on her hips and calls me an asshole with her dark, heavy-lidded, fuck-me bedroom eyes.
She’s feeling it too.
That pull. That hate. That inexplicable force of rage that can only be satiated with a hard, hot fuck.

Author Bio

Pippa Grant is a stay-at-home mom and housewife who loves to escape into sexy, funny stories way more than she likes perpetually cleaning toothpaste out of sinks and off toilet handles. When she’s not reading, writing, sleeping, or trying to prepare her adorable demon spawn to be productive members of society, she’s fantasizing about chocolate chip cookies.

Author Links

Blog Tour! Mama Knows Best By Reece Taylor

Sometimes your Mama actually knows what’s best…..

The last thing MaCee Burkett wanted was to move back to her hometown and in with her mother no less, but circumstances demanded she do just that. She finds that the life she had before was not as bad as she had imagined and she is happier than she thought possible. She reconnects with friends and finds a love she never dreamed would be hers, also she might patch up a relationship with her mother.

Tyler Dixon has an unexpected inheritance when his father suddenly dies. He decides to move to the small town of Twin Oaks and connect with his family roots. MaCee is an unexpected bonus that he soon discovers he doesn’t want to live without.

Mama Knows Best is the introduction to the small town of Twin Oaks, where everyone knows everyone and then some. It is the beginning of a series of stories about the inhabitants of a small town where everyone feels at home.

We have all heard the saying “mama knows best”, sometimes that is true and sometimes it’s not.  In Mama Knows Best it is, or wait should I not tell you and make you find out for yourself?  Naw I won’t do that to you, Mama really does know best in this sweet first book in the Twin Oaks series.  It is the first book, but I was really impressed with Ms. Taylor’s writing style. My grandparents are from the South and as a child I was down there a lot and also lived in Oklahoma and Texas so it reminded me of the small Southern feel that you just don’t get up here in the north.  The book isn’t overall a long but it isn’t a novella either, it is a good pick for a fall afternoon to curl up under a blanket and read.  MaCee and Tyler will make you love this story; I know they did for me!  I am excited about reading more of this series in the future.

What the ever-loving hell? How am I at the Twin Oaks annual Cotillion, dressed in a very prissy white sun dress, heels and my Grannie Burkett’s pearls, for Christ’s sake? This is impossible! I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact I’ve moved back to my hometown, and in with my mother no less, then somehow she convinced me to come to this atrociously, antiquated tradition the ladies of this town seem to think must happen every year. I have no idea how my mother made me think this was the place I simply must be at this moment. She has always been especially gifted in making others believe her ideas are good ones, only to find yourself at a cotillion you thought you would never attend again.

I’ve been back in town all of a day, and barely have my suitcase unpacked, so to find myself in the country club banquet hall, where all major social events seem to occur in this town, is a bit of a shocker. The hall looks the same as it does every year for this event, white string lights around the windows and doors and every fake plant in the room, white table cloths and material around the windows, also every type of white flower available to the ladies is in vases scattered around. All the unmarried ladies are expected to wear white, I guess to complement the décor. I’ve never thought to ask about that. Lucky for me, my mother just happened to have a white dress lying around. You would think she planned this or something. Also, once you reach the age of twenty you’re expected to show up with a date, I’m without a date which I am finding out is a big no-no.

Mother presented me to all her society cronies, who have made several passive aggressive comments about how lovely I look for an older girl who doesn’t have a husband or even a boyfriend. Good God, I’m only twenty-two and hello, welcome to the twenty-first century women. A woman does not have to have a man to define her, although my mother may be a pain in the ass at times, at least she doesn’t hold to most of these women’s backward beliefs. She even rolled her eyes behind Mrs. Anderson’s back, one particularly opinionated old biddy who said if I wasn’t careful my uterus was going to dry up. I was proud I didn’t start laughing, which would have totally outed her. I’ve always hated this event which I had to start coming to when I turned sixteen, it induces mind-numbing boredom, watered down punch and lame ass music. The last time I was forced to attend I was eighteen and found ways to overcome the misery with several of my friends, the problem is I don’t recognize anyone here. All the girls are younger than I am and therefore making me look more and more like the dateless old spinster, I apparently am.

Meet The Author:

Throughout her life, Reece has always been an avid listener to people’s stories and has loved telling stories of her own. When she became a young teenager, her grandmother gave her a romance novel (very G-rated) and this began her love of reading. She has dabbled with writing for years and never committed to just doing it. Finally, she made up her mind and decided to try due to the fact there were so many stories in her mind that wanted out. Hopefully you will enjoy the stories as much as she is enjoying writing them. She lives at the beach with her husband and dog, her college age son also lives with her but stays so busy she barely knows he’s there. Her daughter lives nearby with her two children and she enjoys spending time playing with them. Life is full of going to the beach and grandbaby time and now writing.


Twin Oaks Like Page:

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Hosted by: Enchanting Nova Book Promotions.

Release Blitz! Fault Lines By Rebecca Shea

From USA Today bestselling author, Rebecca Shea, comes a new, heartbreakingly beautiful standalone romance, FAULT LINES. Don’t miss the stunning and captivating new release, and grab your copy today!

At eleven he was my first crush. At sixteen he became mine. At nineteen he broke my heart and destroyed me. That was ten years ago and the last time I saw Cole Ryan.
They say you never get over your first love...I beg to differ. I left my shattered heart buried in a town I never expected to return to. I erased every thought of him and buried the memories never to be found.
I moved ten years later I have the perfect life, the perfect fiancé, the perfect career. Everything I ever wanted until I'm forced to go back and face my past and the man that destroyed me.
He won't stop until I know the truth no matter how hard I fight it. In the end, lies will be uncovered, hearts will be broken, and my life as I've come to know it destroyed.

Rebecca Shea never ceases to amaze me.  I have loved her as an author for years now and honestly I think Fault Lines is her best book to date.  I didn’t want to put it down.  I was consumed, enthralled, addicted, whatever word you want to use to describe it but I kept my kindle in my hands when I was cooking, while I was on my treadmill, when I was letting my dogs outside, you get the picture.  Make sure you have nothing important planned because if you are anything like me, you will be doing the exact same thing.

I am not going to go really in depth with this review, when I very easily could.  The reason is I think this is one you have to experience, and it is an experience, you have to feel the emotions and you will FEEL a LOT.  Cole and Frankie will rip your heart apart and then slowly mend it back together.  Christ remember those feelings I just mentioned?  Well I am crying again.  Thanks Rebecca Shea, I swear I need happy pills after reading your books just so my emotions level back out to normal level.  Trust me that is a good thing.

I am not going to merely say I loved this book and you need to read it.  Oh no. I am going to shout it!  READ FAULT LINES BY REBECCA SHEA, DON’T WAIT, READ IT AS SOON AS POSSIBLE, THIS IS ONE YOU DON’T WANT TO MISS OUT ON!

FAULT LINES is now available! Grab your copy today!


  About Rebecca Shea: Rebecca Shea is the USA Today Bestselling author of the Unbreakable series (Unbreakable, Undone, and Unforgiven) and the Bound and Broken series (Broken by Lies and Bound by Lies). She lives in Phoenix, Arizona with her family. From the time Rebecca could read she has had a passion for books. Rebecca spends her days working and her nights writing, bringing stories to life. Born and raised in Minnesota, Rebecca moved to Arizona in 1999 to escape the bitter winters. When not working or writing, she can be found on the sidelines of her sons’ football games, or watching her daughter at ballet class. Rebecca is fueled by insane amounts of coffee, margaritas, Laffy Taffy (except the banana ones), and happily ever afters.    

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Sunday, October 29, 2017

Sunday Recap!

I am doing something new! Every Sunday I will post a recap of all the blog posts from the previous week incase anyone missed them.  These will be from Monday to Sunday and will be  posted in order. Just click the link and it will take you to each post :)

Monday 10/23/17

Tuesday 10/24/17

Wednesday 10/25/17

Thursday 10/26/17

Friday 10/27/17

Saturday 10/28/17

Sunday 10/29/17

Blog Tour! Alpha Mail By Brenda Rothert

Today we are celebrating the release of ALPHA MAIL by Brenda Rothert. This book is a contemporary romance, standalone title. Check out the purchase links for Amazon, iBooks, and B&N below and some teasers from the book.

 Use the hashtag #AlphaMail and tell us a dating horror story! A few random winners will get a surprise from Brenda Rothert!


Sienna Mills knows her alpha males. They brood. They growl. They love the word “mine”. After spending her early twenties in and out of relationships with alphas, Sienna used her knowledge to found Alpha Mail, a booming business that allows women to sign up for emails, letters, and texts from their own brooding, red-blooded man. Her star is on the rise and Sienna is attracting the interest of investors when a mysterious man starts messaging her about the true nature of an alpha. She’s got it all wrong, he says, and he’s willing to show her how a real man makes women respond. The more Sienna hears from him, the more aggravated she becomes. Who does this anonymous, supposed alpha think he is, anyway? And yet…she can’t deny his messages are becoming the best part of her days. Commitment-phobic Sienna finds herself wanting more from her sensei of seduction. But is she willing to trust her heart to an alpha again?

Carmen bends down to inspect a pile of zucchini, sniffing it when she’s just a couple inches above it.

“Does it smell right for your recipe?” I arch my brows with amusement.

“Maybe.” She frowns at the stack of vegetables, considering.

We’re on our weekly Saturday morning visit to the local farmer’s market, where Carmen creates recipes in her head upon seeing the organic vegetables, homemade pasta and exotic seasonings on display.

“With the right meat…” Carmen mumbles, cupping her chin as she considers.

Jack gives me a frantic look as strawberry ice cream trails down the sides of his giant waffle cone, melting despite his efforts to eat it fast.

“Emergency lick!” he cries, passing me the cone.

I grab it, ignoring the stickiness as I wrap my hand around it and lick away the meltiest parts.

“Thanks,” he says as I pass it back.

“I feel like I should be the one thanking you.” I rub my hand on my jeans in an effort to wipe away some of the stickiness, to no avail. “That’s really good ice cream.”

Carmen decides to pass on the zucchini and we move on to the next booth.

“So, if you were trying to describe me, what would you say?” I ask her.

She gives me a confused glance. “To describe you?”

I nod.

“Smart, beautiful, compassionate—”

I cut her off. “Not like that. But thanks, those are all very nice things to say. I guess what I mean is, who do you think I am, deep down?”

She considers. “I think that, deep down, you aren’t as cynical as you let on. You’re deeply loyal. You value yourself based on professional accomplishments.”


“Mostly. Sometimes I think you forget there’s a woman inside you who gets scared and hopeful and moody just like the rest of us. You try to be “on” all the time and never show any weakness.”

I knit my brows together and think about her words. My instinct is to rebut them, but I force myself not to. Carmen knows me better than anyone. Maybe there’s some truth to what she’s saying.

“Why do you ask?” Carmen turns to me, a green pepper in hand.

“Hmm? Oh, just...wondering, I suppose.”

Carmen squeezes the pepper in several places, then gives it a quizzical look.

“Oh my God, just buy the damn thing.” I shake my head. “You fondled it already, might as well make an honest pepper out of it.”

She laughs as I pass a couple bucks to the guy running the stand. “Squeezing produce is as close as I get to…” She glances at Jack. “…you know…these days.”

“Tell me about it.” I sigh. “I didn’t think I cared anymore.”

Carmen gives me a side-eye as we walk to the next booth. She doesn’t even notice the college-age guy checking her out as he walks past us. “But…? I know there’s more to that statement.”

I shrug. “But lately, I guess I’ve realized I do care some.”

“What made you realize that?”

“What are you, my therapist?”

“Obviously. I have been for almost a decade now. And you’re mine.”

I smile. “I guess just all the men who have been in and out of the office lately.”

“As opposed to every other day, when the office is already full of hot men? There has to be one in particular, Sienna. Don’t make me drag it out of you.”

PURCHASE IT NOW!Amazon | iBooks | Barnes & Noble


Brenda Rothert is an Illinois native who was a print journalist for nine years. She made the jump from fact to fiction in 2013 and never looked back. From new adult to steamy contemporary romance, Brenda creates fresh characters in every story she tells. She’s a lover of Diet Coke, chocolate, lazy weekends and happily ever afters.AUTHOR LINKS:
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