The Page Unbound

Book Title: Playing Defense (Corrigan Falls Raiders, #2)
Author: Cate Cameron
Release Date: March. 14, 2016
Genre: YA Contemporary Romance

Book Summary (Goodreads):

Disclaimer: This Entangled Teen Crush book contains adult language, swoon-worthy kisses, and sexy hockey players. It may cause you to watch a hockey game…or ten.

Sixteen-year-old Claudia Waring has never kissed a boy. Never been popular. Never been to a hockey game. All that’s about to change. Assigned to tutor Chris Winslow, a prank-loving, gorgeous hockey player, Claudia’s perfectly planned life immediately veers off course. And she kind of likes it. But as fun as Chris is, she knows she’ll never fit in his world.

After his latest prank lands him in hot water, Chris has to get serious about school or lose hockey. Not an easy thing for someone as carefree as the defenseman. The biggest problem, though, is how much he wants to help his cute, buttoned-up tutor loosen up a little. But while confidence has never been a problem for him, around Claudia, Chris is all nerves. Why would a girl as smart as her ever fall for a jock like him?

Purchase Links:

Playing Defense (Corrigan Falls Raiders #2):

Amazon | B&N | iBooks |Kobo | Amazon.co.uk | Amazon.ca | Entangled Publishing

Center Ice (Corrigan Falls Raiders #1):

Amazon | B&N |iBooks | Kobo | Amazon.co.uk | Amazon.ca |Entangled Publishing

Book Excerpt:

 And then he walked me to chemistry class, and as we were heading for our respective seats he said, “Do you want to come sit with us? Or could I sit with you?” He must have seen something strange in my expression because he was quick to add, “So I can ask you questions when we’re working on stuff. You’re my tutor all the time, right, not just at lunch?”

“I’m not sitting back there.” I sounded like a stubborn little kid, but inside I was more like a scared little kid. There was no way I was just going to waltz back to the popular kids’ area, not with a classroom of other students who’d see them laugh at me.

Chris didn’t seem to understand my concern. “Is it cool if I sit up here, then?”

It wasn’t like I could say no. Wasn’t like I wanted to. “Is there an extra stool?”

“I’ll find one,” he promised. He grinned at me, set his books on the long table beside mine, and then turned to look for a free stool.

Oliver gave me a look. “What the hell?” he mouthed. Then Chris turned around, holding a heavy metal stool as if it weighed nothing, and Oliver gave his demented flight attendant smile and said, “Hi! Welcome to our seating area!”

“It’s nice to be here,” Chris said with nearly matching enthusiasm. “Thanks so much for having me!”

Well, Oliver was not going to be outperformed. “I really hope you enjoy your visit. If there’s anything I can do to make your time with us more pleasant, you be sure to let me know.”

Chris shook his head in amazement. “I thought it was just a stereotype,” he said to me. “But it’s true. Front-of-the-room people really are super friendly.”

Oliver had begun to bristle at the word “stereotype,” but by the time Chris was done talking Oliver was looking less offended, more intrigued. “Do you want to know what they say about back-of-the-room people?” he asked quietly, daring Chris to keep going with their strange game.

Chris shrugged. “Back is whack?” he suggested.

“Back’s off track?” I tried.

“Back will attack?”

“Back’s sharp as a tack?”

Oliver frowned at both of us. “Did I say it rhymed? Did I say anything about ‘do you want to hear the rhyme about back-of-the-room people?’”

“It doesn’t rhyme?” Chris said. “Damn.” He shook his head regretfully. “You know, if it doesn’t rhyme, I don’t think I do want to hear it. Sorry. I’ve got my standards.”

The class started then, Mr. Anderson circulating to check our homework. When he got to us he said, “New seat, Mr. Winslow?”

“I needed to be near my smart friends,” Chris said calmly. “The back don’t know jack.” Mr. Anderson just gave him a strange look and moved on.

 About the Author:

Cate Cameron grew up in the city but moved to the country in her mid-twenties and isn’t looking back. Most of her writing deals with people living and loving in small towns or right out in the sticks—when there aren’t entertainment options on every corner, other people get a lot more  interesting!

She likes to write stories about real people struggling with real issues. YA, NA, or contemporary  romance, her books are connected by their emphasis on subtle humor and characters who are trying to do the right thing, even when it would be a lot easier to do something wrong.

Author Links:
Website |Blog |Twitter |Facebook | Goodreads

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Blog Tour Organized by:

Natalie’s Getting Married
By author – Rosa Temple

Book Summary:

“Grab a blanket and your comfiest chair, you won’t be able to put this book down. Natalie is so easy to relate to, you just get her and she is such a pleasure to read about. Her strengths and insecurities brought her to life for me page after page. Gabriel captured my attention straight away and every time he was in a scene, I was completely mesmerized. The character chemistry and unexpected story line twists were phenomenal, I loved this book!” Wil Scott (Beta Reader)

“Rosa Temple is one of the best authors to come along in quite a while. Natalie’s Getting Married is a great, feel good, romantic book that will keep you turning pages until the very end.
Natalie is such a great character and readers will simply fall in love with her!” Amanda (Beta Reader)

Career minded, Natalie Spencer, had never been in love. She could never understand what all the fuss was about. But when she met Jackson Humphries during Fresher’s Week at university, that all changed.
Utterly infatuated, Natalie quickly discovers the meaning of love and, before she knows it, she’s heading up the aisle – for the first time, that is.
This is a tale about four wedding dresses, a runaway groom and a girl who got so carried away, she couldn’t see true love staring her right in the face.

Buy the Book:

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AmazonUK

Excerpt:

October 1990

Some girls dream of the perfect wedding. I was never really one of those girls. I’d set my sights on a career in media. I worked hard at school, achieved good grades and decided to go to university. I’d had boyfriends up until then, the first serious one was when I was sixteen, but the idea of marriage never once crossed my mind. I’d never been in love, yet my girlfriends fell in and out of it so easily, you’d think they were exchanging one pair of must have shoes for another.

They’d all either been swept off their feet, or claimed to have met “the one”, or bored everyone senseless by walking around love struck and starry eyed. But not me. I had plans and I wasn’t going to let a little thing like never having fallen in love stop me.

So, off I went to university and that’s where I met Jackson Humphries.

It was Fresher’s Week on the day I first saw him. He was so cool and self-assured I never would have guessed that, like me, he was a Fresher too. He was out in the quadrant where new students were signing up for various clubs and societies. He was wearing a navy polo shirt, a pair of jeans and had his bag slung across his shoulder. He wasn’t very tall for a guy but he had a perfect body; dark hair and chocolate brown eyes. And that day, I fell in love.

Little did I know it would take two years for Jackson to notice me and that he’d surprise me with a wedding proposal on graduation day.

I stood gazing at Jackson from the far side of the quadrant, doing that thing I do with my curls, twiddling the ones that fall to my shoulders. In my misty-eyed state, I signed up for the Poetry Society. I didn’t mean to. I was staring so hard at Jackson I hadn’t realised I’d joined a queue of poetry lovers.

‘Thanks,’ the Poetry Society girl said to me. ‘Our first meeting is next Friday. It’s just a welcome night. You won’t need to bring your poems. We probably won’t read until the next time.’

‘Fine,’ I said, collecting a Poetry Society Handbook and tucking it into my bag, all the time keeping my eyes on Jackson. He seemed to know everyone; he was relaxed and chatty. But, as I followed Jackson’s every move around the quadrant, I almost joined the Rowing Club. Finally coming to my senses, I moved well away from the society reps.

I sat on a low wall and watched Jackson walk up to a bunch of sporty types who were dribbling a basketball and shooting hoops. Jackson scored a basket every time he got the ball. Somehow, I knew he would.

‘You like basketball?’ a voice from thin air said to me.

I turned around and saw a tall guy standing next to me. He was smiling. He had sandy hair that was uncombed, a wrinkled t-shirt under an un-ironed checked shirt, and jeans that were fraying at the knees. His smile was warm, big and white. He had hazel eyes that seemed to change from green to light brown by the second. He rubbed his hand over his messy hair.

‘Um,’ I stuttered. How was I to tell a complete stranger I was eyeing up some hunky guy? ‘No, I’m not a fan, not really. I’m just taking it all in.’

‘Where are you from?’ he asked.

‘London,’ I told him.

‘Ever been away from home, London?’

‘First time. And you?’

‘I’m from Manchester so Sheffield isn’t so far. You’ll find it very different up here, though.’

‘I’ve been up a few days already, sorting out halls,’ I said. ‘Do you travel in from Manchester?’

‘No, I’ve got a house with a bunch of students. This is my second year. How about you?’

‘First year and my name is Natalie. Spencer.’ I put my hand out, immediately thinking that was too formal a gesture and decided to wave at him instead. He seemed to stifle a laugh but grabbed my hand to shake it anyway.

‘Nice to meet you, London. I’m Gabriel Miller.’

‘Gabriel … like the angel?’

‘Yes, but only without wings. Fancy a coffee?’

Gabriel Miller and I became instant best friends. For me it was good to have someone with at least one year’s experience of university life to draw on. He showed me the ropes, introduced me to all his friends and convinced me to stay with the Poetry Society; he was an English Literature student, wrote poetry and he was a member himself.

‘But I’m hopeless,’ I told him. ‘I don’t know my Keats from my Emily Dickinson’s.’

‘That doesn’t matter, London.’ He was very convincing. ‘They’re a great bunch of people and you don’t have to read your poems if you don’t want to.’

‘Believe me when I say, I won’t be writing any either.’

‘Come on, you never know what you might get inspired to do.’

‘What you really mean is, you want me to come along so I can listen to your poems,’ I joked. But I did stick with it and, I have to say, Gabriel’s style of poetry blew me away. I could listen to him read for hours.

It wasn’t until a couple of months after term began that I revealed to Gabriel my secret crush on Jackson.

‘You’re joking, right?’ he laughed. We were sitting in the Student Union bar.

‘Why do you say that?’ I asked.

‘Because, he’s a jerk.’

‘Why is he a jerk?’

‘Because – he’s just some stuck up rich kid who couldn’t get into one of the posh universities but wants to bum around until he takes up his guaranteed executive position in Daddy’s firm.’

‘But he’s a first year,’ I said. ‘What do you know about Jackson? Have you ever spoken to him?’

‘Not as such. But I know people like him. You wait, he’ll get a mediocre degree and end up making three times what you and I do, even if we come out of here with Firsts.’

I knocked back the last sip of my watery beer. ‘You can’t begrudge people their inheritance Gabe. He can’t help being rich. Hey, don’t tell me you’re jealous?’ I grinned at him.

‘I’m not jealous. I’m just saying, be careful. But you’re a big girl. You date who you like.’

‘Thank you, Dad. I’m glad I have your blessing. Anyway, he’s got no idea who I am. We’ve never actually spoken.’

‘So how do you know you’ll even like him?’

‘Don’t spoil it, Gabriel. If I never get to talk to him, at least I can say I fell in love for the first time in my life.’

‘You surprise me, London. I can’t believe you’ve never been in love. Has that been your dream? To meet a rich guy and fall in love? Is that all you want from life?’

‘Of course not. What’s gotten into you today? You’re acting weird and I don’t like it. Why don’t you just buy me another drink?’

‘Coming right up.’

And that pretty much summed up what Gabriel was like any time I brought up the subject of Jackson Humphries. Although, I had to learn to put up with him slagging Jackson off because I talked about Jackson – a lot!

For a whole year I obsessed about Jackson, observed what he was wearing, who he hung out with and who he dated. He became the object of my affection and everyone in my halls of residence knew I was a lovesick fool. They started calling me Mrs Humphries. Jackson had no idea and Gabriel remained disgusted.

I’d be chatting to Gabriel and catch a glimpse of Jackson walking around campus, and I’d completely lose focus. Gabriel would do this thing of grabbing a bunch of my curls and waggling it in my face to snap me out of my Jackson trance.

With the end of my first year fast approaching, I started getting ready for the summer ball.

‘No,’ Gabriel said.

‘What do you mean, ‘no’?’

‘You’re not going to the summer ball so you can spend all night dribbling into the punch bowl and staring at that idiot.’

‘But I was looking forward to it,’ I whined.

‘No, I’m taking you to an alternative party instead. Do you trust me?’

‘Um…’

But Gabriel was right, if I went to the summer ball I’d probably end up drunk, sitting in a corner, crying: ‘Why? Why? Why doesn’t he love me?’ I knew, because that was what I did most weekends.

So I accompanied Gabriel to a party in a sleazy part of Sheffield. I found myself in a house with all the curtains closed and a room that was so dimly lit I managed to knock over a bowl of chilli, spill an entire pint of beer down Alison Neuberg’s leggings and sit in the lap of a blonde girl I’d never met in my life.

Granted, it was a great party. The music was brilliant and no one minded that I was a clumsy wreck. But, Jackson wasn’t there and with as much fun as I was having with my new found, barely visible friends, I still kept wondering who Jackson had taken to the ball.

‘Where are you, London?’ Gabriel asked me. He noticed I’d glazed over.

‘What?’ I shouted back into his ear because the music was so loud.

‘You look like you’re having a good time but you’ve got a faraway look in your eyes.’ Gabriel leaned close to reply. He smelled of soap and aftershave with a hint of whisky on his breath.

‘How can you even see my eyes?’ I shouted back.

‘Who could miss those great big baby blues of yours? All that wide-eyed innocence is quite charming.’ He brushed my curls away from my shoulders and rested his hands on them for a brief moment. Maybe he wanted to shake me out of my daydream.

I didn’t hear what else he said but he gave me a warm smile and I tried to forget about my aching heart and the misery that being in love with Jackson Humphries brought with it.

I spent my first year at university loving Jackson from afar and he never even looked at me once.

Win the Book:

Rosa is giving away 5 e-copies of Natalie’s Getting Married.
Open to anyone.

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About the Author:

Rosa Temple

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Bio:

Rosa Temple began writing romantic comedy and chick lit novellas, short stories and books because of her passion for what she calls the ‘early chick lit films’, like: Sabrina, Barefoot In the Park and Breakfast at Tiffany’s. She honed her skills as a ghostwriter, gaining experience writing romance novellas and book series, with sweet themes as well as steamy novels for adult readers.

She now specialises in contemporary romance but prefers to write chick-lit and romantic comedies.

So far, Rosa has published romantic comedy novella, Sleeping With Your Best Friend and the full length novel, Natalie’s Getting Married, is published on 14th March 2016.

Rosa Temple is a Londoner and is married with two sons. She reads a wide range of Women’s Fiction and all its sub genres. She is a reluctant keep fit fanatic and doer of housework and insists that writing keeps her away from such strenuous tasks. She spends her days creating characters and storylines while drinking herbal tea and eating chocolate biscuits.

Find her here:

Twitter
Facebook
http://rosatemplewrites.blogspot.co.uk/

Visit all the stops on the Tour:

March 14th

Sparkly Word – http://www.sparklyword.com/– Author Guest Post
Isabelle Andover – Isabelleandover.com – Author Q&A
The Book Magnet – http://thebookmagnet.blogspot.co.uk – Book Excerpt

March 15th

Literary Chanteuse – www.literarychanteuse.blogspot.ca – Promo Post
Boundless Minds – www.boundlessminds.org – Author Q&A
Writing Pearls – http://www.writingpearls.com – Book Review
T&L Book Reviews – http://tasz1976.wordpress.com – Author Guest Post

March 16th

Steamy Book Momma – http://steamybookmomma0.blogspot.com – Book Excerpt
JustaBooklovinJunkie – http://jabooklovinjunkie.blogspot.com/ – Book Review
Chick Lit Central – http://chicklitcentral.com – Promo Post

March 17th

Around the World in Books – http://www.aroundtheworldinbooks.ca/ – Promo Post
Ali – The Dragon Slayer – http://cancersuckscouk.ipage.com/ – Book Review
Books N Pearls – http://booksnpearls.com/blog – Book Review

March 18th

Grass monster – http://twitter.com/Lost815_Oceanic – Book Review
The Page Unbound – http://thepageunbound.com – Promo Post
Girllovespinkbooks – girllovespinkbooks.wordpress.com – Author Guest Post
One Book At a Time – http://booksandwinearelovely.blogspot.com/ – Book Excerpt
Hello…Chick Lit – http://hellochicklit.com – Book Review

Tour arranged by HCL Book Tours:

Fifty Percent Vampire
by D.K. Janotta
Release Date: September 5th 2015

Book Summary (Goodreads):

TEENAGE GIRL FLEES THE UNDEAD !!!

Living at home is driving seventeen-year-old Astrid Sonnschein nuts. She’s desperate to leave her parents behind, and why not, with stepfather George a foul-tempered old vampire, and Mom – well, the less we say about Mom the better.

And our heroine has another compelling reason for getting out of Dodge. If she stays home much longer she’s in grave danger of being transformed forever, and the last thing she wants is to become the newest Nosferatu.

So it’s off to Rosenberg High and relative safety. Except it’s far from safe when her relatives are holier than holy Aunt Jean, beer-swilling couch potato Uncle James and devious, cat-loving cousin Emma. And that’s just evenings and weekends. Astrid Sonnschein’s schooldays teem with teeth-sinkable challenges, the man of her dreams refuses to play by the rules, and the plethora of pitchfork-bearing peasants are beginning to mutter.

Peasants-schmeasants! It’s when the full moon rises that Astrid’s real troubles begin …

You can read the first chapters of ‘Fifty Percent Vampire’ here!

Purchase Links:
Amazon│Amazon CA│Amazon UK│Amazon Australia

Book Excerpt:

We were halfway through a shrill rendition of Give Peace A Chance when a group of young men swaggered up, sporting haircuts like Angus’s, their hands in the pockets of paramilitary jackets similar to the one I’d last seen him wearing. Before any of them uttered a word I sensed trouble. “Hey little girls, you think our Marines are sitting pretty over there?”

I rolled my eyes in disgust. Even an idiot like me knew there were no American soldiers serving in Syria. Maybe these morons were confusing it with Iraq. As they came closer and closer I heard Jenny and Rocio whimper but Rachel kept on singing and I followed her lead.

A man reached forward and grabbed my pole. I lost hold and it flew out of my grasp. Rachel stumbled and fell to the ground as the guy wrenched our banner away from her. That made me see red so I lunged at the attacker, snatched the pole back from him, and with my free left hand shoved him hard in the gut. He staggered back from the force of my blow, doubled up in agony. My show of bravado seemed to signal to the girls that I was now their protector and every last one of them crowded in a huddle behind me. At the back, Jenny had had the good sense to dial 911 and I heard her urgent calls for help.

The gang howled obscenities that made me blush but kept their distance as I stood my ground. A teen girl able to knock one of them down had made them wary, but I had no idea how long that wariness might last. After a while Rachel and Rocio found the courage to start shouting back at them, but all that did was make matters worse. I breathed faster and faster. The men were moving nearer again and any second the situation was going to boil over.

And then we all heard it. The slow clip-clop of a horse’s hooves on concrete. Coming steadily closer. Both sides stopped yelling and turned to look. A sturdy bay horse with gentle brown eyes was approaching us, chewing nonchalantly on its bit, bobbing its head as it came. In the saddle sat a broad-shouldered young man in uniform, helmet and shades. He steered his horse between our rival groups, pulled slowly back on the reins, and brought his mount to a standstill. Sitting high above us with his hands crossed on the pommel he surveyed the scene like a cowboy counting cattle on the range.

“Howdy, Officer Hanson,” said Rachel shyly.

The pole fell from my hand with a clatter and the horse skittered back a step. Officer Hanson? As in Mike Hanson? Poster boy of Rosenberg High? My heart fluttered and my legs began to quake. If this was really him he was more gorgeous than his photo. At that moment I was ready to lie down right there in the roadway, roll over and let this godlike creature dismount his horse and scratch my tummy—well, not really, but I would have done it if he’d ordered me to. Given the expressions I saw on their faces, most of my friends would have been down there alongside me.

“Okay, you guys, break it up. I need you to disperse immediately,” said Officer Michael Hanson calmly, his deep voice full of authority. “Go on home. The slightest resistance from anybody and I’m calling for backup.”

“Hey,” exclaimed Rachel. “We weren’t doing anything wrong! Tell those jerks to leave, not us.”

Officer Hanson’s face turned slowly Rachel’s way. “You heard me, sweetheart. Go home. If I don’t see dust settling in the next thirty seconds I’ll take you in first.”

I couldn’t believe it. I don’t think any of us could. My hero was threatening to arrest us. No fair. The idiots who attacked us should be the ones getting arrested. Our opponents made catcalls and retreated, whistling and laughing at their injured buddy who was still moaning and clutching his stomach. Officer Hanson sat patiently watching us from on high.

“Okay, okay, we’ll leave,” grumbled Rachel. “But this was a legitimate protest. Freedom of assembly still exists in this country.” She stooped to snatch up the fallen banner, thrust it back into my hand, and stormed off. The demo she’d spent so much effort on was ruined.

Officer Hanson called after her. “Missy, go back to school and reread the First Amendment. I think you’ll find it’s freedom of peaceable assembly.”

It was at that moment I made my mistake. As a friendly gesture to our rescuer (and, I have to admit, an attempt to get myself noticed), I stepped forward and reached out to pat the horse’s muzzle. No sooner had I done so than the stupid beast laid back its ears, flared its nostrils and reared up squealing. Officer Hanson slid alarmingly sideways.

People all around us were yelling “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” and the girls screamed and retreated as I backed into them. Iron horseshoes flashed high above me in the sunlight and I feared the horse’s hooves were about to shatter my skull. In panic, I waved the banner in its white-eyed face. Officer Hanson yanked back the reins and gripped hard with his legs and the terrified animal wheeled round in a tight circle, ready to smash blindly through anything that got in its way.

The men scattered. Poor Officer Hanson had lost a stirrup and looked about to lose his balance again and come crashing down on the cement road. Somehow he managed to cling on and after a few seconds regained control. The horse continued to dance a while and then stood quivering while its rider leaned forward to pat its neck and rub its ears, calming and soothing it as it whickered and snorted nervously, tossing its head. “Take it easy, big fella, take it easy.”

Officer Hanson removed his sunglasses and stared down at me.

“Please don’t do that again, Miss,” he said quietly.

“Um, Sonnschein,” I muttered, and looked at my feet. “Astrid Sonnschein.” I’d gotten myself noticed alright.

I should have known the horse would react that way. It had sensed my non-humanness. Several years ago, both Angus and I had desperately wanted to learn to ride, but we failed miserably. Angus attempted to mount up once, and to his credit managed to stay in the saddle for several seconds while the enraged horse jerked him around like a mustang at a rodeo. But in the end he lost his grip and was thrown to the ground, and broke several bones. The experience shook him up so much he never tried to ride again.

Instead he procured for himself a big Honda Fireblade motorcycle, something without a mind of its own. I never dared ask him where he got it.

Embarrassed, I apologized to Officer Hanson and hurried after my friends. We reconvened at the coffee shop.

“Where’d you learn to punch so hard?” asked Rocio, examining my hand for damage. “I thought those guys were going to eat us for breakfast.”

“Where I come from you learn self-defense early,” I replied.

“I guess,” said Jenny. “And we’re all truly grateful.”

To my embarrassment they all lined up to hug me, after which Rachel ordered sodas for everyone and acted bemused when I didn’t want a sugar boost too. Especially after Officer Hanson’s horse had almost knocked my head off. We decided we’d had far too much excitement for one day, said goodbye and went our separate ways.

I stumbled home to Wicket Lane in a total daze. So that was Mike Hanson. Good job, Astrid, you meet your first hot guy, and not only is he way too old for you but you darn near kill the poor fella by spooking his noble steed. Excellent first impression, mush-brain.

About the Author

D.K. Janotta was born and raised in England and Wales but now calls a chalet on a mountainside overlooking beautiful Lake Geneva in Switzerland home. He has worked in Belgium, The Netherlands, Norway, France, South Korea, and several states of the USA. He subverts the vampire genre to ask questions about and reflect on the meaning of human life.

Author Links:
Website│Goodreads│Twitter

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