***NEW RELEASE*** Drunk Boy by Aubrie Lee

Drunk Boy, is LIVE and FREE with Kindle Unlimited!
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Was it a push from above, or just too many shots? 

We were both drunk, that’s my excuse.
He had just broken up with his fiancé, that’s his excuse.
But we both want to do it again.

Miguel Mancinelli isn’t anybody’s idea of a typical Daddy.
He’s twenty-two years younger than Dallas Coulter.
He’s physically bigger, but too rough around the edges to take care of anyone, but himself and his club. 
Yet, the day they meet everything changes… can they really blame it on the drinks?

Guest Post with Francine Beaton

Rugby meets romance

What has Fourth of July, rugby and romance in common?

The obvious answer should be, absolutely nothing. It was, however, what led to the writing of the Playing for Glory series. On 26 February, I’ll release the third book in the series, and the first I’ve ever written, Leading from the Front.

A chance meeting with a rugby player from Jersey on a Fourth of July boat cruise on the Hudson planted the seed although I didn’t know it then. Before, and even during that meeting I not even dreamed about writing a novel, so a rugby romance was out of the question. It was only on the long flight from New York to Johannesburg while struggling through another rugby romance, the seed was planted.

I’m not mentioning the writer or the book, but it was absolute garbage. It felt as if the author knew nothing about the game, fitting in sex scenes on every second page to cover for the bad storyline. I suddenly thought that I’m sure I can write a better rugby romance than that. When we arrived in Johannesburg, I already planned a series. I’ve never written a book before and never dreamed of writing one either. It was just a random thought. But it seemed that I unpacked my muse along with my dirty laundry. Two days after our return from New York, I started writing. That was the end of July 2016.

I wrote non-stop for the next six months, finishing about six novels during that time. The first ones were just as bad as the one I read on the plane. It didn’t stop me though. In May 2017 I attended a Romance Master Class in Cape Town with writing coach Sarah Bullen of The Writing Room. Just before that class, I’ve finished the seventh novel in the series I called Taming a Buffalo. I took that book called Under the Mistletoe along to the course. During the course, Sarah read parts of the novel and encouraged me to continue. Over the next three months, Sarah helped me to polish the book. She also advised me to change the names of the books and the series name to something that relates to sport. Under the Mistletoe changed to Eye on the Ball, which was first published in April 2019 by Roane publishers who had closed their doors at the end of 2018. Since then I’ve got my rights back and started to self-publish. 

The series Playing for Glory, as well as the prequel series called Kick-Off, consisting of three books, all deals with the players and management of a fictional rugby team based in Pretoria. Because rugby is a professional sport, I had no choice than to create my own team called the Buffaloes, playing in a fictional series called the International Club Challenge. 

The Playing for Glory series was supposed to be typical sports romances with sizzling sex scenes. It didn’t stay that way. My characters seem to follow their own destiny and it doesn’t matter how hard I tried, they stay true to themselves. I still blame it on Jakes in Eye on the Ball. Although Jakes had the looks, the physicality, macho male image, the intelligence and other attributes to make him an alpha male, Jakes wanted to highlight important issues that had nothing to do with his looks. With Eye on the Ball I wanted to show the readers that even though men like Jakes are physically tough, playing a hard and physical game, they may struggle with the same insecurities other people suffer from. They may be emotionally vulnerable and that is okay. It is, however, important to talk about it, and sometimes show your sensitive side before it is too late.

Leading from the Front is my ninth book. Two of those nine books are in Afrikaans, my home language, and the rest in English. Leading in the Front was supposed to be the first book, but again Jakes had a different idea.

 

LEADING FROM THE FRONT

Temptation can come in any form.

 

As long as it wasn’t Melissa Roux. Daniel Cooper had known that since the first moment he’d seen the new physio for the Buffaloes. As captain, he had to set an example and falling head over heels for the feisty blonde with the endless long legs wasn’t the way to do it.

 

Melissa knew Daniel was going to be a problem from the first day she walked into Buffaloes Stadium. There was no way she was going to risk her career for an arrogant chauvinist who called her a blonde bimbo. For that, she worked too hard to get her dream job.

 

Neither had reckoned with the undeniable chemistry between them and the famous Cooper curse. When he couldn’t hide it anymore, Daniel made a simple request which had more repercussions than he expected. In his quest to find the truth, he made another error in judgement, risking not only Melissa’s career but also the loyalty of his team and the Club.

 

Daniel and Melissa both had to make important decisions: what’s more important? Your career or love? 

 

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Just getting something off my chest.

On Saturday night I foolishly became embroiled in an argument on Facebook in regard to an argument about the blog post “Why indie authors still suck.”

The person who posted it saying she got his point. She is, of course, entitled to her opinion.

I will admit I could see his underlying point. However, it was doused with sweeping statements, offensiveness, diatribe and negativity. That was my issue and I made that clear.

Unfortunately, the best form of defence is attack, and thats what happened. The people this article was aimed at would have completely shut their eyes and brain off to what the blogger said. This was the point I was trying to make on the Facebook thread.

I made the point that the blog was about as effective as a badly written indie book. The post was as badly written as the aforementioned as well.

Just to clarify. I understand what the blogger was saying. As a bottom line he was saying he is fed up of bad writing. He’s annoyed that people are producing badly composed stories and hitting ‘publish’ and blindly believing that MS’s Word spelling and grammar check is editing.

I totally agree, but, those books soon get found out for what they are. They are revealed for what they are rather quickly by reviews. The purchaser can usually tell by the sample, or they can return the book for a full refund. Who has lost? No-one. Yes, I agree that it brings the name of indie authors down. Having said that, most sensible people will see the work for what it is and pay little attention to it, other than maybe complain about it via social media.

The absolute bottom line of it was that indie authors should be attempting to be as professional as their publishing house counterparts. I agree every author should have an editor and a cover designer at the very least. Thats my personal opinion and I wouldn’t force it down anyones throat. Why? Because, frankly my dear I don’t give a damn. If someone doesn’t want my advice, thats fine. Who am I to give it anyway?

I was accused by someone on that Facebook thread of not understanding what the blogger was saying. As you can see I did understand it. Did I want it sugarcoated? No. I did what was advised in that post. Do I think it was a pathetic, offensive and useless rant. Yes.

However, the person on that thread, who is apparently a traditionally published author told me that I was ‘mentally challenged’. I told her she was being personal and she came back at me ‘Enjoy wearing your helmet and licking windows.’ or words to that effect.

The original poster of the comment then wrote a blog post which basically said that she was shocked by an indie authors attack of the blogger and the way the indie author acted was embarrassing and unprofessional.

I’d just like to say, I think the fact that you support such ineffective diatribe is embarrassing. I also think to call me unprofessional is a low blow considering the abuse I took from your ‘friend’ who I found to be unprofessional. At no point was I personal at all.

I was trying to make a point, so was she. All I was trying to say was…’what was the point of that?’ If the point was to seriously annoy people then the blogger succeeded.

Glad to get that off my chest.

‘Falling to Pieces’ Blog tour stops.

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I’m pleased to announce the dates and details of the ‘Falling to Pieces’ blog tour.
I’d also like to take this oppurtunity to thank each and every blogger for featuring me on their blog.
The tour will be running from the 16th – 31st of August 2013.
16th – Beginnings in Writing – Author interview – http://beginingsinwriting.wordpress.com/
17th – Jake Bonsignore – Guest post – http://jakebonsignore.wordpress.com/
18th – Fiction’s Our Addiction – Review – http://fictionsouraddiction.wordpress.com/
19th – Rose & Beps Blog – Guest post –  http://rosebeps.blogspot.co.uk/
20th – Adventures in Reading – Excerpt – http://adventuresinreading16.blogspot.co.uk/
21st – M’s Sinful Reviews – Review – http://mssinfulreviews.blogspot.co.uk/
22nd – Just One More Romance Novel – Excerpt – http://justonemoreromance.blogspot.com/
23rd – She Reads New Adult – Review – http://www.shereadsnewadult.com
24th – Little Read Riding Hood – Review – http://littlereadridinghood.com/
25th – Tabby’s Tantilizing Reviews – Excerpt – http://tabbystantalizingreviews.blogspot.co.uk/
26th – Mousiey Books – Review – http://mousiey.blogspot.co.uk/?zx=6eadd5933db25ba8
27th – Beginnings in Writing – Excerpt –  http://beginingsinwriting.wordpress.com/
28th – Babu’s Bookshelf – Author Interview – http://babusbookshelf.blogspot.co.uk/
29th – The AKA Book Harlots Review – Review – https://www.facebook.com/AkaTheBookHarlotsReview
31st – My Book Opolis – Review – http://mybookopolis.com
           Babu’s Bookshelf – Review – http://babusbookshelf.blogspot.co.uk/
It would be great if you followed these blogs, then you won’t miss a thing. I am writing different posts and choosing different excerpts for each blog, so no two will be the same. 🙂

Falling to Pieces – Chapter One

In celebration of reaching over 1000 likes on my Facebook page, and ‘Falling to Pieces going live on Amazon, both in paperback and Kindle editions, I’m posting Chapter One. Hope you all like it.

Chapter One 

I fought against sleep, desperately trying to force my eyelids open. The crate I was inside jolted on a hard surface. I caught the words of apologies from the handlers before falling back into unconsciousness for a moment.

The crate was back on the move, disturbing me once again. I wanted to slam my fists on the wood at tell them I’d walk myself, but I kept falling back to sleep before I got the chance.

My bare feet pressed hard against the silk lining as the box tilted at an angle. On the outside it appeared to be an ordinary wooden cargo container, not unlike one you’d see if you shipped a large amount of wine over from foreign shores. The inside was a different story altogether, having been padded and lined with the finest Chinese silk.

The journey had been nothing but a pain in the ass, or arse, as I should say now that we’re in England. I hated with a passion being cooped up.

I recognised the clunk of metal connecting with the wood, gently easing the nails out to reveal my resting place. The highly paid handlers quickly moved to take me out of the box. They gingerly lifted me out before placing me on the bed. My eyes flickered open for a moment with the sensation of being lifted. I wanted to struggle against them and climb into the bed by myself, but the energy needed wasn’t available with the sun still in the sky. I settled into a deep undisturbed sleep as the men left my bedroom.

Thankfully, I didn’t have to wait long for the sun to set. I woke with a start, unsettled by my unfamiliar surroundings.

Flopping back down on the Egyptian cotton sheet, I wrinkled my nose at the memory of voluntarily climbing into the large wooden crate. Everything I needed I’d had with me, but there’s nothing pleasant about being nailed into a crate for any amount of time, regardless of the decor.

I squeezed my eyes shut, grimacing at the recollection of my father’s harsh tone. He’s not exactly my father in the traditional sense, but it’s an appropriate name for him because he made me into what I am today.

“Now, Teagan, you must remember not to fidget,” he chastised me with a stony expression etched on his face.

I’d considered telling him to go fuck himself. I didn’t want to leave America, but the electric pull of his possession forced me to follow wherever he chose to go. That was simply the way things were. The desire to be with my maker was too strong to ignore.

Like a good little fledgling, I’d smiled sweetly at him instead.

“Yes, father. You have told me many times of the importance of not moving around. I do remember the first time. Did I let you down then?”

The first time we’d travelled thousands of miles, the Wright brothers hadn’t even been born, let alone invented the airplane.

I remembered Thomas, my maker and saviour giving me the same instructions in 1853 when we’d boarded the ship named Washington, bound for New York.

Back then, I’d hung on to his every word like a little puppy.

Thomas had stroked my cheek with his cold fingers. His dark blue eyes were bright and glossy, gazing into mine with heart-warming sincerity.

“Listen to me my dear child,” his voice sounded so soft, almost a whisper. I raised my face closer to his.

“You must remember to keep as still as possible. If we are discovered in the crates we’ll be considered stowaways. There will be no way for us to hide from the sun.”

I’d nodded my understanding, completely at his command. I was so new at being a vampire that I shined and sparkled like a new pin to adorn him with a trophy child and a pet project.

Sweetly, he’d waited outside of my crate whilst I’d lowered myself down with my face turned up to his and my eyes wide with fear. Thomas had lowered his smiling lips to my pale cheek after I’d lain down.

“You will be safe now, my love,” he’d said.

I understood why we had to go. It was impossible to stay in Ireland now. My family thought me dead and it was best for everyone that they continued to believe that.

He straightened himself back up and turned to his servants, his expression changing to a business like quality, all gentleness vanishing.

“Seal her crate,” he barked at the highly paid men that were escorting us. The lid was nailed shut.

I slept for the majority of the first few days before one of Thomas’ servants released us. We were well into the trip by then and I’d run out of the supplies that had been placed in the crate with me. It took all the will I had to stop myself from draining the servant dry.

For six weeks, the servants would let us out of the crates to feed on the unsuspecting crew and passengers.

When the ship docked in New York, they were around one hundred passengers lighter. Of course, not every death could be attributed to Thomas and me. Some had been taken by disease or pure misfortune. If it had been nowadays, they wouldn’t have died from our feeding at all. The lack of food and nutrition onboard had made the humans weak, too weak to sustain blood loss.

I slipped off my bed, bringing myself back to reality, and walked into the bathroom, flipping the light on more out of habit than necessity. My vision was perfect in the darkness, after taking a moment to adjust anyway.

I inspected myself in the mirror whilst removing the clothes I’d been wearing for days, discarding them on the floor. I’ve got ginger hair. Ok, maybe not ginger, I’m somewhere in between red and blonde. It irritates the hell outta’ me.

If my hair colour was red or blonde I suspect I’d be a bit happier. I’ve bleached and dyed it before, only to wake up the next night and find the mane is back to normal, stuck in purgatory between the two colours and ramrod straight. I even shaved my head once, the whole damn lot, but I woke to find the tresses had re-grown back down to my waist.

At least my transition couldn’t affect the pallor of my skin. I’ve always been pale with freckles scattered about most of my body. A consequence of being Irish I figured.

As a human, my oval shaped eyes were a dark blue, but since the change they’ve become cyan speckled with flecks of violet, as if my body couldn’t decide what it wanted.

“For goodness sake, Teagan!” Thomas bellowed from the doorway of my bathroom.

I continued my gaze into the mirror.

“What alarms you about clothes?” Thomas asked.

I viewed him out the corner of my eye—he’d turned to face away from my exposed body.

“Well, Thomas, this is my bathroom and my bedroom. Are you afraid of knocking?”

I selected the mascara from the contents of the bag next to the sink. I unscrewed the lid and began applying the gloopy black substance to my eyelashes whilst trying to act as if he’d gone.

“Well, I didn’t want you to become—over hungry.”

I stomped past him, making no attempt to cover up my nakedness, back into my large bedroom.

“Fear not, father. I’m going out now.”

“By yourself?” His voice was high-pitched with incredulity. “You won’t have any idea of where to go. We’re not in Montana now, Teagan. You don’t know London.”

I rolled my eyes in another direction, unwilling to look at him. I pretended to inspect the crimson pattern on the feature wall as I pulled on some jeans, not bothering with underwear, I was too hungry to mess around. I’d selected the décor for my room while we were still in Montana, and I was happy to see the decorators had pulled off my vision to perfection.

“I’m well aware of where we are, thank you very much, father. You know I prefer to feed by myself, without any of your corrections.” I snatched up the green silk shirt, the material slithered over my skin sending the nerve endings to alert. I was a little excited at the thought of tasting new blood, English blood.

“I’m sorry, Teagan. Of course, I forgot, you can’t take constructive criticism. I only endeavour to help you improve yourself,” he said, his voice tinged with sarcasm and his eyes narrowed with severity.

Thomas’ Italian leather shoes spun on the thick red pile carpet as his slim figure, a blur, flashed out the walnut door after swinging the heavy wood back hard on the hinges.

I raised an eyebrow as “dick-head,” escaped my mouth without consideration.

I slumped down on the California king bed. Actually, I had been behaving like a sulky teenager. Thomas had given me everything anyone could ever wish for. He’d saved me from a sad existence. There were some things in my human life that I felt I’d missed out on because I had to leave. It caused me pain to even think about those things, and I never talked about them. But I knew that everything he did and continues to do, he does for me.

The move to London had annoyed me. I had no idea why we’d come here, and I’d never been offered an explanation of any kind.

Our lives in Montana were remote and lonely. It wasn’t as if I had left anything that I loved behind. I should have been grateful for the streams of people and the bright lights of the city.

Huffing at my own behaviour, I slipped my feet into green ballet style shoes. I filled my nostrils with air as I stepped out into the hallway, trying to sniff Thomas out. The house was huge, so it took me a while to trace him to the drawing room.

I hovered by the door while he pretended not to realise I was there. His eyes remained firmly on the book he was clutching with white knuckles. He sat in a salmon coloured winged back chair next to the intricate stone fireplace with pinched lips and a stiff posture.

“Father,” I said quietly, my voice cutting through the silence like a knife.

“What?” he snapped, not bothering to grant me a glance.

“I’m so sorry for my behaviour. You’re right. I’m acting like an adolescent. Can you forgive me? We could start afresh.”

“You know I will,” he said, his eyes meeting mine finally as he softened his expression. “Can you forgive me for bringing you to London?”

“It’s not so bad.” I smiled while waving my hand around the plush room. “Any chance we discuss our new beginning later? I’m so hungry.”

He shook himself, as if he had forgotten that I hadn’t eaten in days.

“Of course, my love. I suggest you go to Hyde Park. It’s a few minutes walk, if you head south you can’t miss it. I shouldn’t think you’d encounter any problems.”

I nodded letting my smile reach my eyes.

I threw the front door open after descending the stairs. The air, still quite warm and doused with pollution, served as another reminder I no longer lived in a countryside location.

Skipping down the front steps I took in the scene on the street. The houses around me glowed thanks to the streetlights lining the pavement. All of the houses resembled the one I lived in, painted a clean, creamy ivory colour. The doors and railings wrapping around them were painted black in stark contrast. They were rowed neatly with bevelled triangular carvings in them, tall, proud and narrow structures.

I couldn’t believe the cleanliness of the streets. I’d always imagined London would be dirty for some reason.

As directed by Thomas, I reached the edge of the park within a few minutes and took a path lined with globular street lamps casting a white pearly light.

Spotting a bank of trees, I walked over to them pressing the length of my body against the bark and laying my cheek against the roughness. I closed my eyes and breathed in the earthy goodness. I’d already been missing the countryside, just in that short walk.

The traffic noises from a nearby road drowned out my thoughts, so I concentrated on blocking them all out. My brain finally cut out the background noise. The lapping water of the river running parallel to the park and the wind rattling the soft leaves and grass soothed me. It made me feel at one with the nature surrounding me despite being in the middle of the city.

My eyes snapped open as I became aware of the vibration of footsteps, too clunky and unrefined to be an animal.

As the human came closer, I could hear their ragged breath and a heartbeat pumping the delicious blood through their veins.

My eyes found him—a stout man, short, fat and bald. His suit was grey and crumpled. His whitecollar hung open, the tie swung with his movements having been loosened off, leaving his fleshy neck exposed.

He started to pass where I stood, and in a blurry flash I snatched his large body and extended my fangs. I forced him against the tree as my newly revealed teeth stabbed into his neck. My mouth filled with sweet, rich, sticky liquid, tinged with the taste of alcohol.

He groaned for a second before the venom provided anaesthetic relief.

I wrapped my arms around his huge waist and shifted his body gently down to the grass so I was kneeling beside him. I pulled my teeth out of his neck whilst placing my hand over his mouth.

The man’s eyes flew wide open for a split second before the make-up of the venom had a chance to convert in his blood stream. When he flinched, that told me the process had completed. The poison from my fangs had wiped his memory of my attack forever. I moved my hand from his mouth to his cheek so fast any human would fail to notice.

“Are you ok, Mister?” I asked him frowning.

“Whoa—what happened?”

“A cyclist knocked you flying and you fell unconscious for a moment or two.”

“A cyclist knocked me over?” he echoed in an uncertain tone, swallowing hard. “I feel a bit dizzy.”

“Well, you’ve had a shock. Here, let me help you up.” I rose with grace from my place beside him and extended my hand. I didn’t want to draw this out for longer than I had to. I was eager to explore the city.

He grasped my hand with no consideration for our weight difference, probably a good thing because I didn’t want him to take notice of my considerable strength.

I began brushing him down trying to stifle a giggle, my actions reminding me of a mother inspecting her child before sending him off to school.

“I’d go home if I were you, see how you are in the morning,” I advised. He nodded, blinking rapidly and glancing around.

“Um, thanks,” he said before sluggishly ambling away.

I walked a few metres to sit down on a wooden bench. I wanted to bask in the warmth of being full and satisfied. My head dropped back and rested on the backrest. My eyes were half open as a smile curled the edges of my lips.

Without warning my whole body jerked, every muscle became tense. I realised instinct had positioned me on the pathway in a crouch, ready to pounce.

I swished back into the tree line where I’d come from, my blue and purple irises alert, ready for what created the magnificent aroma that I was breathing in deeply.

What is that?’ I’d never smelled anything like it before. It was indescribable because it was so many things. Open lilies, baking bread, freshly cut grass, all intertwined to create something wonderful.

I focussed my attention back on the path, honing my vision on the delectable source of the scent.

The aroma came from a man walking purposefully through the park.

How could a human smell so divine? He certainty appeared to be just a human, but then I supposed I did, too. His shoes tapped across the walkway. Though, to me, each gentle footstep seemed to magnify into great big booms. My attention belonged solely to him.

He stopped in his tracks, his eyebrows knitting together creasing his perfect olive skin.

My nails dug into the bark, exposing the flesh of the tree.

He snorted in the scented air just as I had been, like a cocaine addict simply unable to stop filling his nose. He glanced around before he continued his liquid movements down the path past the tree that I clung to for support.

If you liked it, here are the links:

UK Customers:

Kindle edition: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Falling-to-Pieces-ebook/dp/B00E6SH4VK/ref=sr_1_2?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1375213080&sr=1-2&keywords=falling+to+pieces

Paperback: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Falling-to-Pieces-ebook/dp/B00E6SH4VK/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1375214503&sr=1-2&keywords=falling+to+pieces

 

US Customers:

Kindle edition: http://www.amazon.com/Falling-to-Pieces-ebook/dp/B00E6SH4VK/ref=sr_1_16?ie=UTF8&qid=1375214571&sr=8-16&keywords=Falling+to+pieces

Paperback: http://www.amazon.com/Falling-Pieces-L-T-Kelly/dp/1490952012/ref=sr_1_10?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1375214660&sr=1-10&keywords=Falling+to+pieces

  

SIGNED COPIES OF FALLING TO PIECES WITH FREE BOOKMARK:

UK Customers:

https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_s-xclick&hosted_button_id=G4R59GRXVNX4L

(Of course, if I am able to deliver postage will be refunded.)

European Customers:

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USA Customers:

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Bare Assets by M.L. Stephens – Cover reveal.

I’m so pleased to be able to reveal a wonderful authors cover. This is ‘Bare Assets’ by M.L. Stephens.

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Isn’t it beautiful! I’m drooling…

Here’s the blurb.

Bare Assets

by M. L. Stephens

Release date: 8-05-2013

Book Blurb

 

With nothing but shattered dreams and a busted heart to fuel the way, Angela Fletcher drove out of Arkansas and never looked back.

Six years later, the new and improved version of the girl she used to be, steered clear of romance, love and late night promises. The only pillow talk Angela engaged in these days, was making sure the person on the other pillow knew to lose her number as soon as he left the bed. She only had room for one love in her life and that was Bare Assets, the gentleman’s club she poured her heart and soul into.

Dean Murray was the devil in disguise and had left behind enough broken hearted women to populate a small country. Angela would know. She was an expert markswoman who was skillfully self-trained at shooting down the good, the bad and the ugly of all masculine targets. After all, as the owner of the most successful strip club in Dallas, Texas, it was her business to know men.

Just as she begins to fall for Dean’s silky words and passionate ways, her past and present unexpectedly collide and a meticulously planned future turns into unpredictable chaos. Is the smooth talking, denim wearing devil responsible for the chaos? Or have the secrets she left buried in Arkansas, coming back to haunt her?

 

FB author page

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Driven by K Bromberg.

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I finished reading ‘Driven’ by K Bromberg late last night. I got the book from Amazon whilst it was free, but I would happily have paid for it.

Because of the cover I initially thought that the book was going to be like ’50 Shades of Grey’, I’m not going to hide the fact that they were my guilty pleasure. Yes, the love interest, Colton, is absolutely gorgeous, rich, talented and has a dark past. But thats where the similarity ends.

The story is told from the view of Rylee, a real woman. No, really, an actual real woman that most women would be able to relate to on some level. This is the story of how she’s starting to get her life back on track following the tragic death of her fiancé, Max, two years previously.

Colton Donovan is a race car driver. I’m hoping that he is real and that he has a thing for blonde British women. If so, pass me his number.

On a serious note, the characters have been well crafted and displayed. I fell in love with them and cheered, sighed and laughed along with them.

My only criticisms are that I felt that the book needed another edit. There were some mistakes and the only reason I gave it a five star review instead of a four was because it felt unfair when the story was so captivating.

Also, at the end some hint that BDSM had occurred between them. Other than one kitchen counter scene, which quite a few sexually active couples would have tried in ordinary circumstances, I didn’t feel it fitted. It was skimmed over, and I’m a all or nothing girl.

I downloaded this book as a light read for work. I was sadly mistaken by that, my colleague had to scream across the office to get my attention whilst I read it. My poor iPhone clattered on my keyboard when I heard my name being shouted at such a level!

I reached the end last night. It’s official, K. Bromberg is a grade A bitch, she left my longing for more…

The second part of the trilogy is set to be released in August. It’s called ‘Fuelled’ and I’ll most definitely be reading it.

Amazon UK Link- http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00CRMX26I

Amazon.com http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00CRMX26I 

Goodreads https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17798287-driven?ac=1