Genre: Romantic Suspense/ Espionage
The next step might be the last...
A woman without a past
Left amnesiac after an accident, Amelia Jamison struggles as her instincts slowly rise from the depths of oblivion, leading her to question her life as the wife of a cold, manipulating and distant man. Wisps of a dream show her another man she may have known intimately, but is he a memory, or a figment of her imagination?
A man with too much information
After many aliases, today Gerard Besson is simply a police commissaire in Marseille. When a mysterious woman starts to follow him, he is suspicious - and intrigued. But things aren't what they seem, and as he reluctantly gets closer to her, dregs of his painful, buried past emerge and make him question her identity.
Each seems to have led several different lives
But neither is prepared for what awaits them when they cross the fine line between knowing your true self and that of your alter ego.
Danger is the name of the game, and as it catches up with them in the French Provence, both know they better be ready for the inevitable fall.
4 Reasons to Read:
1.) An action/adventure flick packed between the pages of a book, delivering a mystery that doesn't let up until the very end, and that takes you on a journey fraught with unexpected twists, turns, and complications, and keeping you on the edge of your seat
2.) A heroine not afraid to kick arse and fight for the truth, especially for her erased past. Her fight will become yours as you root for her to figure out her true identity!
3.) A hero who hits hard first and asks questions later, yet a man who can melt your bones and make you wish he were yours, and you were his, because he is noble at heart and the embodiment of heroic behaviour
4.) A trek for the armchair traveler – taking you through London, right along with Amelia, all the way to Marseille, in the French Provence, on the Mediterranean coast
Buy Link: https://www.nobleromance.com/Books/304/Walking-the-Edge
London. Oxford Street
Thursday, December 13, 1:24 p.m.
There's a man following me again.
She didn't know why she felt so certain. Selfridges teemed with shoppers in a Christmas buying frenzy, and bustling crowds swarmed around her.
Someone was watching her though. She knew. Maybe she tuned in to the hairs rising on her nape. Or to the little voice whispering in her mind, telling her there were eyes boring into her back and checking into her every move.
Was she going insane? The question snapped into her brain like a tightly pulled elastic band being released, stinging her when it hit home.
Come on, she told herself, I'm in a busy department store, and there's an idiot tagging my every step.
Her gaze darted to Nathaniel, the hulk of a guy who was her assigned chauffeur and man for all tasks, it seemed. Or, he could just be the watchdog her husband had set on her trail.
No, she wouldn't think of the big doggie and that other cold arsehole who waited for her at home. Peter Jamison was his name, the sad arse whom she didn't even know, whom she couldn't even recall, try as she might.
She toyed with the strap of a handbag on display in front of her, having no idea what brand it was or even what shop she was in. There were more important things to pay attention to right now, starting with the strange man who was a few paces away, across the corridor from where she stood. He seemed familiar. He was dressed in dark corduroy trousers and a heavy sweater; a baseball cap hid his hair and threw shadows upon his face. There wasn't anything specific to identify him. Yet she knew, deep down inside, that she had seen him before. Had it been just a day earlier, at an art gallery she'd visited in Soho, when she'd experienced the same heartbeat acceleration as now? She'd sensed eyes on her then too and had caught sight of a tall man in jeans, a blazer, and a fedora, standing outside the wide glass panes, looking into the gallery.
The two instances weren't the only times she'd felt the probing stare—that strange, unnerving perception had happened almost every day in the past week, whenever she went out.
And, somehow, she was pretty certain it was the same man every time. There was something about him, in the way he held his head, a slight thrust of the chin that permeated every encounter she recalled of the mysterious "stalker."
Who was he, and what did he want with her?
A soft gasp escaped her, and she realized she was twisting the handbag strap too hard, both hands locked onto the leather. She released the purse as if it were a hot potato fresh out of the steamer and took a step back.
Could that man know who she was?
Her gaze travelled up the clear glass of the pane that separated the shop from the main corridor that ran through the first level of Selfridges, her reflection staring back at her.
Her reflection or that of Amelia Jamison?
That's who she was, apparently. She had no recollection of her identity. She'd come out of a dramatic accident some seven months back with amnesia and with—as her medical record stated—a disfigured and burnt-beyond-recognition body.
Lord only knew how she had survived the explosion responsible for her condition. That's what all the doctors said, and what her "husband" had said too. He'd been there in the sunny hospital room of a private clinic in Switzerland, dark and with a countenance one could only describe as menacing, even when he lounged on a sofa, reading a financial magazine.
"You're awake," he'd said in a cold, detached voice. Not even the hint of a smile showed on his pale face. Despite her drug-befuddled mind, she was certain a real husband would greet his wife, whom he'd nearly lost, with more enthusiasm than what Peter had dished.
He went on to tell her he was Peter Jamison, and she was Amelia Brockhurst Jamison, a South African Afrikaner exchange student he had met at a London university and whom he had married when she'd finished her degree. At the time, she'd thought his story sounded rehearsed, and the feeling that their shared past was a fabricated lie struck her, enhanced by the indifference her "husband" expressed toward her. She didn't remember him or anything from her past and had simply listened to whatever the medical team and that man she was supposedly in love with had fed her about her life before everything was erased from her memory.
Yet, something was wrong with their story—a burn victim from the kind of accident she'd had would need more than a year to recover. But here she was, functioning normally and looking like a perfect, magazine cover girl a scant few months later.
Peter's explanation, delivered in a bored, why-am-I-bothering tone, was that she'd had experimental treatment at the clinic. Bollocks, she'd wanted to scream.
Some things didn't mesh, and darned if she wouldn't try to find out what parts of the puzzle didn't fit into the whole picture.
Her gaze, lost in the distance while she replayed the scenes of her waking up, focused again on her reflection, the woman staring back at her a stranger. The doctors said she'd had plastic surgery to bring her back to her former likeness; then why did she feel no kinship with the person she met every time she looked in a mirror?
Amelia Jamison, the woman who stared back at her, was a beauty. Delicate features that resembled the work of a master sculptor graced her face. Perfect cheekbones. Smooth, flawless skin. Crystal-clear blue eyes with extremely thick, dark lashes. Wide, full mouth. Dainty nose. Short, honey-toned hair.
Her hair had been long before, if she were to believe the pictures Peter so artfully placed in the Hampstead Heath home she'd come to live in two weeks ago, after leaving the Swiss clinic. Pictures of Amelia and Peter on their wedding day, on a trip to a winter ski station, on a tropical beach with a glowing sunset behind them, snuggled on a comfy-looking couch with a fire blazing in the background, and so on. And then there were photos of Amelia alone, smiling at the camera. Pictures in the same kind of elegant, gilt-edged frames that were arranged in tasteful, classy displays around the leather handbags and silk scarves sold in the shop.
Shaking off the weird, disturbing feeling that a trip down her nonexistent Memory Lane always brought on, she turned her attention back to the source of her unease. The man in the corduroy trousers.
There he was, a few yards away, intently perusing an artful party-table arrangement. Yet she was pretty sure a man like him—who appeared too much in control of a ruthless energy and vigilance, evident in his stiff back and the casual looks he sent her way—would not really have much to do with Disney princess decorations, the theme of the exhibition.
Unless he was watching her in the reflection of the big, Snow White, magical mirror on the table.
What did he want with her?
Suddenly, the corridor cleared, leaving no one between them.
A shadow fell over her, and she sighed when the imposing figure of Nathaniel settled in front of her.
"What?" she snapped, annoyed that he had intervened just before she made eye contact with the tall stranger.
"Time," Nathaniel growled. "Home."
Did the man ever talk in a full sentence? Sometimes she wondered if he even had a functioning brain inside that huge, shaved skull of his. Why had Peter saddled her with such a thick idiot?
Stepping around him, she tried to catch sight of the man in the corduroys, but he was nowhere in sight. Just her luck. "Let's go," she said to the gorilla beside her as she moved toward the exit.
Some way, somehow, she would figure out if there truly was someone following her. She could be going to Bedlam, yes, but something was on high alert inside her, and, though she had no idea what that something was, she would give it due consideration and follow through.
Buy Link: https://www.nobleromance.com/Books/304/Walking-the-Edge
Author Site: http://zeemonodee.blogspot.com/
* * * * * *
Three balls. Three sexual adventures. One true love.
In the years since her husband King Charming boarded a pirate ship to “find himself”, Queen Ella has ruled alone. Romantic love? It’s a girlish emotion. These days, her only confidant is her steward, Sebastian.
Five years is a long time to forego sexual pleasures. She’s the queen, after all..shouldn’t she be allowed a few indulgences? A masquerade is just the ticket to find the fulfillment Charming never gave her. With Sebastian’s encouragement—and a little help from a fairy godmother—Ella prepares to make some magic.
The first masked stranger she dallies with gives her a taste of what she’s been craving. And it’s just not enough. A second ball follows. A
third. Each one—and each anonymous man—sends her to newheights of sexual pleasure. And reawakens the notion that maybe, just maybe, love does not always lead to pain.
Her indiscretions have not gone unnoticed. As her stepfamily makes a move to take over the throne, Ella has nowhere to turn, no one to trust…except the men behind the masks…
Warning: This is the new “happily ever after”, strictly for grown-ups…
Cinderella was always my favourite fairytale as a child. I think it was mainly because she had the hardest out of all of the princess. I mean sure, Snow White's stepmother wanted her dead. The little mermaid went through hell to become human. Sleeping Beauty had to sleep for a hundred years... But they were all princess.
Okay, Cinder could have ran away and tried to get some Independence, she didn't need to take crap off her stepmother & sisters, but I guess the fact she was just your average person getting on with life was what made it all the better when she began a princess. It was kinda like a kick in the face for those evil bitches.
Any way, Cinderella unmasked is the tale of what happened after Cinder marries the Prince, and boy, I have to say that what Bonnie Dee & Marie Treanor had in mind was what I always though would be amusing after we get our Happily Ever After in the original story.
This continuation of the fairytale grabs your attention right a way, and is sexy as hell.
Buy Link: http://www.samhainpublishing.com/ / http://www.amazon.com/ / http://www.amazon.co.uk/
Author Site: http://www.marietreanor.com/index.html / http://bonniedee.com/
* * * * * *
Plagued by a war between magic and technology, Atlanta has never been so deadly. Good thing Kate Daniels is on the job.
Kate Daniels may have quit the Order of Merciful Aid, but she’s still knee-deep in paranormal problems. Or she would be if she could get someone to hire her. Starting her own business has been more challenging than she thought it would be—now that the Order is disparaging her good name, and many potential clients are afraid of getting on the bad side of the Beast Lord, who just happens to be Kate’s mate.
So when Atlanta’s premier Master of the Dead calls to ask for help with a vampire on the loose, Kate leaps at the chance of some paying work. Turns out this is not an isolated incident, and Kate needs to get to the bottom of it—fast, or the city and everyone dear to her might pay the ultimate price . . .
The Kate Daniels Series is awesome! Urban Fantasy to the core. A world where magic and technology battle it out, and characters of myths walk around causing havoc.
You have creepy vampires controlled by necromancers. Odd creatures that give you the chills, and a shit load of shape-shifters.
Kate - the heroine - kicks ass with her wit and her sword, but is not lacking in her femininity. And Curran.... *Takes moment to drool*... Lord of the shape-shifters, and he is hot as hell. Sarcy. Oozing with authority, and raw sexy appeal. This guy is the kind of alpha you love-to-hate-but-love-love-love!
Anyone who loves urban fantasy, with a huge dose of paranormal, and sexual tension.... Go pick up book 1 Magic Bites!
Buy Link: http://www.amazon.com/ / http://www.amazon.co.uk/
Author Site: http://www.ilona-andrews.com/