Saturday, September 12, 2015

BLOG TOUR: Magic Fishing Panties by Kimberly Dalferes


Title: Magic Fishing Panties
Author: Kimberly Dalferes
Publisher: Booktrope



Have you taken to blaming the little people for stealing all the things you can’t find, like the damn Chico’s gift card you are 100% sure you left on the dresser? When you take off your bra, is it as if an airbag has deployed? Have you more than once started a sentence with the phrase “Back when I was in school…”? If you answered yes to any of these questions, welcome to the middle-aged cheap seats.

Magic Fishing Panties is the follow-up to Dalferes’ debut book I Was in Love With a Short Man Once. This collection of humorous tales offers new perspective from the self-proclaimed crazy Southern Irish gal and recent inductee into “Club 50.” Rather than wallow in the self-pity often induced by sagging jaw lines, empty nests, and menopause, the author offers colorful depictions of life in the middle. You will find yourself contemplating:

·       How would you react to being in public during an earthquake? Oh, and you’re naked.
·       The wedding starts in five minutes and your best friend needs to pump her breast milk, but all the bathrooms are occupied. Where should she go to quickly resolve her situation?
·       You are depressed and alone on your 39th birthday. What do you do? Hint: tattoo anyone?

You’ll come to know Kimba as a true gal pal, someone who will gladly lend you her size 11 black boots, favorite red coat, and anything else you might need to rule the world – with the exception of her magic fishing panties. Because letting you borrow those would be a little weird, don’t ya think?



About The Author:


Kimberly “Kimba” Dalferes is a native Floridian, but currently pretends to be a Virginian. She is an accomplished king salmon slayer, estate sale junkie, and sometimes writes books. Her first book, I Was In Love With a Short Man Once, was published in 2011, with a 2nd edition released in 2015 by Booktrope Publishing. Her second book, Magic Fishing Panties, also with Booktrope Publishing, will be released August 2015. Her stories have been featured in diverse publications including Voices from Smith Mountain Lake (an anthology published by the Smith Mountain Arts Council), The Roanoke TimesHippocampus MagazineThe Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop, Better After Fifty, Laugh Lines-Finding Your Funny, and Midlife Boulevard. She is also a columnist–her humor column Dock Tale Hour appears regularly in Laker Magazine (an affiliate of Times-World LLC). She recently had a limerick published by the Washington Post and she vehemently believes this is a legit publishing cred.
           
The author happily serves on the Board of Governors for the Virginia Writers Club (VWC). She is a member of the Orangeberry Book Tours Hall of Fame (2012), is a featured writer inThe Authors Show, 50 Great Writers You Should Be Reading (2012)and won gold in the AuthorsDB 2013 Book Cover Contest. She has also been recognized for her nonfiction writing as the winner of the 2014 Golden Nib Award; VWC’s highest honor.

Dalferes divides her time between Fairfax and Smith Mountain Lake, Virginia with husband Greg, Bonz the cat, and occasionally her son Jimmy, when he is home from college. She is also often found hanging out in The Middle-Aged Cheap Seats–her blog. She continues to sing hopelessly off-key and waits patiently for that phone call from George Clooney.


·       Blog – “The Middle-Aged Cheap Seats” - http://kimdalferes.com/blog


Other Books by Kimberly Dalferes:

I Was In Love With a Short Man Once (2011, 2015)
Nekkid Came the Swimmer (contributing author, 2015)
Virginia Writers Club, Inc. Virtual Anthology (2015)
Virginia Writers Club, Inc. Virtual Anthology (2014)
Dock Tale Hour (humor column, Smith Mountain Laker Magazine, since 2014)
Voices from Smith Mountain Lake (Anthology, 2013)

Teaser:

We gals possess one distinctive disadvantage out on the fishing boats. It’s the “head.” For the guys, their need to relieve themselves is accomplished by a quick pit stop over the bow of the boat. For the gals, well, our equipment doesn’t work that way. A woman’s use of the bathroom on a fishing boat is a time-consuming process. I use the term “bathroom” here with a bit of poetic license. Often, the facilities are nothing more than a bucket. You can take as many countermeasures as possible: limit the coffee consumption and definitely go at the lodge before you get on the boat. But, eventually, you gotta go.
HOW TO PEE ON THE SEA
Step 1: The captain clears out the cabin for a little semblance of privacy.
Step 2: Layers of clothing (gloves, hat, scarf, rain slicker) are removed.
Step 3: The bibs must be unhooked, but—and this is important—you mustn’t remove them fully because this would entail also removing your boots.
Step 4: Shuffle over to the cubby area under the bow. You’re lucky if there is a cubby area.
Step 5: Back in, derriere first, drop the bib tops you’ve been holding up, unzip and drop your pants, followed by your underwear, and attempt to squat/land upon the toilet/bucket.
Step 6: Pull across the battered blue plastic sheet that is supposed to provide some modicum of cover.
Step 7: Pray the toilet paper is somewhere within reach.
Step 8: Anchor your hands and feet against the sides of the cubby to steady yourself as the boat sways and rocks.
Step 9: Proceed with, well, you know.
Step 10: Attempt to rise, remaining in a somewhat stooped position in order to avoid bumping your head. (I did not forget about the use of the toilet paper; I’m trying to keep this classy.)
Step 11: While remaining hunched over, attempt to pull up your underwear and your pants in the cubby. Damn near impossible.
Step 12: Pull back the blue plastic sheet and while once again attempting to hold up your pants and bibs, turnaround, bend over, and pull the lever which evacuates the contents of bowl.
Step 13: Turn back around, continue to hold up your bibs, and shuffle back out into the main cabin.
Step 14: Refasten your pants and your bibs, put back on all your clothing—rain gear, hat, gloves, and scarf—and head back out to fishing.

What could possibly go wrong?


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Thursday, September 10, 2015

BLOG TOUR and RRBB REVIEW: Fire Me Up by Rachael Johns


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FIRE ME UP
Deacons of Bourbon Street #2
Rachael Johns
Releasing Sept 1st, 2015


Can a scorching affair with a bohemian beauty tame a motorcycle man with a dark side? Rachael Johns takes the wheel in the sexy series co-written with Megan Crane, Jackie Ashenden, and Maisey Yates.

Travis “Cash” Sinclair values only two things from his days with the Deacons of Bourbon Street: his prized Harley Davidson and the man who gave it to him. But now Priest Lombard is gone, and Cash has inherited the Deacons’ clubhouse—not to mentions its unexpected tenant. She’s exactly the type of woman he tries to avoid: all incense and art, with a sharp tongue that promises trouble. So why does Cash want to push aside those flowing skirts and lose himself between her legs?

Billie Taylor fled a bad marriage to start a new life among the grit and glamour of the French Quarter. She refuses to let another man distract her from her dreams, especially an outlaw biker with nothing to offer except hot sex and an eviction notice. Cash is dangerous, with an untamed streak he tries desperately to conceal. He drives Billie wild, sending her too close to the edge for her own good. And she won’t fall under his spell—or into his bed—without a fight
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“This room is mine,” she said, folding her arms and glaring at him with more bravado than she felt as he turned to look at her with his dark, smoldering eyes. She shivered despite herself and almost forgot to add, “If you insist on staying, you’ll have to choose from one of the others.”

He took his time replying, his gaze sliding downward, scalding her body as if he’d actually touched her. For a moment she thought he was going to object—tell her that not only would he share her house but also her bed—but eventually he shut her wardrobe and nodded. “I always preferred the one next to this anyway.”

She swallowed. Of all the rooms in the house, he wanted to choose the one right next to hers? How would she sleep knowing he was mere yards away? Still, she was hardly in a position to argue, and if it would get him out of her personal space, well, that was a start.

“Fine.” She stepped back and gestured for him to leave. The only good thing about having Travis right next door was that she could keep an eye on him. Or was that a bad thing? Argh.

Surprisingly, he obeyed, stalking past her and smirking again as he did. She hated that she caught a waft of some raw, masculine cologne, which sent ripples of need through her body, rousing places she’d given little thought to over the last year. How ironic that the first sign of life down there had sparked because of a man who seemed intent on messing up her life. Why were the sexiest guys, the best-looking ones, always the biggest jerks?

He didn’t head straight for his room, instead going into the kitchen, and she found herself following. Her hackles rose as he opened the refrigerator and leaned inside, giving her a perfect view of his perfect butt. Oh help me, God! Had any guy she’d ever known looked so damn fine in faded jeans? Her thighs involuntarily clenched.

“No beer,” he said as he straightened.

Despite the traitorous hormones rushing through her body, she shook her head. It went against the grain of every single cell in her body not to be hospitable, but then again she hadn’t invited him to stay here with her. “Nope. Sorry. But there’s a bar next door.”

She wished he’d go back to it. He had to be one of the Deacons that had been hanging around The Priory the last few days. Sophie had given her a brief history of the motorcycle club—apparently it had disbanded around the time of Katrina—and informed her that it would be unlikely any of its members would hang around after her father’s funeral. But, dammit, it looked like she’d been wrong on that account. Billie needed to go see Sophie, make sure this guy was for real. For all she knew he could be anybody. He hadn’t shown her any proof that he owned the building, but something—maybe the way he’d leaned into her face when he told her no one tells him what the fuck to do—made her cautious. He was like a wild animal, and she didn’t want to make any sudden moves.

He smiled wickedly and leaned back against the counter, looking her over again, making her feel aroused and insulted all at once. “I know it. The bar and this place used to be my home.”

“Is that right?” She wondered about Travis Sinclair. He had the leather jacket, the swagger in his step and the don’t-mess-with-me attitude of a biker, but there was something about him that didn’t fit the image. He wore no patches like a couple of other guys she’d seen hanging around next door, but that wasn’t it. There was something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on. “And where is your home now?”

She waited for him to tell her it was none of her fucking business, but he shrugged off his jacket, hung it over one of the odd chairs that sat around her kitchen table and then pulled back the seat and straddled it. “Tallahassee,” he said as he leaned down and yanked a laptop out of his pack. It was a flashy MacBook Air—not at all the type of computer she’d expect of a biker. He didn’t even glance her way as he put it on the table in front of him, lifted the lid and tapped his boots against the tiled floor as he waited for the computer to spring to life.

No idea where Tallahassee was—geography had never been her thing—she vowed to google it later. Leaning back against the kitchen counter, she wiped her palm across her brow, feeling hot and more than a little bothered. Being warm in itself wasn’t unusual in New Orleans or in Western Australia where she came from, but the weather had nothing to do with the rise in her body temperature. And that disturbed her.

Her eyes zoned in on the bad-boy ink that traveled the length of his sculpted and tanned forearms, and the heat that had been simmering inside her boiled over.


Until this moment she’d have said she wasn’t a fan of body art—personally, she preferred her art on walls or in gardens—but Travis’s tattoos changed her opinion. And that was bad, because with her divorce only recently official, the last thing she wanted in her life was another man who thought he could walk all over her.







4 Stars

The story of Travis (road name Cash) and Billie.
Travis has returned to New Orleans, his old motorcycle club stomping grounds, and the place he grew up, after the leader of the former club has died.  He along with his former club brothers are trying to figure out if the leader died in an accident, suicide, or possible murder.
Billie is living in and running a funky little art gallery out of the building that used to be the club quarters/hangout.  She’s a bit of a hippie and opposite of Travis.
This becomes glaringly obvious when he is revealed to be one of the new owners of the building she rents, and somehow demands he lives there while he is in town.  This is taking quite a liberty, but I forgave it.
This is my first book in the series, and I did not feel lost at all.
Things were pretty predictable, and not as ‘dirty’ as I tend to like my MC series reads.  But the two did have good chemistry, and I was happy with the ending.
While you know where the next book will probably begin (which character), the story remained focused on these two - which I enjoyed.
A good solid read and I’m happy to have read it.

Romance Readers received this book from the author in exchange for an honest review.










Rachael Johns is an English teacher by trade, a mum 24/7, a supermarket owner, a chronic arachnophobic, and a writer the rest of the time. She rarely sleeps and never irons. She writes contemporary romance for HQN and Carina Press and lives in rural Western Australia with her hyperactive husband and three mostly-gorgeous heroes-in-training. Rachael loves to hear from readers and can be contacted through her website at www.rachaeljohns.com