10:00 AM |
Well, Fallen Angels :)
I’m thrilled that Ariadne’s Thread is a Recommended Read at Fallen Angel Reviews this month!
Whitney, who also awarded it Five Angels, called it “a fast-paced story with a very strong element of farce in it... Addie is a gal from “the wrong side of the tracks” in working-class Glasgow. Readers will love her tough attitude and her smart mouth and will be charmed by her strong Glaswegian accent. John Maxwell is a man in a kilt, and who doesn’t love a man in a kilt? He has a wonderful, eccentric family that the reader will want to adopt as their own, ghosts included. This story will have one rooting for the hero and the heroine and wondering how they can possibly end up together.”
You can read the full review here.
I’m particularly delighted because this review comes hard on the heels of Coffee Time’s review. Lototy praised the book for its “wickedly humorous characters, and a plot that proves to be as intriguing as it is sexy.”
And here’s a naughty excerpt involving those mischievous (and randy!) ghosts :)
By Marie Treanor
From Samhain Publishing
Available now at My Bookstore and More
It was supposed to be a simple burglary…but the ghosts had other ideas.
Glaswegian single mother Ariadne McSween is not having a happy New Year. Instead of celebrating with family and friends in time-honoured tradition, she’s helping her scallywag brother and his even less-savoury friends burgle a mansion in the Scottish Highlands. And nothing is going right.
First there’s the bad weather and car breakdowns. Then, instead of a quick, quiet robbery under cover of a noisy party, Addie finds herself flirting outrageously with the house’s owner, sexy concert pianist and accused murderer, John Maxwell. Worse, her violent and erratic accomplice, Shug, takes their hosts hostage.
Another complication: The house turns out to be haunted, and not just by the ghost of eminent composer Christopher Maxwell. Two randy spirits drawn to the lust of living want to join the party—along with the vengeful shade of John’s murdered wife.
Soon Addie becomes entangled in a host of mysteries, like why are Ariadne and her cohorts being paid to rob a house that holds nothing more valuable than dusty musical manuscripts? And most of all, how does she avoid falling in love with the chief victim of her crime?
Warning: This book contains explicit and musical sex, adult language and swearing in Glaswegian.
(Addie's erotic dream is rudely interrupted...!)
Oh, Jesus Christ, do you only exist to get in my way?
Addie’s eyes snapped open. She was still orgasming as the door of the room pushed inward. Somehow she managed to grab at the fallen quilt, half-tugging it across her body. Through the haze of pleasure that still held her helpless, she gazed toward the door, waiting for Shug to appear. Instead, John Maxwell strolled into the room.
The man of her dreams was more rumpled than ever, his black hair wild, his shirt opened most of the way down his chest, half in, half out of the kilt’s waist. Addie wanted to shout at him to get out, but as she was still in the throes of orgasm, only something like a whimper escaped from her lips. The sight of him at that precise moment was beautiful. It was appalling.
Helplessly, she dragged her hand over her face, hiding it, hoping feebly that he would imagine she was just trying to wake herself up. It gave her a moment to get herself back under control—sort of—and when she looked again, Shug was hopping into the room, leaning heavily on a walking stick. In the other hand he grasped the inevitable gun, pointing it, of course, at John Maxwell.
“Nice tits, Addie,” Shug said, “but there’s no need to show the world.”
“Fuck off, Shug,” she said shakily. She dragged the quilt farther up and realized that, humiliatingly, John Maxwell was not looking at her but at the foot of her bed. Which is when, belatedly, she saw the naked man who sat there.
His skin gleamed a warm shade of sepia. Long, tangled hair fell around his shoulders and across his curiously unclear but handsome face. Beside him stood another young man wrapped in a faded plaid. Through the latter’s body she could still see the window and the pale grey light of dawn gleaming through the curtains. They were both transparent.
It seemed she was still dreaming, a dream now well out of control, but hey, it was a hell of a lot more fun than her waking life, so she was quite prepared to run with it.
But no, Shug was distressingly real. He kept looking at her, as if willing the quilt to fall again.
“No, really, Shug,” Addie said dangerously. “Fuck off.”
“Thought you fancied a quick one for auld lang syne.”
“Oh, I think she’s had one,” John Maxwell drawled…
Thanks for reading! Hope everyone's having a great weekend!