ARC Reviews

16/12/2017

The Lady Is A Thief (The Lady Is Mine Trilogy #1) by Aimee Nicole Walker. Romance. Release, ARC Review,

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THE LADY IS A THIEF
THE LADY IS MINE TRILOGY, BOOK 1
AIMEE NICOLE WALKER
ROMANCE
RELEASE DATE: 12.16.17
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COVER DESIGN: JAY AHEER/ Simply Defined Art
COVER PHOTOGRAPHER: WANDER AGUIAR
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BLURB
Detective Elijah Markham has decided to trade big city danger for sleepy town charm. He quickly learns that small towns harbor deadly secrets, and the biggest threat to Elijah may prove to be the sexy lady who lives next door. Guarding his turbulent heart could be his biggest challenge if he falls captive to her irresistible charms.
Maegan Miracle seemingly has the perfect life. She has a successful career, amazing friends, and a family that adores her, but it’s not enough to erase the loneliness she hides behind a brilliant smile. Maegan’s world is turned upside down when she becomes a potential target in a twisted killer’s cat and mouse games. The only man who can save her is the same one that threatens her peaceful existence.
Passion and lust override doubt and suspicion, igniting a flame that’s hot enough to consume them and torch the town. Something that burns so hot and fast won’t last…or will it? If they want a chance to find out, they’ll need to stop a killer before it’s too late.
The Lady is a Thief is the first book in The Lady is Mine Trilogy. It’s a scorching-hot story filled with humor, mystery, and lovable characters that will make you want to pack your bags and move to Blissville.

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Maegan Miracle and her twin Milo own a book store / cafe and also an antique shop.  She lives to rummage around finding lovely old treasures.  
Detective Elijah Markham has just moved to the area and starts at his new post soon.  
It doesn't take long for the fireworks to start.  
When our heroine finds more than she bargained for in an old house it's time for our hero to start worrying.  
This is a sexy,  murder / mystery full of all sorts of action and lots of laughs.  
You know the type of story where you get funny looks from people because you burst out laughing when you are on your own.  This is like that.  I especially loved  our heroine's parents and their absolute love and support for Milo and Maegan. 
This story is complete but teases us for the next book at the end.  
A wonderfully entertaining read. 


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EXCERPT

Did this sack of shit actually think I was pathetic enough to go on a date with him after what he’d done to me last year? Looking at him right then, I couldn’t even remember why I was even attracted to him in the first place. His height and looks were average and nothing to get excited over. He certainly didn’t have the rugged, bad boy look and his shoulders weren’t as broad as a linebacker’s. I never called Clayton’s name in the throes of passion—not with a vibrator, and definitely not with him, because he was the kind of lover who wasn’t a member of the Ladies First Club. Not to sound cruel, but he was a three-pump- chump. Afterward, he had the audacity to blame his short performance on me. He’d never had someone so tight and hot, yada yada yada. As if that was going to impress me. “I’m not going anywhere with you, Clayton. Not tonight and not ever.” “Darling, is this attitude left over from the little misunderstanding we had last year?” His smarmy voice made me want to puke. Misunderstanding? Is that what sleazebags called it these days? “Come out with me tonight, so I can make it up to you.” That pleading expression on his face was everything I dreamed of for years, but not anymore. “Sloppy seconds just aren’t my style, Clayton. Move along before this gets really embarrassing for you.” “Maegan…” “I believe the lady asked you to leave.” Elijah! Oh God! That voice! I nearly spontaneously orgasmed right on the spot. I didn’t risk turning around and looking at him for fear of making an ass of myself. I kept my eyes on Clayton’s surprised face instead. I waited for his eyes to return to me so that he saw how serious I was. “I did ask you to leave, and I meant it.” “I’ll call you later.” “No, you won’t,” Elijah and I said at the same time. “Who the fuck are you?” Clayton asked the newcomer. He’s the man who can make me come without trying. I felt the heat radiating off Elijah’s body as he approached and heard leather shifting before I felt the pressure of his hand on my shoulder. I closed my eyes because it felt so right. “Who I am isn’t important,” Elijah said in a deadly calm voice. “Leave this store and do not bother her again.” “See you around, Maegan,” Clayton said as he beat a hasty retreat out the door. I figured his next move was to call his sister and demand to know who Elijah was to me. I gave it ten minutes tops before Vanessa dialed my cell phone and eleven minutes before she called the shop’s landline when I didn’t answer my cell. I expected Elijah to drop his hand once Clayton left, but he didn’t. Instead, he massaged my neck in small circles with his thumb. A small whimper escaped my parted lips and my head fell forward, giving him more access. A warm chuckle rumbled out of his chest and he raised his other hand to my neck and deepened his massage. “Don’t stop,” I whispered, not recognizing the husky voice as my own. “I’ve been wanting to hear you say that since the moment we met.”

Aimee Logo

I am a wife and mother to three kids, three dogs, and a cat. When I’m not dreaming up stories, I like to lose myself in a good book, cook or bake. I’m a girly tomboy who paints her fingernails while watching sports and yelling at the referees. I will always choose the book over the movie. I believe in happily-ever- after. Love inspires everything that I do. Music keeps me sane.

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Self's Blossom, by David Russell. Romance Release & Giveaway. ONLY 99c.

Title: Self's Blossom
Author: David Russell
Genre: Romance
Release Date: December 16, 2017

A romantic, erotic tale of a vivid portrayal of the quest for the inner truth, empowerment and sexual liberation of Selene, a woman searching for primeval abandon and reckless adventure. Intelligent, a university graduate and a successful careerist, Selene became emotionally scarred by unhappy relationships. Riled and taunted through the years by her former college roommate Janice, Selene gave in to the long-term desire to 'get one back' at Janice by having a passionate holiday encounter. 
Immediately drawn to the sea and enthralled by its brutal yet sensual waves, Selene seduces a young boy on a deserted beach. Once she comes to meets the mature and powerful Hudson, Selene finally begins to claim her sensual destiny. 
Through a slow process, accentuated by Selene's shyness, introspection and circumspection, she embarks on a long and elaborate interplay of leading on and rejection. The volcanic passion builds until there is a blazing row. A possible drowning, the final ritual undressing at long last, leads to the ultimate flowering of the woman Selene was meant to be.

b. 1940. Resident in the UK. Writer of poetry, literary criticism, speculative fiction and romance. Main poetry collection Prickling Counterpoints (1998); poems published in online International Times. Main speculative works High Wired On (2002); Rock Bottom (2005). Translation of Spanish epic La Araucana, Amazon 2013. Romances: Self’s Blossom; Explorations; Further Explorations; Therapy Rapture; Darlene, An Ecstatic Rendezvous (all pub Extasy (Devine Destinies). Self-published collection of erotic poetry and artwork, Sensual Rhapsody, 2015. Singer-songwriter/guitarist. Main CD albums Bacteria Shrapnel and Kaleidoscope Concentrate. Many tracks on You Tube, under ‘Dave Russell’.

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15/12/2017

Systems Down ( The Cyber War #1) by Sam Boush. Thriller Cover Reveal & Excerpt.


Thriller
Date Published: 8 February 2018

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24 hours.
That’s all it takes. 
A new kind of war has begun. 

Pak Han-Yong’s day is here. An elite hacker with Unit 101 of the North Korean military, he’s labored for years to launch Project Sonnimne: a series of deadly viruses set to cripple Imperialist infrastructure.

And with one tap of his keyboard, the rewards are immediate. 

Brendan Chogan isn’t a hero. He’s an out-of-work parking enforcement officer and one-time collegiate boxer trying to support his wife and children. But now there’s a foreign enemy on the shore a blackout that extends across America, and an unseen menace targeting him.

Brendan must do whatever it takes to keep his family safe. 

In the wake of the cyber attacks, electrical grids fail, satellites crash to earth, and the destinies of nine strangers collide.
Strangers whose survival depends upon each other’s skills and courage.

For fans of REVOLUTION, Tom Clancy, and Thom Stark’s MAY DAY, ALL SYSTEMS DOWN is a riveting cyber war thriller which presents a threat so credible you’ll be questioning reality. 



Excerpt



The sun rising over the Yalu River was the best part of Pak Han-yong’s day.

It began with darkness. In the distance, on the far side of the river, his homeland lay swaddled in unbreaking night. The fields and the factories, the port and the mills all slept. Then the horizon would lighten, from black to blue to gold, and the three faraway smokestacks appeared from the port city of Sinǔiju; first as silhouettes, then as gray fists, casting long shadows.

Next, the sun. Crimson light burned at the edges of red pine forests and reflected off the rice paddies. River, land, and air awoke to the glory of the Supreme Leader and the world’s chosen people. Tears sprung, as they always did, as light brought his beloved North Korea to life.

He observed it all from his desk on the tenth floor of the Shanghai Hotel in Dandong, China, across the border from the land of his ancestors.

China. After two years, Han-yong still had trouble internalizing the wealth of this nation. The Chinese lived in skyscrapers, profligate buildings of steel and glass. So different from his home city of Chongjin, where families lived modestly in single-story “harmonica homes,” so named because of their resemblance to the tiny boxes that make up the chambers of a harmonica.

On Fuchun Street, ten stories below, cars bustled. Unnecessary, extravagant. In Chongjin, nearly everyone was content to ride a bicycle or take public transit. And when they did drive, his people didn’t smoke like the Chinese. If you smoked, you wouldn’t catch the constant engine problems of your soviet-made Volga or ZIL.

Even from thirty meters above, it was apparent how the well-fed Chinese had been made soft by water that flowed reliably and electricity that ran all day. Food here wasn’t rationed by the gram. No one in China grew strong and clever from struggle and strain. There were no hardships here. And for that, he despised the Chinese, military allies or not.

“Long live the Shining Sun of North Korea,” he said. These people aren’t better than us. We have nothing to envy in the world. He lowered himself into the seat of his desk, rearranged his mouse so it squared perfectly with his keyboard, took a final sip of tea, and continued to monitor the attack that had started hours earlier.

Today, Han-yong fell into his routine, despite the enormity of the day’s events. Routine was the scaffolding that held his life together. He had woken in the earliest hours, barely speaking to his five roommates in the converted hotel room, had slipped into his pressed uniform, and spit-polished the single silver star on his shoulder. Then, after quickly wiping dust from the portrait of the Supreme Leader that hung alone on the wall, he’d moved to the common area to drink his tea and work until sunrise.

Two years of waiting, and today it has finally begun. He rubbed his hands together. Every day Han-yong worked here, visited the canteen, and bunked in his room. He rarely slept more than five hours. And never, in those two years, had he left the tenth floor of the Shanghai Hotel.

For all the differences between China and North Korea, there was only one that mattered, and it was why Han-yong was here at all. The Internet. On the North Korean side of the river, the global Internet, for all practical purposes, did not exist. There was a limited internal network that pointed to a handful of websites. But North Korea had fewer Internet protocol addresses in the whole country than could be found on a block in some Imperialist cities.

Here in China, though, the Internet reached nearly every corner of the globe. And because of that, Han-yong and the other elite hackers of Unit 101 could touch a banking system in London, a hospital network in New York City, or a data center in Tokyo.

“Junior Lieutenant Pak!” The gruff voice of the senior lieutenant shattered Han-yong’s reverie and brought him spinning from the window, springing to his feet, fingertips raised to eyebrow in salute. “You are to come with me.”

The senior lieutenant was very different from Han-yong. He was loud and assertive, tall by North Korean standards, and good-looking enough that he probably did well with women when he took leave—an amenity provided only to senior officers. But, most grating, he was a traditional military officer, untrained in online warfare, and knew just enough to stick his fingers where they didn’t belong.

Still, there was nothing to do but obey.

They waded the corridors in silence, past the desks where scores of other hackers from his unit sat immersed in a war that had begun with an attack on an Imperialist supercarrier only hours earlier. As Han-yong sauntered through the ranks of Unit 101, his pulse quickened with pride. They were the elite, plucked from grade school from across the country and enrolled in Command Automation University in Pyongyang. They had trained with the singular focus of learning to hack into secure enemy networks. They had become warriors. Instead of tanks or drones, their weapons were in code. They had mastered digital viruses, worms, the dedicated denial of service attack, trapdoors, and botnets. They had simulated cyber war amongst themselves and infiltrated foreign targets. At every stage, they had been tested and evaluated, and only the most gifted had come to wear the uniform.

The senior lieutenant stopped the door that led to the stairwell. “The colonel has ordered a meeting with you,” he said, one hand placed haughtily on his hip, not bothering to meet Han-yong’s eyes. He’d assumed the pose of a Manchurian guerrilla fighter from the war movies. “You will speak when spoken to and answer all inquiries in full.”

Han-yong couldn’t help himself. “Sir, what inquiries?”

“About the interconnect logic bombs,” the senior lieutenant snapped, unlocking the door. The stairwell beyond was devoid of decoration, except for a creamy swirl on the vinyl tile, like the pattern on the lid of a paint can. “Hurry now.” And he started up the stairs, feet tapping a marching rhythm.

The Imperialists of North America had many weaknesses, but Han-yong had been ordered to focus on the power grid. The system was a relic of the 1960s, set up with no thoughts for security, but instead as a way to balance the supply and demand for electrical power across vast swaths of territory. In their arrogance, the Americans had organized just five power-grid interconnections across the entire country, electrically tied together and operating at the same frequency.

While it may have so far proven a sufficient way to balance loads—power companies with little demand could transfer electricity to areas with greater demand—the reality was that a single significant disturbance could collapse all of the systems tied to the interconnection. And Han-yong did not have the means to cause just a single disturbance.

He had the means to cause thousands.

The project was code-named Sonnimne, after the smallpox gods of Korean mythology that long ago crossed the Yalu River. It was both a nod to the new pestilence they would unleash and a reference to how the plague had already spread in secret, machine to machine, substation to substation.

Han-yong had planted logic bombs—malware that could be triggered in response to an event—in substations across the United States. It had taken months of steadfast work. The difficulty was writing the combustible code within a Trojan application in a way that was at once difficult to detect, easy to spread, and powerful once deployed. While the wait and the work had been excruciating, the payoff would be enormous. And imminent.

They reached the top of the stairs, and the senior lieutenant produced a key to open the gray-painted industrial steel door. The eleventh floor was reserved for high-ranking officers, their quarters, and computer servers that required additional security.

Sweat beaded on Han-yong’s brow. The colonel ranked just three steps below a general, and was likely the most senior military official Han-yong would ever speak to in his career. A slipup here might find him dishonored and discharged, or eating rats in a reeducation camp.

They rounded the first corner through the carpeted corridor, where Han-yong noticed, with more than a little satisfaction, that the smell of mildew pervaded every bit as strongly as in the floor where the junior officers worked. The senior lieutenant pulled up short in front of a door with a brass room number in the Western style. Before they could knock, a man inside bellowed, “Junior Lieutenant Pak Han-yong. Come in. Come in.”

The voice was not what he’d expected. Friendly. Jovial, even. Han-yong poked his chin through the doorway.

Nothing about the scene that greeted them was as he had imagined. The hotel suite was gaudy by North Korean standards. The walls, which should have been bare except for the requisite photograph of the Supreme Leader, were decorated with paintings of mountains and birds in a style that Han-yong vaguely recognized as Japanese.

The room was not sleeping quarters, but an office far larger than the room Han-yong shared with the other soldiers. At the center of the space, a heavy-grain oak desk displayed unrecognizable artifacts: three swords on a wooden rack, an unfolded fan with red tassels and a painted orange sun, a clay jar in the shape of a boar, and a half-dozen other oddities that Han-yong had never seen. They were beautiful, and he felt guilty for admiring the work of foreigners.

The colonel himself was also a surprise. A crisp military uniform did nothing to hide his bulk. No one Han-yong had ever met carried more than a few pounds of extra weight. How could they, when even prison guards and soldiers, who received the best rations in the country, still lived off just enough to fill their bellies?

“Junior Lieutenant,” the colonel began, leaning back in his chair, “your commanding officer tells me we are ready to move forward with project Sonnimne. And I understand that you have implanted code throughout the US system of interconnects?”

“Not exactly, sir.” Han-yong hesitated, unsure of how much technical detail to provide. “I created a zero-day exploit. A new kind of virus, sir. It uses entirely original code.” The colonel raised an eyebrow. “That means it can’t be detected by malware filters,” Han-yong continued. “The virus triggered a patch update in the operating systems of the high-voltage distribution facilities and spread throughout.”

The colonel inclined forward, his chair squealing under the weight. “What do you mean by ‘spread throughout?’ How many facilities have the virus?”

Han-yong paused, careful to give the correct information. “All of them, sir. All of the distribution facilities in the United States now have the virus.”

The senior lieutenant let out a dry cough. Otherwise, for several seconds no one moved or spoke. Han-yong shifted his weight between feet.

“But … that must be thousands,” the colonel said.

A trickle of sweat trickled down Han-yong’s brow toward his eye, but he ignored it. “Yes, sir. There are over nine thousand electric-generating facilities and over three-hundred thousand kilometers of high-voltage lines spread between them. These substations alone carry seventy percent of the most-hated nation’s electricity. They all have the virus.” The sweat droplet fell into his eye. He blinked it away.

“Do you mean to say that we have a virus that can wipe out seventy percent of the American electrical grid?”

“No, sir. When the majority of the US power grid goes down, the lower-voltage lines won’t be able to sustain the added load volume. They will topple under the stress. This virus will wipe out one-hundred percent of the American electrical grid.”

The colonel’s mouth hung open as if he were about to speak, but couldn’t, while the senior lieutenant wore a self-satisfied smirk that reminded Han-yong of a least weasel with a bellyful of stolen eggs.

The colonel’s jaw tightened below a layer of fat. “If the virus is dispersed so completely, then why has nothing happened? The lights are still on in the West.”

Now it was the senior lieutenant’s turn to explain. “The virus has two stages. The first is the spreading stage, which is only recently complete. The second stage is activation, when the logic bombs that have been hidden in the code will deploy. We are ready to deploy that on your order, sir. Today, if desired. Along with the hundreds of other attacks Unit 101 has prepared.”

Han-yong nodded, proud that his efforts fit so well with the whole. Each team member had his own projects designed to attack global enemies; separate and equally deadly projects to take out Imperialist infrastructure. Some cyber soldiers had built malware to disable railways. Some had built code to choke airline traffic. Still others had built viruses to cripple the Imperialist military communications.

“At your command, we can activate the logic bombs with a keystroke,” the senior lieutenant continued. “The virus will cause the power grid to overheat and self-immolate. I have no way of knowing how long it would take to repair, but every time the Americans try to rebuild the lines, we can bring them down again.”

At that, the colonel laughed heartily, the fat of his jowls jiggling with mirth. “You both are too young to appreciate the irony in what we are about to do. You see, when the Soviet Union collapsed decades ago, our system also faltered. The subsidies that had sustained us fell away, and our power plants rusted into disuse. Our streets went dark. And many of our cities are still without power, as you know. The fatherland is still in the dark.”

Han-yong nodded. All too well, he knew of the humiliations his countrymen had suffered under the sanctions of their enemies.

“But our time has come,” the colonel continued. “Like the thousand-li horse, we are too swift to be mounted, too elegant to be cowed. At last, it has all come together. The fight has only begun, and already the enemy falters. So now we will strike at the heart. Today we will lash out with this and everything we have. This is our chance to repay, blindness for blindness, a world that sent us into blackness.”



About the Author


Sam has worked as a wildland firefighter, journalist, and owner of a mid-sized marketing agency. Though he’s lived in France and Spain, his heart belongs to Portland, Oregon, where he lives with his wife, Tehra, two wonderful children, and a messy cat that keeps them from owning anything nice.

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What the Hail (Hail Raisers #4) by Lani Lynn Vale. Romance Suspense Release

Title: What the Hail
Series: Hail Raisers #4
Author: Lani Lynn Vale
Genre: Romance Suspense
Release: December 14, 2017
Model: RJ Ritchie
Photographer: Furiousfotog


He’s wanted her since he repossessed her car and made her cry.
Baylor Hail knew two things. One, he hated crying females. Two, it was even worse when he was the one to make that female cry.
He never meant to do anything but his job, but when one thing leads to another, suddenly all he can think about is the broken woman whose car he towed.
She’s wanted him since he patted her back and told her it was okay to cry even though she knew he was lying. 
Nothing ever goes right for Lark.
Not when she got married. Not when she tried to leave her abusive husband, and not when she arrived in a new town with a fresh, clean slate.
That clean slate came courtesy of a secret organization that specializes in helping abused women find a way out. They set her up with a whole new life. It just turns out that it happened to be right smack dab in the middle of another woman’s old one.
That woman also happens to be down on her luck, something that Lark learns the hard way when on her first day there, her car is towed by a handsome stranger.
It’s been two years since she’s felt any kind of sexual attraction toward a man, and she reacts badly. We’re talking full-on, hysterical breakdown as he loads her car onto his tow truck while looking at her like she’s lost it.
Maybe being crazy isn’t all that bad.
The next thing she knows, she’s spending time with the sexy stranger and life couldn’t be better—even though she still doesn’t have a car.
She thinks she’s in the clear, that she’s got it all figured out… well, that is until her ex-husband finds her again.
Now the ball is in her sexy stranger’s court as he decides whether or not her kind of crazy is worth getting killed over.
Turns out, for Baylor Hail, maybe it is.

I’m a married mother of three. My kids are all under 5, so I can assure you that they are a handful. I’ve been with my paramedic husband now for ten years, and we’ve produced three offspring that are nothing like us. I live in the greatest state in the world, Texas.

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