It’s Sunday Post time! This is hosted by the lovely Caffeinated Book Reviewer and gives us all a chance to recap our week. WARNING: This is a LOOOOONG POST! LOL
LAST WEEK ON ALTERNATIVE-READ.COM:
What’s your week been like?
I do hope you’re having a lovely weekend. I’m off to Manchester today, which is a fair distance away from Cambridge, so I won’t be around until tomorrow. My husband is driving there and back in a day, so I’m only a passenger. I’d like to say I’ll pop by and comment on your blogs from my phone, if I don’t get time to visit you all before I go, but I get travel sick looking down (lol), so I might not be able to keep that up. Hopefully I’ll not get back too late tonight, but if so, I’ll have to pop round and comment in the morning, instead.
I also thought it would be great fun to share with you some of the results from yesterday’s #SaturdayShare over at Facebook – below! Enjoy 😀 (There are some rather HOT bodies about…) There were a lot of links also included, but because I copied and pasted from Facebook they all end up on Facebook so I deleted them. I’ll try to sort that all out for next week when I have more time and I’m not racing off to Manchester. For now there is just one Amazon link for them all. And yes, I am an Amazon Affiliate!
When I get back I will also share these pics on my Pinterest account, I’ve created a board especially for #SaturdayShare! (Feel free to join in!)
Here’s wishing you a happy week ahead!
Luv Sassy x
MY WEEK ON INSTAGRAM!
Welcome to my Sunday Wrap Up Post! #swup
I found these on yesterday’s #SaturdayShare!
The Shadow Keepers Series: MURDER by Jas T. Ward – AuthorOrder on Amazon !Welcome Back to the World of The Grid. Where heroic bad-asses looking for a second chance fight a war among us in the shadows.Assassin. Half Demon. Half Human. Badass.
Dead…Marcus DeMonte was born in Hell, both literally and figuratively. He worked hard to climb the ranks, including surviving the pits of hell fires; as an unwanted newborn. Groomed to become one of Lucifer’s highest ranked assassins, he’s gone through the decades with one purpose – do as told. No complications.
One Doms loss is another Doms gain. When Erotic Author Emily Hunter, AKA Porscha Dawn, meets Erotic Author Kaiden Thomas online…sparks fly. The only problem is Porscha Dawn is married and is married to a Sadistic Dom. Little does know know that Kaiden Thomas is also a Dom.
Her world becomes complicated when she meets Kaiden in person at a book signing. She experiences a mind blowing sexual connection and love and affection she’s craved for years, but did not get from her dominant husband.
Kaiden knows the rules when it comes to taking a submissive from another Dom without permission. Emily also knows her role as a sub. She’s broken all the rules.
Will they both break the rules and cross boundaries just to find true love?
Order on Amazon !
✵‿➹⁀🖤‿➹⁀✵‿➹⁀🖤‿➹⁀✵” A TIME APART ~ By J Morgan WoodallIt would be safe to say it was little more than a shack. Rough-hewn, weather-beaten, plankboard siding that had once been an aqua-ish blue sort of color gave it a ragged, but sturdy look. Old manila rope had been glued into the cracks between the planks to give the place a nautical feel. A rusty tin roof that had seen far too many rainstorms was once again enduring another assault from Mother Nature.I picked up my phone to check the radar, wanting to see just how much longer the storm was going to last. I muttered a curse when I saw that there was no signal at all. The storm must’ve knocked out a tower or something.
The sign above the door was made from a piece of driftwood. In hand-painted and uneven letters, the words “Sadie’s Seashell Emporium & Other Groovy Gifts” were spelled out, surrounded by equally crude daisies and peace signs. The only other vehicle in the parking lot was a canary yellow, ’67 VW Microbus.Great! These people are old sixties hippie relics. The last thing I wanted to do was hear another boring history lesson about what a fucking trip Woodstock was from some geriatric fossil with long, gray stringy hair and John Lennon glasses, or listen to Jerry Garcia playing over the store intercom. Nope! I’m outta here!
I reached for the key to turn the ignition. It was about that time that another earth-shattering bolt of lightning struck just behind me. That was all it took. Fuck it! Hippies or no hippies! Summer of Love! Give peace a chance! I didn’t give a shit! I was getting out of this ungodly phenomenon.
I was out and running for the door before I could reconsider. The heavy rain felt like buckets of water being poured on me from on high. It was a cold, bone-shivering rain that soaked quickly through your clothes and sat upon your skin like pneumonia.
The parking lot, by now, was a small lake, and as I ran, my feet kicked up dirty water, splashing my bare legs and khaki cargo shorts. It seemed like forever before I reached the heavy metal door with the round porthole-style window. It groaned in protest as I yanked it open and literally threw myself across the threshold. The weight of the door slammed itself shut behind me with a resounding BAM! A little bell above it tinkled almost anticlimactically.
Once inside, I shook the chill from me the best I could as I was now completely and utterly soaked from head to toe.
Overhead, the rain pounded the old tin roof incessantly, a low, steady roar, as if reminding me what was waiting on me when I left again. Briskly, I rubbed my hands up and down the opposite arm, trying to dry and warm them at the same time. As I did, I took my first look at my surroundings.
If I’d thought that the outside’s appearance might be somewhat deceiving, I was to be quickly jolted back to reality. The interior was not only small, but in my opinion, somewhat claustrophobic. An old antique soft-drink cooler, the kind that had the sliding doors on top, the bottle opener on the front and used chilled water to keep the drinks cold, was the first thing that greeted you when you walked in. Above it was an old rotary dial AM radio, set to what I figured was the local classic rock station, as “Nights in White Satin” wafted from its lone speaker. There were only a couple of aisles of merchandise, most of which I quickly wrote off as cheap trinkets: snow globes, magnets, shot glasses, and ash trays. You know, the stuff you buy at the end of the vacation after you’ve blown all your money on expensive meals, trips to overpriced amusement parks and nightcaps at tourist bars. Most had “Florida” or “Sugary Sands” scripted across them with a flourish. In a congested corner, what appeared to be an airbrush booth looked like it hadn’t been used in ages. A few shirts still stretched across boards in various stages of completion, waiting to be finished one day, but I hazarded a guess that day was never coming. On a shelf in front of it, a few sand dollars had been painted in the art deco colors that always seemed to symbolize Florida: teal, sky blue, and sunshine orange. Large conch shells and other assorted, colorful ones were also available for purchase with a sign above saying, “Buy two and you got the third for free!”
At first, I thought the place might be totally deserted, as no one seemed to be minding the pitiful little store. But after a second or two, I heard someone in the back rummaging around.
“Be with you in a sec!” A female voice called out through a door shrouded with a beaded curtain.
“Take your time!” I yelled back. After all, it wasn’t like I was planning on buying any of this shit. I just wanted to dry off and wait out this bitch of a storm.
A few seconds later I heard a toilet flush followed by the sound of squeaky hinges as, somewhere in the back, a door opened. In the meantime, I had actually found some little wooden pelicans, which appeared to have been hand-carved and painted. Being as my hobby was woodworking, I was fascinated at the handiwork of the artist, the detail, the care and the obvious time put into each one. I liked that each one was different, each had its own unique little quirk that made it unique. In spite of myself, I might have found something I might actually have to have.
So engrossed in the pelicans, I barely heard the rustle of beads behind me.
“Sorry about that!” The woman’s voice was right behind me now. “You know how it is with coffee. Drink a cup … piss out two.”
“I do indeed,” I answered absentmindedly.
“So, is there anything I can help you with today?”
“Yes, in fact you can,” I replied as I turned, the pelican I had deemed my favorite in my hand. “Tell me about these. The craftsmanship is exquisite”
I froze in mid-sentence, my words sticking in my throat as I came to lay eyes on the woman that had embodied the voice. I found myself speechless … utterly speechless. Not since high school had I found myself so instantly enraptured by such beauty. All I could do was stand and stare like a mute, slack-jawed and at a loss for words.
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Do you believe in ghosts? Rooney Fontaine doesn’t—or didn’t until one named Stuart Granger shows up in her hotel room. Now the humorous, yet desperate, apparition is begging her to find the men who murdered him before his brother becomes their next victim.
After serving three tours in Afghanistan and one in Iraq, Stephan Granger is no -stranger to risk and peril. When a woman shows up at his house rambling about ghosts, murder and assassins, his first inclination is to deem her wrong in the head and send her packing. But how does she know things that happened to him and his dear departed brother in their childhoods, secrets they never shared with anyone?
Soon after he invites her in to hear more about what really happened to Stuart, gunfire splits the air and shatters all the windows in the house. Someone is trying to kill them. Now they’re on the run from assassins while trying to find out who killed his brother and why they want him dead too.
A Ghost to Die for has a tight, fast-paced plot and I couldn’t put it down.
I instantly liked Rooney and empathized with her plight. Imagine always being the practical sister who doesn’t believe in the paranormal, only to be pulled into a life or death situation where you’re the one trying to convince a tough ex-sniper that his dead brother is communicating with you.
Stephan is To Die For. He’s a sexy and a realistically portrayed veteran. I enjoyed the chemistry between Rooney and Stephan and the believable way it developed due to the danger they faced and their need to watch each other’s backs. Their clever, snappy banter lightened the suspense of the danger just the right amount. Stuart is also a great character, well-developed, with strong goals of his own. I really wanted things to go well for him, even though he was already dead. The end is satisfying and fully resolved. 5 Stars! ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
Purchase for 99 Cents: https://books2read.com/u/mlejzZ
I’m all of those things and more.
I can’t be trusted.
I am a liar. I am an assh*le.
What she doesn’t get is that it’s her.
She’s the reason.
She brings out the best and the worst in me.
Makes me who I am.
I don’t deserve Tess.
I know that.
But I want her.
And everything she knows about me, everything
she’s made me, makes me the guy who will stop
at nothing to tame her.Amazon: https://amzn.to/2B4ptB3
✵*˛ ˚♥️ •*•*❁ ♥️ by TJ Spade & Montana Ashhttp://books2read.com/u/49PzWM✵*˛ ˚♥️Blurb“You want to talk rationally?” Maeve shifted on the bed, eyes darting warily from her injuries to the three men taking up her personal space. “I’ve been bitten and scratched and you want me to believe that I’m not dying? That the combination is not fatal?”
“Oh, it’s fatal,” Bishop agreed, “but you’re not dying because you were already dead when Gabe brought you here.”
“It’s true,” Gabe nodded. “You were definitely dead. Been there, done that. Not sure if there’s t-shirts available for that kind of thing, but you’ve earned one.”
“Dead?” A single, strangled laugh escape Maeve’s lips. “I was dead … well, that’s just fantastic.”
As she listed sideways, Lucian darted forward, catching her before she could do another tumble onto the floor. Lifting Maeve bodily onto the bed as though she weighed nothing at all, he said, “Real smooth, guys. Real smooth.”
Bishop stood statue-still, surprised, “What did we do wrong?” he asked bleakly.
“Everything.” Lucian adjusted the pillow under Maeve’s head then walked over to where his friends stood side-by-side. Clapping them each on the shoulder, he smirked, “You just did everything wrong.”
Copyright 2018 Montana Ash & T.J. Spade All rights reserved
Take You Home
Book three in The Everett Files series
“We can form a plan in the morning, but, until then …” He nipped at the lobe of Makayla’s left ear and worked his way down her neck. He traversed her jugular and felt her pulse throb enticingly. Caleb ran his hands down Makayla’s lean torso and sprung a pajama button free with his exploration.
“Who cares about tomorrow?!” She rose up and kissed Caleb’s neck and then his jawline. He was only wearing pajama pants and she quickly got those out of the way. Makayla shimmied down between those lemon-scented sheets and found him alert and waiting.
Caleb Everett is an artist, a psychic, a police consultant … a fugitive. For as long as he can remember Caleb has been able to see into the minds of murderers – he knows what makes them tick, and he knows what they’re planning … until now.
This time around, Caleb doesn’t know who to trust – everyone has an agenda, and his father, Raymond Everett, is the spider at the center of a vast web of corruption and murder. With the help of a beautiful, but ruthless assassin, Raymond plans to send his son to Hell once and for all.
Who can Caleb protect when no-one is safe?