Wednesday, July 30, 2014

On Tour Now: Love Like the Movies by Victoria Van Tiem



In this irresistible romantic romp, movie fanatic Kensington Shaw is thrown into love—Hollywood-style—when her gorgeous ex presents a series of big screen challenges to win back her heart.
What girl wouldn’t want to experience the Pretty Woman shopping scene? It’s number two on the list. Or, try the lift from Dirty Dancing? It’s number five. One list, ten romantic movie moments, and a handful of shenanigans later, Kenzi has to wonder…should she marry the man her family loves, or risk everything for a love like the movies?


My Review:

~~ I was gifted this book In exchange for an honest review~~

This was a funny book. I absolutely love this book. Through out this entire book, you are reminded about all those great Rom-Coms that we all know that you have seen. In this book, Kensington works for an advertising company. She has to work with this client that she knows all too well, her ex-boyfriend, and first love. She has only one dilemma, her current fiance'. The plan is to act out 10 romantic comedy movies (just certain parts) to get an idea for a great advertising campaign going. 

I couldn't put this book down at all. Victoria, has taken 10 fabulous movies, all 10 that I love and are in my top 20 romantic comedies, and turned them into a great "game" so to speak. If you haven't read this book, you need too! You will not regret it at all!!

By the Book!


Love Like The Movies is available in UK,US, CA, Italy, AU, and soon-Russia, Brazil, Czech Republic & Slovak Republic!

Available through various bookstores & retailers: Amazon, Kobo, iBooks & more.

UK Paperback & eBook -  http://amzn.to/1sacjcG
US Paperback & eBook - 
http://amzn.to/1miLez8 
ITALY Hard Cover & eBook - 
http://amzn.to/1mrN3bv  http://bit.ly/1jHymoM
AU Paperback & eBook - http://amzn.to/1whI7tZ
CA Paperback & eBook - 
http://amzn.to/1nsv485




BIO:

Victoria Van Tiem is the author of LOVE LIKE THE MOVIES. She’s also an artist, black belt, mom of two, wife of one, and resident caretaker of her family zoo—including their beloved, pot-bellied pig, Pobby. Repped by Jenny Bent of The Bent Agency.






Visit the following stops along the way for a book review!

July 21- Keep Calm and Blog On

July 23 – Chicks That Read

July 24 – We Read to Live

July 25 – M’s Bookshelf - Excerpt

July 28 – Sky’s Book Corner

July 29 – A Writer in A Wheelchair

July 30 – Reading in Black and White

July 31- Annabel & Alice

August 1 – Book Addict Shaun

August 4 – Ski-Wee’s Book Corner

On Tour Now: Deciding Tomorrow by Renee Ericson



Deciding Tomorrow Synopsis:
What if a love, once lost, came around for a second chance?

After a fated meeting with the one person who captured her heart many years ago, Ruby Miller is taking a leap of faith, right into the arms of her past.

Four years have gone by since the tragedy that tore Ruby and Brent apart, setting them on different paths, battered and searching. Now, this couple divided by time and distance will have to fight for their love to survive in the present, as they try to deal with their past and the decisions that made them who they are today.

Is their love worth it? The same love they gave up on once before?

Can they put everything aside to see what's left of what they once shared?
Following their hearts, their minds, and Deciding Tomorrow.

Excerpt:

“Give that back,” I playfully snap, trying to snatch my stolen utensil. My attempts are useless, so I settle my hip against the counter again, crossing my arms. “Does my idea of romance scare you?”
“Just a little.” He tosses my spoon behind him and into the sink. “In an obsessively adorable way.”
“Adorable?”
“That’s what I said,” he taunts, taking another bite of ice cream.
“Not sexy?”
“Maybe if you did it in lace underwear. You have any of those?”
Stepping closer, I eliminate some of the physical space between our bodies. God, he smells so good.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I ask, my voice seductively low.
“I might be interested.”
Another bite disappears between his lips. My chest expands as I inhale. The longing for his mouth as well as the ice cream escalates.
“Are you going to keep taunting me with that?” I play pout. 
“What? This?” He lifts the empty utensil. “Or this?” He intentionally licks his lips, tempting me further.
“You’re mean.”
He chuckles, dips his spoon into the creamy green-and-black dessert, and then gestures the tasty sweet bite in my direction. I give him an apprehensive look, not trusting his generosity. This feels like a trick.
He raises the spoonful higher, and the ice cream’s coolness radiates, tingling the warmth of my lips. Measuring whether he’s playing a game or not, I tentatively open my mouth, and the tiny morsel on the spoon chills my tongue.
Brent sets the utensil on the counter and then gently presses his thumb against my icy lips, drawing a line along their shape. I shiver internally, and it’s not from the ice cream.
“Are you still teasing me?” I ask against his touch.
“I’ll let you figure that out.”

My Review: 

~~I received this in exchange for an honest review~~

Where do I even begin?! I can't believe that this series is over! I fell in love with Ruby and Brent. I cried with them, I felt their pain, and I felt like I have become best friends with them. This is the final book in the These Days series. Renee has ended this series perfectly!! She has tied up all the loose ends and packaged it with a big huge red ribbon!! 

I was one of those readers that couldn't wait until this book came out. I waited patiently, so patiently for this release! I am so glad that I did! It was so worth the wait! I know that you will agree with me on that one! Renee did a spectacular job on this book! I am a huge fan of hers and can't wait to see what she writes next! She has a fan for life! 



Purchase Links:

Amazon| Barnes and Noble


Author Bio:
Renee Ericson is the author of the These Days series. 

Originally from the Midwest, she now resides in a small town just outside of Boston with her husband and three children. 

Most winters, Renee can be found on the slopes of the White Mountains skiing with her family. During the summer months, she likes to spend every spare minute at the beach soaking up the sea air. All those moments in between, she is talking to imaginary characters and caring for her children.

Books in the series links:
After Tuesday: 

Forgotten Yesterday:
Youtube book trailer links:
Author social media links:
Tour-wide Rafflecopter giveaway link:

Tuesday, July 29, 2014

Release Day Blitz: Rogue by Katy Evans



The fourth story in the new adult series that began with the New York Times bestseller Real, featuring Brooke's best friend, Melanie, and the ROGUE she can't resist.


Greyson King...
My boyfriend. My friend. My protector. He's the reason I wake up every morning with a smile on my face, and the reason I fall asleep limp, worn out, and aching for his warm arms around me. When we make love, he says my name like it means something. Like I mean something.
He
Lied.
His name is Greyson King, but his alias is Zero.
There's zero trace of him, he has zero past, and now I know that with him, I will have zero future.
He may leave no trace of him anywhere, but his imprint is in me, in my very soul--and I hate that a mere look at him commands the beat of my heart. The temperature of my body.
I've looked for love my entire life. I've waited for the butterflies, the rainbows...
Instead I'm in a free fall of emotions and there's no one to catch me but the one man I should be running away from. The one man I thought was my prince charming.
Except this prince charming went rogue.
Greyson will stop at nothing to make me be with him. He'll let no one stand in our way, will allow no one to threaten me, and maybe this is what scares me most of all...
What will my rogue do to keep me?










The doors burst open and a couple walks inside, soaking wet, the woman shaking her damp loose hair, laughing.
“Omigod!” I cry, my stomach plummeting when I realize it’s fucking raining.
I run to the door when a man grabs the handle with a black-gloved hand and gallantly pulls it open for me. I almost stumble outside, and he grips my elbow to steady me. “Easy,” he says in a rolling voice as he steadies me on my feet, and I blink desperately across the street at the light blue Mustang. All I have in my name. All I have to sell because I desperately need the money and who will want it now? It’s a convertible and a little old, but it’s as cute as it is unique, with white interior seats to match the tent top. But now it’s outside in this rain, with its top down, becoming my very own Titanic with wheels.
My entire life is sinking right with it.
“I assume by that sad puppy-dog look on your face that that’s your car,” the rolling voice says.
I helplessly nod and lift my eyes to the stranger. A flash of thunder cuts through the distance, illuminating his features.
And I can’t speak.
Or think.
Or breathe.
His eyes grab me and won’t let go. I stare into their depths while also registering that his face is stunning. Hard jaw, high cheekbones, strong forehead. His nose is classic, sleek and elegant; and the lips beneath are full and curved, firm and . . . god, he’s edible. His dark hair flips playfully in the wind. He’s tall and broad shouldered and dressed in dark slacks and a dark turtleneck that makes him look both elegant and dangerous.
But his eyes.
They’re an indecipherable color, but it’s not the color, it’s the stare, the incredible shine. Framed with thick black lashes, his eyes shine as brilliant as the brightest lights I’ve ever seen. As they quietly assess my features in return, those narrowed eyes feel as powerful as X-rays, and they seem to be sparkling especially because I—me—have somehow done something to amuse this man, this . . . fuck, I have no name for him. Except Eros. Cupid himself. God of love. In the flesh.
I used to think Cupid used an arrow but I don’t feel as if I’ve been pierced by an arrow. I feel like I’ve been hit. By a rocket.
As I keep standing here, floored by the over six feet of total hotness before me, he grabs my keys from me with one gloved hand and puts his other free one on my hip to hold me in place. And I feel it. I feel the touch race down my hips, knotting in my stomach, pulsing in my sex, straight down my thighs, curling my toes. “Stay here,” he says into my ear, then he pulls up the collar of his turtleneck until it becomes a hood in the back, and he runs across the street.
I watch him head to where my car is getting soaked. The wind whips through the streets so hard, I have to use both hands to try to flatten my skirt so it doesn’t fly up to my middle.
“Put the top on!” I force myself to yell through the pounding rain, suddenly as determined as he is to save my car.
“Princess, I got this!” He leaps into the front seat, turns on the car, and the top starts coming up until it . . . doesn’t.
It gets stuck.
After a squeal of protest, the fucker starts coming back down.
“ARGH, SHIT!” I hurry into the street and suddenly the drops of rain bombard me like little cannon balls, soaking me in a second. I swear I want to yell Fuck you! at them. My car, the one thing in my life that hasn’t been shit on, is being ruined and I want to scream.
“Are you kidding me? Get under the roof!” The guy leaps out and then pulls off his sweater in one quick jerk. He spreads the material over my head, using it to shield me from the rain while he herds me back to the small awning over the building entry.
“No! I’ll help you. My precious car!” I cry and push at his chest, trying to get him to back off, but he’s a head taller and built of steel.
“I’ve got your car,” he promises. He hands me his soaked turtleneck and adds, “Hold this,” before he runs back out.
He’s wearing a white crewneck undershirt, and it clings to his sculpted torso as he tries to manually override and pull the top of my car back in place.
Raindrops sluice down his bare arms, the soaked cotton of his shirt plastered down on his chest, revealing every muscle in existence. Fuck. He’s off-the-charts gorgeous; he just broke my Man Hotness Radar. I can’t take my eyes off every inch of his body or the way it moves.
Thunder shakes the city again when he finally latches the top of my car on and signals for me to come over. He opens my car door from the inside, and I hurry into the passenger seat and shut it behind me.
My cold, slick clothes cling against my skin while he sits behind the wheel, looking big and manly, and suddenly we’re ensconced in the small, almost cramped interior of my car. The seats are flooded with water, and when I shift to face him a little, I hear a squish that makes my cheeks burn in embarrassment.
“I can’t believe this,” I whisper. “My best friend tells me I’m the only idiot with a convertible in Seattle.”
His eyes are openly amused. “I dig your car.” He reaches out to the dashboard, and the hand he runs over it is covered in an elegant lambskin glove that makes my skin prick with goose bumps. He shifts his big torso in my direction with an irresistibly devastating grin. “Everything wet gets dry; don’t worry, princess.”
I can hardly take the way he says wet.
Or the way a raindrop clings to his dark eyelashes. Water sluices down his tanned, corded arms. His hair is slicked back, enhancing the beautiful face he has. I have seen works of art and beautiful men, beautiful buildings and beautiful rooms, but at this moment as he looks at me, I can’t remember ever seeing anything besides him.
He’s a ten. I’ve never, ever, been with a ten. And the way that he looks at me . . . I’ve seen that look before. The look that Remington Tate gives Brooke. That look. He’s giving it to me and I’m dying inside. Can I die from one look? And if one look can kill me, then what would one touch do?
“So,” he says softly, his voice textured. He waits a little before speaking again, and it surprises me that he still only looks at my face, not my wet chest, not my bare legs—he’s looking at nothing but my eyes while absently stroking the circle of my steering wheel.
“Want to go somewhere with me?” he asks, then reaches out with his free wet black glove to brush my hair back behind my ear.
What I feel is so far beyond lust, I can hardly answer him.
I tremble. “Yes,” I say, dizzied with want.

“Leave it on,” he murmurs, then he rolls me onto my back and yanks my arms up over my head.
“But I want to touch you,” I breathe, undulating my body against the weight of his.
He pins my arms up in one hand and pulls off his tie with the other, then he wraps it tightly around my wrists. “Tonight, only I touch.”
“Why?”
“Because I say so.”
I can’t suppress my shudder of excitement as he peels off my panties. He ducks his head and flames lick across my body with each open kiss he places on me, and I tilt my hips upward as he dips his tongue inside my belly button. I gasp, my body craving him like sugar, like chocolate, like sex. “Please, oh . . .”
He murmurs shhh and opens my pussy with his fingers, eating me with his mouth. My head falls back and a noise of pleasure purls out of my throat as he starts thrusting his tongue into my channel, rubbing in a way that has me thrashing in absolute pleasure. “God, you make me lose it,” he breathes, tasting me again.
I quiver under him, spine arched, thighs spread open, aching for his touch, his tongue, his closeness. “Greyson,” I say, breathing in deep, soul-drenching drafts. He’s like every boy I made out with under the bleachers, every boy I’ve ever wanted who didn't want me, everything that was forbidden to me. I groan as he licks a circle around my clit. “Oh god! Grey . . . Greyson . . . please . . . You’re—”
My breaths rasp in my throat when he lifts his head and I see the unmistakable possessiveness in his eyes. He kisses my taut nipples, then studies me, bound for him, in his bed. Using my legs, I curl my thighs around his hips, urging him closer. “I’ve never begged before, but I’m begging you to touch me.”
“What is it that you beg for, Melanie? I should be the one begging to touch you.”
His hands start dragging up my sides. Sensations so intense, every touch of his fingers crackles over me like burning fingertips. My muscles tense and knot as my body once again heads to that place where only he takes me, where he’s not only fulfilling a physical ache, but he gets access to a place where he can rip my soul open.
Closing my eyes as I feel some moisture burn inside them, I keep my arms over my head, bound by his tie, as he uses his thumb to play with my clit.
He does it harder, deeper, expertly. Our eyes meet, he crushes my mouth and whispers, “I’m the one who doesn’t fucking beg, but I’ll beg for this pussy,” he rasps as his fingers prepare me, because he’s so big I need to be wet and ready and oh god, I’m so ready.
“Yes . . .” I say, the nearness of my orgasm audible in my voice, then his mouth is on mine again, our tongues making out, slick as he keeps rubbing me, his palm burning hot as he cups me and slides one finger in so deep. I tilt my pelvis, desperate for every inch. When he’s got me lathered up to explosion, he eases back to unzip his slacks.
My vision is blurry from wanting this. He doesn’t even kick his pants off. He shoves them down to his knees, baring his erection, his thick, powerful thighs.
Our mouths roam over each other as he aligns our bodies. “Hard!” I plead as I hook my bound wrists around his neck to keep him close, my lips raining kisses on his jaw. Last night, afraid and dirty and vulnerable, he was all I wanted. All I wanted. “I want you so much. HARD,” I gasp, suddenly vulnerable, shaking, needing.
Hungrily, I nibble on his nipple ring, and he responds with a growling noise and forces me down on my back. “Impatient, hungry little girl.” He grabs his cock and rolls on the rubber, and he looks as desperate as I am as he starts feeding the head to me. “Is this what you want?”
My eyes roll back from the pleasure and I cry, “Yes, all of it.” He groans when he sees my first tear fall, and when he cups his hands on my face as though to catch them and starts fucking me for real, my body melts into his as the world becomes full of him. Just him. Only him.
He impales himself deeper, and I soar higher and higher. I can feel my nipples brushing his shirt, his hot breath on my face, his body in mine—and that’s all I know as my world careens on its axis. His hands won’t let go of my face, holding me for his every hard, fast, expert thrust. “That’s right, that’s exactly right, let go for me, let go for me, Melanie, I got you,” he murmurs, kissing my throat.
My breasts are budded pink at the tips from the scrape of his shirt; I love it. I love his smell, his hands, his voice. “Yes,” I gasp as he thrusts harder, my rhythm completely clumsy now. All I want is more of him, more of him, ALL OF HIM. “Yes, yes.”
He roars, head falling back, veins popping out in pleasure as he starts jetting off and I spread my legs wider apart as he grabs my hips and thrusts in harder, watching me lose it.
I moan and start to thrash, somehow aware that his eyes are devouring me as I shatter into a million pieces.
Sighing in relaxation soon after, I hook my bound hands around his neck and press myself into his chest.
“Nobody pushes me as far as you do,” I explain, my voice cottony.
“That’s because I’m bad,” he says. He slides one hand up my arm, to where my hands are linked at his nape. “I’m bad for you.”


I can’t put a name to what I feel when he’s inside me, so maybe I won’t try to. Does it even have a name? This connection between human beings. Between a woman, and a man; a fucking asshole.
I look at him, and he doesn’t scare me.
He lures me.
He tempts me, exhilarates me. He makes me want to claim him as if I’m claiming back a part of me that was once lost.
Makes me want to tame him. Let him tame me.
He rolls another condom on his thick cock and comes up to his knees, and I feel vulnerable and open but I don’t feel like hiding right now. I openly show him my hunger and lick and kiss his thick throat as he grabs my waist and pushes into me. I shudder uncontrollably when he’s all the way in, biting a tendon that juts out on his throat, close to my mouth.
The rumble of the sound he makes tells me he likes it. You like it when I’m feisty? My eyes flutter open, and he looks down at me with a look of wild, hungry, proprietary lust, but also strangely reverent and gentle. We fuck lazily this time, without the initial rush, our bodies moving in synchronicity until I see stars as another climax builds and builds.
“Go on, bite me all you want, little kitten.” He prods into my mouth, his eyes on mine as I comply, licking him, tasting him. “Do you want that to be my cock in your mouth?” his husky murmur taunts in my ear, breath hot. “Do you want to be sucking on this cock? Biting on it?”
I gasp with renewed hunger. “When I bite it I’m going to bite hard.” With my arms hooked around his neck, I rake my nails into a part of his scalp, my hips tilting faster to keep up with his increasing rhythm.
His laugh, once again dark, sensual, intimate as he brushes his wet thumb along my lips, the bed squeaking beneath us. “If you think I’m afraid of a little bit of teeth, you need to get to know me better, princess.” Just like that, he bites my lower lip and sucks it into his mouth, thrusting harder so I moan.
I bite back, and he groans such sexy sounds it only makes the sex that much more intense. My wet, snug body grips him greedily because I want him in me for as long as I can have him, but the pleasure is too absolute to last as long as I want to, even though we both seem to be trying to last.
The mattress squeaks beneath us, harder and harder with his thrusts. I’m being just as noisy, and Greyson? He’s releasing low, male noises of pleasure too. “Get ready, princess, I’m coming so hard,” he rasps.
“Come,” I beg. He has no idea how much I’m aching to feel him go off inside me, go off with me.
He waits to feel me clench around him. Then, the moment it starts for me, he lets go. He comes full force, his body tightening like a bow, and when I feel him jerk in me, his hands clenching on my hips, my pleasure explodes inside me until I’m convulsing so totally I can’t keep my eyes open.
Oh.
My.
God.
I lay in breathless silence for a moment, realizing Greyson is untying me. He rubs my wrists with the pads of his thumbs, then plops onto his back and stares up at the ceiling, his chest heaving, his nipple ring glinting with the little rays of sunlight peeking through the window.
The sun is rising already. I really didn’t want it to rise yet because I don’t want to leave yet.
In silence, I go to the bathroom and when I come back to bed, he’s staring out at the city looking satisfied and exhausted, his shirt all wrinkled, his hair all mussed, his beautiful mouth swollen from me. I should get going. Probably, I should. Instead I stare at him and that mouth and I wonder how many women kissed those lips.
Many, Melanie.
He’s warned me off, but I don’t feel like being warned off. I feel as though somewhere, deep down, he’s bullshitting me. Why would he give me this necklace otherwise? Why would he give me, over and over, THE LOOK?
Even so, I’ve gotta go, so I walk back to that big bed, my eyes scanning the floor for my dress even though the thought of going home alone to my apartment makes my stomach churn. I could call Pandora, but I’ll have to be prepared for her drilling the shit out of me, I guess.
“Do you see my dress?” I whisper to him.
His voice is gruff with tiredness, his eyes hooded as he pulls open the bedsheet for me.
“Yeah, I set it aside to avoid the clutter. Come here and get some sleep.”
Oh, god, I really didn’t want to leave, but I don’t want him to know how much I want to sleep here tonight either.
So I stand there, naked and unsure for a moment.
“I don’t have to stay,” I say, but there’s this way he has of looking at you—as if he’s commanding you. It’s very odd. I’ve never encountered anyone who could have such control with a single look.
Caving in to it, I find myself quietly heading over. His lips curl as he lifts the sheet higher and I see his naked body under the cover.
I feel strangely awkward as I slide into bed with him, first sitting on the corner of the bed and quickly braiding my hair; I wouldn’t fall asleep otherwise, I simply can’t stand waking up and feeling it on my face.
I sense his curious gaze watching my every move, and when I sigh and lie down on my side, facing a stone fireplace on the far side of the room, he laughs behind me. “You really plan to sleep way over there?”
“I don’t want to intrude!” I laugh nervously. “I don’t stay over usually.”
“You just like to fuck and get away, that’s fine, princess. Except for the fact that I’m not done with you.”
He reaches out and guides me toward him by my braid, and when I don’t protest the maneuver and actually feel like tucking myself closer to his warmth, he exhales softly. “You’re something, aren’t you,” he murmurs, taking my braid in his fist and forcing me to roll over and face him. Then he pins my head against his, forehead to forehead. “Maybe I’ll sleep tonight; you wear a man out.”
“What do you mean?” I peer up at him, notice the hard set of his jaw. “You don’t sleep?”
“Not well, but I’ll go for it if you will,” he softly teases me.
“Then let’s go for it,” I say, grinning.
It feels like, for several minutes, we stay as we are, him with the merest curve of his lips while I’m smiling completely, both of us looking into each other’s eyes. I have no idea what he sees in my eyes that holds him so intently engrossed, but I can’t look away from his gaze either. It’s so closed and mysterious while, at the same time, I can see a fiery rawness in his gaze, as if he desperately wants something from me.
Not something; all of me.
“Come here,” he rasps. He makes the first move, easing one of his arms around me, pulling me against his side. I cuddle into his large body, a little tense at first, but at the same time, achingly aware of every spot where our naked bodies are touching. Where my breasts press into his ribs, my cheek on his chest, one of my legs hooking in between his.
God, this is as intimate as it gets with a man and I cannot relax, I cannot oxygenate, I cannot formulate a thought.
His breathing begins to deepen and . . . oh, wow. He’s asleep.
He fell asleep holding me, with his arm locked around my shoulders, and I don’t understand why I get butterflies over this.
I don’t understand my visceral reactions to him.
This hot man with a secret room. Who in the world has a secret room?
This man does. And I’m so curious about him, I study his features and tell myself I can sleep when I’m alone . . . so I touch his nipple ring and watch him lie in his big lonely apartment, deep asleep with one arm around me, wondering what other secrets he keeps from me.





REAL (Real #1) 
MINE (Real #2) 


REMY (Real #3) 


ROGUE  (Book #4) 







My Life in 8 Words: “Hectic, wonderful, complete; everything I ever wanted.”

Katy Evans grew up with books and book-boyfriends until she found a real sexy boyfriend to love. They married and are now hard at work on their own happily ever after. Katy loves her family and friends, and she also loves reading, walking, baking, and being consumed by her characters until she reaches “The End.” Which is, hopefully, only the beginning…



Monday, July 28, 2014

On Tour Now: Not Quite Dean by Lyla Payne





Synopsis

A broken engagement sends Graciela Harper crawling back to Heron Creek with her tail between her legs, but finds the sleepy little town too changed to set her life right. Not even her budding drinking problem can obscure her Gramps’s failing health, or erase the mental picture of her first love happily married to her childhood best friend. To top it all off, she’s having a heck of time convincing the town’s dashing young mayor of her unfit-for-dating status. 
When the ghost of 18th century lady pirate Anne Bonny starts insisting on a near daily audience, Graciela has to confront something else she never expected—being certifiably nuts at twenty-five years old. 
Her brand new "I don't give a crap" attitude makes it easy to dismiss the mysterious threats that seem to be tied to her search for more information on the long dead pirate, but when her family becomes a target, Gracie knows she needs to find out why the ghost insists on being a constant, reeking companion. 
If Graciela can put aside her prejudice against people without a pulse, she may discover that Anne Bonny’s problems are intricately linked with her own. The past harbors answers could help the cantankerous spirit find closure, but she is, after all, already dead. If Graciela doesn't move fast, she might find herself doing the haunting, instead of the other way around.


My Review


~~I was gifted a copy in exchange for an honest review~~

Who likes Pirates? Who likes ghosts? Who likes treasure hunts? You do!!!! You know you do!!!!! This book has pirates, ghosts, and a treasure hunt!!! This book has it all. I couldn't put it down. I started it and the book begged me to finish it before I went to sleep that night. I am so glad I did. This is a great story. It has intrigue and a cliffhanger in it.

Gracie goes to live with her grandfather to care for him. She ends up befriending the towns Mayor, and get reacquainted with her old friends she use to hang out with when she was younger. She gets a job at the library with a lady that is mean and nasty. Always tellin Gracie to stay out of the archives. There is also a ghost that has been following Gracie around. She is scaring Gracie into thinking that she is nuts.

Get this book now!! Read it with the lights off, if you dare, and don't put it down until your finished!!!!

Purchase Links



Author Bio

Lyla Payne has been publishing New Adult romance novels for a little over a year, starting with Broken at Love and continuing with the rest of the Whitman University series. She loves telling stories, discovering the little reasons people fall in love, and uncovering hidden truths in the world around us - past and present. In her spare time she cuddles her two dogs, pretends to enjoy exercising so that she can eat as much Chipotle as she wants, and harbors a deep and abiding hope that Zac Efron likes older women. She loves reading, of course, along with movies, traveling, and Irish whiskey. Lyla's hard at work, ALWAYS, and hopes to bring you more Whitman University antics and at least one more Lowcountry ghost tale before the end of the year.

Lyla Payne is represented by Kathleen Rushall at Marsal Lyon Literary Agency.

If you want to know more, please visit her at http://lylapayne.com

If you're a fan of Young Adult fiction--science fiction or otherwise--please check out her work that's published under the name Trisha Leigh. http://trishaleigh.com



July 28 – Reading in Black and White – Review & Excerpt

July 30 – Chick Lit Club Connect – Guest Post

August 1 – Escape Into a Book – Review & Excerpt

August 4 – Keep Calm and Blog On – Review & Excerpt

August 6 – Samantha March – Q&A & Excerpt

August 7 – Step Into Fiction – Review

August 8 – The Little Reading Cabin – Review

August 11 – Book Suburbia – Excerpt

August 12 – Chick Lit Plus – Review

August 13 – Jiha’s File – Review

August 14 – Wonderland Avenue – Review & Excerpt

August 18 – Two Children and a Migraine – Review, Guest Post & Excerpt 

**Everyone who leaves a comment on the tour page will be entered to win a $20 Amazon gift card! Anyone who purchases a copy of Not Quite Dead by August 18 and sends their receipt to Samantha@ChickLitPlus.com will receive 10 bonus entries!**