A Million Dreams by Dani Atkins #BlogTourReview

About the book 

Beth Brandon always dreamed of owning a florist, but today the bouquets of peonies and bright spring flowers are failing to calm her nerves.  Because today, Beth has a life-changing decision to share with her husband.

Izzy Vaughan thought she and her husband would stay together forever, but sometime last year, their love began to fade.  They both find such joy in their young son Noah – but is he enough to keep them together?

Eight years ago, something happened to these two women.  Something that is about to bring them together in a way no-one thought possible.

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My thoughts 

Firstly, look at that cover. It’s so eye-catching and dreamy.  I love it.

Dani has delivered an absolutely beautiful, emotional and thoroughly enjoyable book.  I loved every page even though I had the age-old reader problem of wanting to read it during every spare minute all the while being conscious of the fact that I never wanted to be done with the story.  I was captivated.

Even though there is quite a lot going on in this book (the blurb hides all of this very well!) it doesn’t feel forced at all and the story flows really well.  It feels like something that could absolutely happen to someone in their life – but that’s all I’m going to say about that!

Read it – you won’t regret it.  You will need tissues and possibly some chocolate though!

Thanks so much to the publisher for my copy of this book in return for an honest review.  I loved every, single part of this emotional rollercoaster ride!

Please take the time to check out the rest of this blog tour, which continues right into December.

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Follow Dani:

Twitter: @AtkinsDani
Facebook: @DaniAtkinsAuthor

Buy links:

Google Play

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Website: http://www.headofzeus.com
Twitter: @HoZ_Books
Facebook: @headofzeus
Instagram: @headofzeus

Snowdrops on Rosemary Lane by Ellen Berry #BlogTourReview

Welcome to my day on the blog tour for this beautifully written, funny and warm book!

About the book

Last winter she had a plan.

Lucy fell in love with tumbledown Rosemary Cottage as a child. So thirty years on, when she loses her city job and discovers the cottage is for sale, it feels like fate. She’ll raise her children in Burley Bridge and transform the cottage into a B&B with her husband.

But a year can change everything . . .

Now Lucy is juggling two children and a B&B, but on her own. Christmas looks set to be their last on Rosemary Lane – until she meets James, a face from her past and someone who might offer a different kind of future . . .

Should Lucy leave the cottage behind? Or could this winter on Rosemary Lane be the start of something new?

Curl up with a cosy winter read that fans of Trisha Ashley and Carole Matthews will love.

snowdrops on rosemary lane

My thoughts

Snowdrops on Rosemary Lane is an absolutely wonderful story.  I found myself totally captivated from the opening chapter and I stayed awake very late just to finish it in one go as I was quite reluctant to put it down!

The characters are utterly lovable and endearing.  I loved getting to know them all, which was made quite easy and pleasurable by Ellen Berry’s descriptions.

There are so many really nice touches and nods to Christmas but this book is not what I’d call over-the-top Christmassy although it is quite festive.  It’s very subtle and makes for a lovely read.

There is joy and sadness in abundance, with a very many heart-warming, uplifting moments too, all of which I was very thankful for while reading.

This book is, for me, the total emotional package and a thoroughly enjoyable, poignant read.

Thanks so much to Avon for my copy of this book in return for an honest review on this blog tour.

You can purchase a digital copy of this book here, and I’d highly recommend you give it a read!



Kim, Leon & The Sky Path to Africa by Barnaby Allen #BlogTourExtract

Kim Leon Cover



Kim wiped the rain from his eyes. He ran a hand through his hair. Nothing made any sense though by now. Normality had been blown away. Yet there he was. Engaged in a conversation with a donkey.

“I’m coming in Leon!” Kim opened the gate to enter the paddock. “I’m coming in.”

Although he couldn’t admit it, Kim was enthralled. He began to stride across what was now a bog. Water seeped in from the tops.

Leon turned to look once, but he was otherwise disinterested. The boots and mud were not his problem. Kim called out to him. He tried to sound cool and controlled.

“What do you mean by, umm, visit, exactly? Leon? Is it something taken from your memories? Or do you, somehow… well… visit places? Somehow go… somewhere?”

“I visit indeed, as the word implies. Geographically, to leave this field and head away to the great elsewhere. Often overseas. Why do you ask?”

Kim drew nearer. He looked around him, but no one was watching. That would have been awkward. He didn’t wish to appear odd.

“But how? How on earth? It’s not possible! You just zoom off somewhere?”

“Night flights. There’s only a few of us that can manage it these days. Night flying. At night, we can’t be seen. And we’re not missed by our owners. You’ve heard those tales about witches and broomsticks? And UFOs these days?”

Kim nodded, too amazed to speak.

“All nonsense of course. Invented by humankind as they never could credit an animal. The old bigotry, especially against my kind. ‘Stupid donkey’, ‘silly asses’ and the like! Explanations involving flying broomsticks and hags! I ask you – who’s the stupid one?”

Kim nodded with a laugh, but Leon continued.

“Little green men all intent on world conquest! Who on earth or in space would want to conquer this place? Live in the murk of our pollution? Risk death by war and disease?”

Kim nodded. He had to agree. He would have been be an ass not to.

“Of all the unfeathered animals only some donkeys can fly. Well, apart from the bats. ‘Aviated asses’, I say. It’s not grannies sweeping the sky boy! It’s us. Our ears mistaken for tall witches’ hats, and the long tails…”

“For broomsticks!” Kim interjected. “Your tails taken for old broomsticks. Narrow at the handle and spreading out with bundled long twigs at the other end!”

Kim laughed. Leon looked and smiled at him.

“Yes! You’ve got it! Pretty obvious when you know. But if you don’t… well, simple folk prefer to dwell on magic. Wizards and evil witches, spirits and the ghastly, long- dead walking about, conveniently at night mind you, when humans can’t see as well. It makes me laugh on occasion, you know; makes me really laugh”.

Kim was standing next to Leon now. He reached over to pat him. He tried to wipe away a few leaves from Leon’s mane. The heavily matted mane made the task harder. It was thick. Like bristles packed close together and standing upright. It hadn’t been trimmed for years, Kim reckoned. It had grown long enough to reach Leon’s ears. His mane, nevertheless, gave Leon an air of wise authority. It also made him look eccentric. But that suited this entire morning of discovery. Eccentric in the extreme!

Leon nodded and let the boy stroke him. Goodness was not so much about what people did for you, but in being generous enough to let them do it, even if you’d prefer they didn’t. Leon wasn’t big on being patted or stroked – he found it condescending, part of the ‘silly-old-nice donkey’ routine. He permitted it out of generosity. He spoke again:
“I could take you with me. If you wished it. Would you like that, boy?” He turned his neck to look. Kim couldn’t answer for a moment. “Well, would you? Speak!”

“Y-yes. Very much. You mean, to fly up into the sky and travel to another place? Riding on your back like…er…”

Kim was going to say something about donkey rides, but thought the better of it. Leon wouldn’t like any such comparison.

“As if I were a magic carpet, Kim. As if I were the wind itself that carried you. Yes.”

Kim nodded quickly. That sounded a lot more exotic than donkey rides at Skegness.

“I’ll see you this evening then. Go to bed first. Not to worry the parents, you see. Come back when you can walk out unseen.”

Kim nodded again. He crossed the paddock, slowly, avoiding the worst patches. He made his way back to the farmhouse. He looked back at the donkey who stood grey in the grey.
Back inside Kim took a hot shower. He dressed himself in his pyjamas and a sweater. He made his favourite sandwich, (Marmite with butter and peanut butter), and poured out a glass of milk. He then climbed up the stairs to his bedroom.

The house was an old, thatched farmhouse. It was painted in the East Anglian traditional pale pink. It had stood for some four hundred years. Its rooms and staircases had low ceilings. The house was cosy and interesting, though not too warm on a day like this.

There were window bays that peered out from under the thatch. Kim’s bedroom had one of these. The window provided a clear view of the paddock and fields. Kim chewed on his sandwich. He imagined what would shortly come to pass – to fly up over all of this, and to see the lights of Suffolk towns and then, perhaps, the sea. Kim shook off his slippers. He lay back on his bed smiling to himself. This night might be the most important night of his entire life.

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About the author

Barnaby Allen was born in Suva Fiji, as his father was working there for the British Crown.  he was introduced to literature by his mother, who liked to recite poetry and had a gift of telling engaging stories.  As an adult, Barnaby Allen worked in education in several countries, mostly teaching English.  He loved travel, classical music, discussions, current affairs, Pacific affairs, family, good food and board games.  Barnaby’s children also had the benefit of Barnaby telling stories to them and making the characters come alive with acting out different roles.


Thanks, as always to Anne Cater of Random Things Tours for including me on the blog tour for this very special book!  You can catch the rest of the blog tour above!



Her Perfect Lies by Lana Newton #BlogTourReview

About the book

When Claire Wright wakes in hospital, she doesn’t recognise the person staring back at her in the mirror.  She’s told that she has the perfect life:  she’s beautiful, famous, with a husband and a house to die for.

But Claire can’t remember anything from before the devastating car crash that’s left her injured.  And now she’s surrounded by strangers, saying they’re her family and friends.

As Claire discovers the person she used to be she must also unravel the mystery that surrounds the accident.  But the more Claire uncovers, the more she will be forced to face up to the dark secrets from her life before.


My thoughts 

I can’t even begin to imagine what it would be like to lose all of my memories.  Can you?

I think that’s why this storyline caught me on its hook very quickly.  It kept my intrigue levels peaked for the whole read.  It is a book packed full of tension and suspense.

In her efforts to rediscover the people in her life, and to battle her sudden memory loss, Claire Wright bumps into some things that she may have been better off never rediscovering.  Is that a chance you’d take?  After reading this book, I’m not sure!

I was gripped all the way to the finish line and the author has created a really thrilling plot that left me with chills and lots of questions of my own.

Anticipation levels whilst reading = HUGE!

I enjoyed Lana’s writing style so much.  It flowed very easily and is incredibly descriptive in parts.

Thank you so much to Jess at Harper Collins for including me on this blog tour and for the copy of this book, which was given in return for an honest review.




Look At Me Now – Simone Goodman #BlogTourExtract

With thanks to Boldwood Books, I’m thrilled to be bringing you this fun extract from Look at me Now by Simone Goodman.  Hope you enjoy it!


Chapter 1

‘Oops!’ Rushing into the television station where I work, escaping the demonic gale that’s sweeping across London this morning, I slide delicately across the wet tiles inside the entrance.

I say delicately.  But it’s more hope that I look like an accomplished ice skater as I clunsily regain my balance.  Being a healthy size 14 – I don’t consider myself fat, I’m just not reed thin – there’s a risk I’ve come off more like a comedian on a banana skin.  Thankfully, no one other than Mitzi, our receptionist, is here to hold me accountable.

‘Golly, Gracie, are you okay?’ Mitzi calls from across the foyer, where she’s sitting behind the front desk, most likely reading a script.

‘I’m okay, Mitzi.’ By all accounts, my near miss looked distinctly less than elegant.  Laughing, I steady myself on the death-tiles. It could have been worse. I could have toppled right over my own feet.

It’s only a short few hundred metres dash from Oxford Circus Tube station to my workplace, our studios located in a narrow but deceptively cavernous Georgian building on Soho Square. My umbrella blowing inside-out against the pelting rain and wind this morning, I covered the distance as quickly as possible. My dash best described as a nippy jog, it’s the most exercise I’ve done in months. It’s early January, the time for New Year resolutions. Possibly, it wouldn’t be the worst idea for me to consider joining a gym?

‘I’ve been warning someone will break their bones on those tiles,’ Mitzi says.

‘We could do with a non-slip mat here,’ I agree.

‘We could do with a lot of things around here,’ Mitzi sighs.

She reminds me of Daisy Lowe, the model. Dark hair. Doe eyes. Cherry-red lips. Though her role is to welcome visitors, Mitzi looks the part for television. Like many people who work here, she yearns to be in front of the camera.

I have my own show. But it troubles me, more and more lately, that I don’t look like I belong. This isn’t to say I don’t have my finer points. Pragmatically speaking, we all do. What can I tell you? My eyes are sometimes so blue as to appear violet. Almond-shaped, they’re generously framed with oodles of long, thick lashes. My dark locks cascade to below my shoulders and, at thirty-three years of age, I’ve not got a single grey hair on my head. My complexion is creamy, free of lines and, generally, spots. But before you picture me as some uber-glamourous cross between a young Elizabeth Taylor and a brunette Katy Perry, bear in mind I’m the more robustly packaged (sometimes size 14 plus) version. Some days, I fear I’m veering more into the territory of a Dawn French and Melissa McCarthy lovechild – without their comedy vehicles for kicks. But surely no one likes a thin chef?

I host my own daily cookery show, Gracie Porter’s Gourmet Get-Together.  The title is a bit of a misnomer. It’s impossible to prepare gourmet meals, haute cuisine of several aesthetically balanced and rich courses of food, within a short thirty minutes allotment of air time. Notwithstanding that with preparation of the set, the ingredients and me, it takes almost a full day to pre-record every show that then airs across the whole of England, Scotland and Wales at 10.30 a.m. the following week. Also, there isn’t much ‘getting together’ with my format. I like to think I’m always engaging with my audience as they tune in to connect with me from the comforts of their own homes, but the original concept had me hosting the occasional special guest: other chefs, celebrities and perhaps the more interesting politician. With none of us, including my producer, Robin, moving in celebrity circles, with Westminster MPs otherwise occupied with their scandals, solicitations and squabbling and me reasoning that any chef who wants to be on television would surely want their own show, we failed to deliver. When no one pushed us, we let it slide. We don’t even have a live audience. It’s pretty much me and the crew who chow down after a recording finishes. On this basis, my cookery show has aired daily for almost a year and a half.

Previously, I worked as a normal chef. I prepared mouth-watering meals in lovely places where people came to eat. When it comes to food, I’m a consummate professional. As far as television goes, I’m still cutting my teeth.

From the beginning, both investment and expectation of our little cookery show has been low. Being at the bottom end of a long list of hot shows and hotter stars left me below the radar – and this has suited me fine. Things changed late last year after Titan Media, the US entertainment giant, acquired a large chunk of our relatively tiny UK operations. This afternoon, at 3 p.m., I have a meeting with the American executives who now run things to discuss my ‘future services to the company’. It hasn’t escaped me that not everyone summoned to such meetings returned from their New Year breaks. People have been literally disappearing from the studios in droves. And I know my ratings aren’t the best.

I don’t disagree with Mitzi that things around here could be better. However, today is a day for putting the best, most confident and upbeat version of me forward.

‘I’m sure things will settle down and everything will be fine again soon,’ I assure her. I put my wet umbrella inside a cotton shopping bag.

Behind me, the front doors burst open. I turn to look. Shadowing the doorway, wearing her long, spectral black-hooded cape, stands Zelda the Magnificent, our resident daytime television psychic.

‘Gracie,’ Zelda declares on seeing me. ‘Dahling.’ Her voice is deep and melodic. Her accent is old Budapest enchantment. She’s like a darker, earthier Zsa Zsa Gabor. ‘Please, stop for Zelda,’ she implores in her dulcet tones. ‘I have, for you, a vision.’

look at me now cover

You’ll find Simone on Twitter , Instagram and on the Boldwood Books website.

Look at me Now is available to buy here!

I’ll Be Home for Christmas by Abbey Clancy #Review

About the book

Popstar Jessika Malone can’t believe her luck! Not only has she signed a major record deal and is topping the charts with her latest single, she’s just been offered the chance of a lifetime: a tour with gorgeous megastar Cooper Black…

It’s everything she’s ever dreamed of – except that it means travelling thousands of miles from her boyfriend, Daniel, just when he’s finally popped the question!

Far from home, her relationship is tested more than Jessika ever imagined – will she make it home for Christmas before it’s too late?


Another Christmas book in October! These publishers know how to keep me smiling.

This is an honest to goodness, laugh out loud, really well written and enjoyable read.  It’s full of festive romance and it’s written with a tonne of personality and great warmth.

I especially loved the behind the scenes peaks at tour life and how the members of the band were such great characters! 

It is a standalone read that you’ll get completely wrapped up in.  Even if it’s not your thing, and you purchase a copy for a friend, you’ll know that 45p from the purchase price, when bought in Asda, goes to Tickled Pink for breast cancer research.  Why not pick up a copy today and do your bit for a fabulous cause at the same time!

Huge thanks go to Mills & Boon and Abbey Clancy for my copy of this fab book!




Sins of the Fathers #BlogTourExtract

About the book 

Sins of the Fathers follows Father Ramón, a priest with a problem. How can a normal healthy young man cope with both the demands of the priesthood and his attraction to women? Appealing to the bishop doesn’t help. Fifteen years later, Ramón comes out of prison. Instead of feeling guilt and remorse, he is now bent on revenge against those who testified against his shocking exploitation of children. Most are easy to find but there is one last piece missing in his puzzle: Andrea. Meanwhile David Hidalgo continues to pastor his church. Can David help halt Ramón’s revenge, or will there be further casualties?

sins of the father cover


Chapter 1

Andrea Suaráz Morán did not like the way the guy at the corner table was looking at her. She carefully set down the tapas he had ordered – sardinas a la plancha, pinchos morunos, albóndigas, chorizo en vino – and a bottle of San Miguel and headed back to the safety of the bar.

“¿Piensas que ese tío parece un poco raro o solo es mi imaginación?” she asked José as she wiped the tray and slipped it back with the others. “Hey, speak English, chica,” he said. “That’s what we’re here for.”

She rolled her eyes but knew he was right. Her English had improved enormously in the six weeks she’d been in Edinburgh, but it still needed more mental effort, particularly if she was worried or tired.

“Ok,” she tried again. “Do you think that guy is a bit weird or is it just my imagination?”

“It’s not your imagination,” José confirmed, stealing a glance from under thick black brows as he dried a glass. “He comes in twice a week, orders exactly the same, always on his own, never smiles, no tip. Definitely weird.”

“And he only ever speaks Spanish. There’s something familiar about him but I don’t know where from.”

“I’ll mention it to Martin so we keep an eye on him. When do you finish tonight?”


“Ok. I’m on till eleven. Just wait in the kitchen till I’m done and I’ll see you home.”

“Would you?”

“Sin duda. ¡No hay problema, guapa!”

“Hey, speak English dude – that’s what we’re here for!”

She gave him a playful punch on the shoulder and glanced round, laughing. The guy in the corner was watching, not laughing, and that took the smile off her face.

In the kitchen, while she waited for José to finish his shift, Andrea pulled out a secondhand copy of Sons and Lovers she was trying to plough her way through. The language was a struggle; she’d expected that. What she couldn’t work out was why the British seemed to get so worked up – was that the right expression? – why they got so worked up about sex. Well, maybe that was just the mystery and also the fun about other cultures. People just see things differently, that’s all. Es lo que hay – that’s just how it is. She’d read that in Britain it was polite to keep your hands off the table at meals. In Spain just the opposite. If your hands weren’t in view, maybe you had a dagger under the cloth you were just about to stab your host with. Total opposites for random reasons. Attitudes to sex, religion, politics, humour, physical contact, even greeting friends and strangers – all different. Why? Because that’s just how it is.

She couldn’t concentrate with all the orders being shouted through, pots and dishes clattering, and onions sizzling, so she put her book down, leaned back against the slightly sticky wall, and dropped her mind into neutral. Having a real job, earning real money, and being independent again had all come in a bit of a rush but she was loving the sensation. It made her mind spin that so much could change in such a short time. It seemed incredible that it had only been six weeks ago she’d kissed and hugged Mama and Papa at security at Barajas Airport Madrid and got on the easyJet to Edimburgo – “Edinburgh”, as she now had to call it.

Less than a year before had been the monumental three-day end-of-degree party which, looking back, now felt like an official farewell to youth and a welcome to the real world. That had been as long-drawn-out a group goodbye as they had been able to manage.

Four years together at Complutense University of Madrid in the leafy suburbs to the north-west of the city had made them more than friends and closer than family – a few had even become lovers. Now they were simultaneously ecstatic at the thought of no more lectures and exams, terrified at landing directly on the unemployment scrapheap in the midst of the crisis, and heartbroken at the thought of losing each other. So they drank for three days straight and swore the current fate of 52 per cent of Spanish youth would not be theirs. They toasted their successful futures to come, cursed Prime Minister Rajoy and his infernal Partido Popular, blessed the new indignados protest movement, and prayed to San Isidro, La Macarena or any other god, saint or virgin open for business for good results and a real job. On the final evening, after many riojas too many, she and Jorge had slept together one last time for old times’ sake even though they’d broken up more than a year before. It seemed the generous thing to do. They kissed and swore they’d keep in touch, all the time knowing they wouldn’t. The morning after, she had packed the last of her stuff, took her Beatles, Dylan, and Lorca posters down, gathered up bits of discarded clothing from round the flat, left the pot plants for the new tenants, and took the metro from Moncloa to Atocha, changing at Sol. Finally, easing into her seat on the AVE train to Sevilla, she exhaled slowly, looked out the window, and dabbed away a tear.

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Thank you so much to Midas Public Relations for contacting me about taking part in this Blog Tour.  I hope you all enjoy this extract that they’ve very kindly given me to share.

Further information on this series of books can be found at www.worldofdavidhidalgo.com

Snow Angels by Nadine Dorries #BlogTourExtract

About the book

Spend Christmas with the nurses of St Angelus Hospital.

Christmas is coming, but will the doctors and nurses of St Angelus get a chance to enjoy it?

Sister Emily Haycock and her husband are anxiously counting the days until the signing of final adoption papers for their precious baby Louis. But someone has got it in for them and Emily is about to get caught out in a dangerous lie.

Nurse Victoria Baker is heavily pregnant. But as the snow begins to fall, has she made a big mistake about her dates and put the life of her unborn baby at risk?

And who is the figure obsessively watching St Angelus from the shadows? Or the mystery woman who turns up one dark, windy evening, begging for a room?

In Snow Angels only one thing is certain. Christmas will be anything but peaceful.



‘Who the hell is it?’ he called.

His paying guests each had a key so this must be someone looking for a room. No one knocked on his door for any other reason, unless it was the postman, the milkman or Biddy Kennedy, on her way home from work, and it was too late for any of them. The wind rattled at the windowpanes with such ferocity it felt as though the room itself shook. This was not the weather or the night to be disturbing the routine of Malcolm Coffey, a stickler for everything being done by the book. The only thing he looked forward to, or dreamt about during the day, was his supper – and he often wondered, as he ate, what kind of pie his late wife would have turned out. He had served throughout the war, only to return home to find that he had lost his wife with his newly delivered son in her arms as a result of the bomb that had landed on the maternity hospital during the May Blitz nine months after his leave. He also found himself an orphan too, both his parents having lost their lives by a bomb that hit close to the dockers’ steps only two days later. The regimental major had withheld the second news from the dispatches to his posting for over a week, to give him time to absorb the shock of the first.

Malcolm had been serving in North Africa at the time and all leave was denied. Only his parents had been afforded a funeral due to their bodies being identifiable – a funeral he had not been able to attend, but Biddy Kennedy had. His wife and son lay in a concrete grave on what was once the delivery suite of the maternity hospital, both beyond identification and removal. Today, the hospital rebuilt, life came forth over death.

‘Biddy? Is that you?’ Malcolm called not expecting a reply, reluctant to rise and leave his pie.

‘Malcolm, I promised your mam, I would keep an eye on you,’ Biddy would say when she called in for a cup of tea. Biddy worked as a housekeeper at the St Angelus hospital, a plum job in the school of nursing, working for Sister Emily Horton; and one of the pleasures in Malcolm’s life was to hear all about the antics of the probationer nurses and how they ran Biddy around in circles. Over two thousand bombs had been dropped the week his family died; nearly seven thousand homes had been completely destroyed. Fire had ripped through the dock’s side streets. ‘Think of me as your mam, if you ever need one, I’m here. You aren’t alone, Malcolm,’ Biddy would say.

Malcolm had been at school with her own children and not one of them had remained In Liverpool or even in contact with Biddy. He enjoyed her visits. She had transferred from being his mother’s friend to his – and more than that, much more. Melly had her own opinions about Biddy. ‘That woman mourns her kids,’ she would say. ‘Not one of the buggers bothers to write to her. Still working her socks off and all those kids, not one of them tips up a penny, a crying shame it is. You want to watch out – she might have her eye on this place, if anything happens to you.’

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Thanks so much to Vicky in Head of Zeus for including me on this blog tour.  I really hope you all enjoyed the extract.

Snow Angels is now available at the below links:

Google Play

Follow Head of Zeus:
Website: http://www.headofzeus.com
Twitter: @HoZ_Books
Facebook: @headofzeus
Instagram: @headofzeus

Follow Nadine:
Twitter: @NadineDorries
Facebook: @NadineDorriesAuthor



Rewrite the Stars by Emma Heatherington #BlogTourReview

About the book 

From the moment they meet one December day there’s something between Charlotte Taylor and her brother’s best friend, Tom Farley.  But fate isn’t ready to let them be together yet.

Another five years pass before their paths cross again, and this time a tragic secret forces Charlie to make a choice.

The years pass and Charlie moves on but she can never forget Tom.  Can she leave the life she has built for one last chance?  Or is the one that got away not really the one at all?

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My thoughts 

Don’t we all think about our “what if” moments from time to time?  I know I do!

What if you had gone in a different direction in love, work or some other life choices?  Would you have ended up a completely different person, in a very different place in life?

What struck me most about Rewrite the Stars is how realistic this whole storyline is.  It is so very well written and extremely easy to fall into and get lost in for a few hours.  Once I began reading, I became absorbed in the story very quickly.

Rewrite the Stars is a heart-warming, emotional book.  My heart-strings didn’t know what was going on – I was laughing, crying and reminiscing to beat the band.  I love nothing more than a book that can take me on a proper emotional journey and that is precisely what happened whilst reading Rewrite the Stars.

I feel like there is a message in this story for all of us, I really do, but only you can work out what it means to you and your own life.

A thoroughly enjoyable, uplifting story and, by far, the best rollercoaster ride I’ve ever been on!

Do yourself a favour and buy it today!

Huge thanks, as always, to Ciara in Harper Collins for including me on the blog tour for this incredible book.  As you can see below, I’m in some great company.

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Good Girls by Amanda Brookfield #BlogTourExtract

January 2013

Eleanor decided to take a taxi from the station, even though she knew it would cost ten precious pounds and mean a wait. Being so rural, only a handful of cars served the area, but she didn’t want to be a bother to Howard, her brother-in-law. She texted both him and Kat to say she would be there within the hour and stayed as warm as she could in the small arched station entrance. It was a cold, dank morning, not raining for once but with air like icy metal against her skin.

The taxi driver who pulled up some twenty minutes later exuded an attitude of reluctance that made Eleanor disinclined to make conversation. When they hit a tail-back, thanks to a loop round the old Roman bridge, still not fixed from the heavy flooding over the New Year, he thumped his steering wheel. ‘A bloody joke. We can land men on the moon and still it takes three weeks to fix a few old stones.’

Eleanor murmured agreement, but found that she didn’t mind much. The fields on either side of the road were still visibly waterlogged. After the grimy mêlée of south London, it was a visual feast – ethereal, shimmering silver bands engraved with the black reflections of leafless trees and smudgy January clouds.

The usual criss-cross of feelings was stirring at being back in such proximity to the landscape of her childhood. Just twenty miles away, her father was a resident in a small care home called The Bressingham, which he had once included in his rounds as a parish priest, days long since lost to him through the fog of dementia. Howard and Kat’s substantial Georgian house was ten miles in the opposite direction, on the fringes of a town called Fairfield. They had moved from Holland Park seven years before, a year after the birth of their third child, Evie. At the time, Eleanor had been surprised to get the change of address card. She had always regarded her little sister and husband as life-long townies, Kat with her posh quirky dress-making commissions to private clients and Howard with his big-banker job. It was because they saw the house in a magazine and fell in love with it, Kat had explained at one of their rare subsequent encounters, in the manner of one long used to plucking things she wanted out of life, like fruits off a tree.

But recently life had not been so cooperative. A small tumour had been removed from Kat’s bowel and she was in bed recovering. Howard had reported the event earlier in the week, by email, and when Eleanor had got on the phone, as he must have known she would, he had said that the operation had gone well and that Kat was adamant that she didn’t need sisterly visits. No further treatment was required. She would be up and about in a matter of days. Their regular babysitter, Hannah, was increasing her hours to plug gaps with the children and he was taking a week off from his daily commute into the City.

‘But I am her sister,’ Eleanor had insisted, hurt, in spite of knowing better. ‘I’d just like to see her. Surely she can understand that.’ Howard had said he would get back to her, but then Kat had phoned back herself, saying why didn’t Eleanor pop down on Saturday afternoon.

‘Nice,’ said the driver, following Eleanor’s instructions to turn between the laburnums that masked the handsome red-brick walls and gleaming white sash windows and pulling up behind the two family cars, both black, one a tank-sized station wagon, the other an estate. He fiddled with his satnav while Eleanor dug into her purse for the right money.

I am not the rich one, she wanted to cry, seeing the visible sag of disappointment on his sheeny unshaven face at the sight of her twenty-pence tip; I am merely the visiting elder sister who rents a flat by a Clapham railway line, who tutors slow or lazy kids to pay her bills and who has recently agreed to write an old actor’s memoirs for a sum that will barely see off her overdraft.

Howard answered the door, taking long enough to compound Eleanor’s apprehensions about having pushed for the visit. He was in a Barbour and carrying three brightly coloured backpacks, clearly on the way out of the house. ‘Good of you to come.’ Brandishing the backpacks, he kissed her perfunctorily on both cheeks. ‘Brownies, go-carting and a riding lesson – pick-ups in that order. Then two birthday parties and a bowling alley. God help me. See you later maybe. She’s upstairs,’ he added, somewhat unnecessarily.

‘The Big Sister arrives,’ Kat called out, before Eleanor had even crossed the landing. ‘Could you tug that curtain wider?’ she added as Eleanor entered the bedroom. ‘I want as much light as possible.’

‘So, how are you?’ Eleanor asked, adjusting the offending drape en route to kissing Kat’s cheek, knowing it was no moment to take offence at the Big Sister thing, in spite of the reflex of deep, instinctive certainty that Kat had said it to annoy. At thirty-eight she was the big sister, by three years. She was also almost six foot, with the heavy-limbed, dark-haired, brown-eyed features that were such echoes of their father, while Kat, as had been pointed out as far back as either of them could remember, had inherited an uncanny replication of their mother’s striking looks, from the lithe elfin frame and flinty-blue feline eyes, to the extraordinary eye-catching tumble of white-blonde curls. ‘You look so well,’ Eleanor exclaimed, happiness at the truth of this observation making her voice bounce, while inwardly she marvelled at her sibling’s insouciant beauty, utterly undiminished by the recent surgery. Her skin was like porcelain, faintly freckled; her hair in flames across the pillow.

‘Well, thank you, and thank goodness, because I feel extremely well,’ Kat retorted. ‘So please don’t start telling me off again for not having kept you better informed. As I said on the phone, the fucking thing was small and isolated. They have removed it – snip-snip,’ she merrily scissored two fingers in the air.

‘So I am not going to need any further treatment, which is a relief frankly, since I would hate to lose this lot.’ She yanked at one of the flames. ‘Shallow, I know, but there it is.’ ‘It’s not shallow,’ Eleanor assured her quietly, experiencing one of the sharp twists of longing for the distant days when they had been little enough and innocent enough to take each other’s affections for granted. They had been like strangers for years now in comparison, shouting across an invisible abyss.

good girls cover

You can check out Amanda’s website here. She can also be found on Instagram and Facebook.

Good Girls is available to purchase here.

Thanks so very much to Boldwood for including me on this blog tour and for allowing me to share this pretty amazing extract.

I hope you all enjoy this book x


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