Book Review & Virtual Book Tour ~ The Devil’s Playground (The Faraway Series #1) by Eliza Freed

The Devil’s Playground

(Book 1 The Faraway series)
by  Eliza Freed
Publisher: Brunswick Publishing
Pages: 300
Genre: Romance/Women’s Fiction

Former U.S. Attorney, Meredith Walsh, took some time off to raise her children. But the time took away everything she once trusted about herself. She’s lost within the mundane confines of her children's schedules of lacrosse, soccer, Cub Scouts, and math facts. Desperate for a sliver of her former passion, and isolated in the small town her corporate husband relocated her to, she counsels herself on risking her family for the rush of a fling.

But Vincent Pratt, the local chief of police, weakens Meredith’s abhorrence of affairs and her dedication to her family. With him, she finds a new version of herself, one capable of contributing in her new world, and thriving in her lonely home. In spite of the fact, she’s not the kind of woman who has an affair.

For More Information

The Devil’s Playground is available at Amazon.

Pick up your copy at Barnes & Noble.

Discuss this book at PUYB Virtual Book Club at Goodreads.

I don’t even know where to start on this review, so I will just start it with WOW.  The funny thing is that after reading this book, the chilling cliffhanger ending is what had me hooked.  I know, you are probably asking yourself, “How the heck could an ending can get a reader hooked?”  Well, it did and I have already pre-ordered the next book.  But I’m not going to lie…..this book pissed me off to no end. 

This book poses a really good, thought provoking question – Is it okay to cheat on your spouse and continue the affair just for the sake of the children?   This book is sure to get a rise out of some readers, I’m sure.  The only thing that made this relationship the least bit okay was that Meredith’s husband is a pompous and controlling, whining ass.  But, he doesn’t hit her; he lavishes her with a life style many women would die for; and has given her the opportunity to be a stay-at-home mom to her two adorable kids. So why would she want to have a relationship outside of her marriage?  Well, she says she’s bored and unsatisfied with her life, her huge house and her Cadillac Escalade. Bless her little heart.  Give me a freaking break and cry me a river.  I am not a fan of Meredith at all if you haven’t already guessed. All throughout the book, she REPEATEDLY keeps calling herself a whore and is so wishy washy about the whole affair.  Go big or go home Meredith, but make a freaking decision! I just could not feel sorry for her whatsoever.

And then there’s Colonel Vincent Pratt, model citizen and local police chief, who has a lovely wife and kids of his own.  What’s his excuse?  Maybe he’s just one of THOSE men who wants the next best thing. He’s certainly did not appear to be bored, especially with his job and kids.  The reader really doesn’t get to know his wife all that much, so who really knows what is going on in his home. But gosh dang it…..why did he have to cheat and most importantly of all why did I fall in love with this man?  If there was ever a redeeming quality in a book, it would be this character.  He’s so kind and fiercely protective and utterly sexy.  Sigh…..

I am still shaking my head at how morally wrong this book is yet surprised that I loved it as much as I did.  As you can probably tell, I am very conflicted about this book.  I feel as though there is an angel on one shoulder shaking its head saying "They're going to Hell" and the devil on the other shoulder yelling "Hell Yeah! Bring.It.On!"

So what makes two people cross that line from friends to lovers and cheaters?  Well, this book is not a research paper on the human mind or the human heart for that matter, but it is one heck of a story that will keep you turning each page wanting to know MORE.  You might just find yourself making excuses for the characters actions because they just click.  The chemistry between the two is off the charts and you can feel the love that they have for one another.  Now if they can just do the proper thing and get divorced, perhaps they can have their happily ever after they both really crave.  But after the ending the author left us with, I have a feeling someone is going to end up dead - or seriously hurt.

Despite all the many emotions and rants I had about this book, it really is a well-written and skillfully crafted story that had me glued to each and every word.  It was a quick read that is captivating and mesmerizing and just plain good storytelling. Eliza Freed is a new author for me, but I will definitely be adding her to my list of favorites.  Leave the judgments at the door and one-click The Devil’s Playground as soon as possible!

4 stars

I wanted to ask him so many questions, but I was afraid of his answers. They scared me almost as much as the thoughts in my head. I wanted to know why he was here. Why me? Why not some other woman from the stay-at-home mom pool? Why he was cheating in the first place? My reasons seemed so insignificant and illegitimate. I needed this to mean something, but that would make it into something it wasn’t—which was an affair.

“Vince?” His fingers stopped moving, and his chin pointed down to my head. “Do you think we’re bad people?” I was an ass for asking. Why couldn’t I just lie there and enjoy the feel of his chest beneath my face?

“I don’t know,” he said, and it was worse than him denying it. He was always so sure that we were fine. That this was fine, but that was all to put me at ease, and if we were being honest, neither of us knew who we were anymore.

He reached down and caressed my lower back, letting his fingertips drag up again, and then he pulled me up to face him. He was magnificent. A souvenir I hadn’t paid for, the vacation I didn’t earn. He was stolen goods, and I never wanted to return them, but I also knew I wouldn’t do the time to keep him. The cost was too high.

“Let’s just enjoy right now. Okay?” he said, and I kissed him. His tongue told me not to think too much, to not be honest with myself or anyone else.

Eliza Freed graduated from Rutgers University and returned to her hometown in rural South Jersey. Her mother encouraged her to take some time and find herself. After three months of searching, she began to bounce checks and her neighbors began to talk; her mother told her to find a job. 

She settled into Corporate America, learning systems and practices and the bureaucracy that slows them. Eliza quickly discovered her creativity and gift for story telling as a corporate trainer and spent years perfecting her presentation skills and studying diversity. It’s during this time she became an avid observer of the characters we meet and the heartaches we endure. Her years of study have taught her laughter is the key to survival, even when it’s completely inappropriate.

She currently lives in New Jersey with her family and a misbehaving beagle named Odin. An avid swimmer, if Eliza is not with her family and friends, she’d rather be underwater. While she enjoys many genres, she has always been a sucker for a love story...the more screwed up the better.Her latest book is the romance/women’s fiction, The Devil’s Playground.

For More Information

Visit Eliza Freed’s website.

Connect with Eliza on Facebook and Twitter.

Find out more about Eliza at Goodreads.

Release Week Blitz & Giveaway ~ Just Pru by Anne Pfeffer

Just Pru

by Anne Pfeffer

Contemporary Women’s Fiction

Date Published:  March 2, 2015

When twenty-five-year-old Pru Anderson—braless, pajama-clad, and clutching her cat, Chuck—is rescued from her burning Los Angeles apartment, the thing that scares her most is meeting the neighbors. New people make her hide in the bathroom, counting by sevens, but when her home is destroyed, she must turn strangers into friends …  or crawl back to the controlling parents she only recently escaped.

What would her idol, Pepper Hathaway, do? That’s a no brainer: the detective-slash-supermodel heroine from Pru's favorite TV series would take no prisoners while looking fierce in a tankini and stilettos. So when the chance comes up to live with playwright Ellen, Pru sets aside her fears and goes for it.

Thus begin the adventures a girl who's never had a job, a friend, or a first kiss. Swept into Ellen's whirlwind life, Pru begins to build her own, as director's assistant for a new play, muse to brooding actor Blake, and possible love interest to adorably neurotic neighbor, Adam.

Only one thing can derail Pru's exhilarating journey. Well, actually, it's two things—and they're in a car headed straight for LA to torpedo her life. When the past that nearly destroyed her comes calling, who will she be: a Prudence or a Pepper?

Early Reviews of Just Pru

"Just Pru is a laugh out loud, heartwarming story ….Pfeffer does an amazing job with Pru’s character…. The supporting cast is … easy to fall in love with and to cheer for...." 5 Stars

The Self-Publishing Review

"A five star read all the way.... a happy, funny tragicomedy of errors with a cast of delightful neurotics."  Literary homebody.com

"Pru is hilarious..... Totally a perfect story, IMO. How often does that happen? Like never." 5 stars Candacesbookblog.com

Chapter One

From Pru’s Journal:

How can you know if you’re normal when you’re always alone? You have no one to compare yourself to. I mean, I have my mom and dad, and I’m pretty normal compared to them. But then… a lot of people are normal compared to them.

**

As the rich CaraMellow ice cream slipped along my tongue, I popped a few potato chips in my mouth for contrast. Ah, the soothing combination of sweet, salt, cream, and crunch.

No good. Its magic wasn’t working.

Shifting my size 16 tush around on the sofa, I focused on the TV. It played an old episode from Model Cop, my favorite show ever on the Wholesome Family Channel.

Today, the show’s awesome heroine, Pepper Hathaway, was tracking down a serial killer in between fittings for a runway show at Fashion Week. It was hard to juggle her two jobs as a police detective and supermodel, but she excelled at both. Pepper ended every episode with a wink to the camera and her life motto: Remember, folks. Do Good, Look Good!

She was amazing.

I sighed. I bet Pepper didn’t get job rejections like the one I’d had today. Dear Loser, the letter said. We are relieved to say we cannot offer you the position of Low-Level Proofreading Gnome at our crummy little start-up online encyclopedia. No matter how unknown and undesirable our company is, you are more so.

Sincerely,

Executive Drone

Okay, so they didn’t use those exact words, but it’s what they meant. As I lifted my spoon, caramel dribbled down the front of my flannel nightgown. I scraped it off with a potato chip and ate it.

Mmraow. My cat emerged from one of his many hiding places. I suspected he hid on purpose, just to annoy me. “Hey, Chuck-Chuck.” I scratched his orange-and-white striped back. It lasted only a few seconds. Done with human contact, Chuck strolled away, tail in the air.

On the TV, Pepper was returning home to her elegant apartment in the Big City. Hey, girlfriend, she called out to her funny, devoted homosexual roommate Tad. They sat down and sipped Chardonnay. She was so cool.

I bet Pepper could pay her rent. I bet she didn’t run out of money just two months after moving into her place. I could justify having bought a used car, but perhaps the fifty-inch flat-screen TV had been excessive. Then there were those unfortunate yard sale purchases, but I had needed furniture, after all. I needed that Victorian-style vanity and the faux-leather recliner.

I could still hear my father’s voice, cool and cutting. You won’t last a month in Los Angeles. Mark my words, you’ll be back in Oregon before you know it.

 Well, ha ha on him, I’d lasted two months now.

And ha ha on me, because I didn’t know if I could last a third.

 Tears prickled the backs of my eyes. I wished I could talk to Dr. Abbot, my wonderful therapist back in my hometown of Clayton. He had died unexpectedly last week. I’d hardly left my apartment since I’d gotten the news.

On the TV, Pepper was modeling her latest fashion purchases for Tad. I scraped the bowl with my spoon while contemplating her minuscule waistline. Was that real or digitally enhanced? Could a person’s body organs really fit into such a tiny space?

Not mine—I was sure about that. My body organs undoubtedly filled giant caverns, which was why I’d been blessed with my five foot ten inch, big-boned body.

A ringing began—yet another fire alarm. Great. We’d had two go off already this month, I thought grumpily, and they’d turned out to be cases of burned toast—a total waste of time.

I struggled up from horizontal, made my way to the living room window, and peered out. It was 8:00 on a June evening. It had just turned dark. Below loomed the building’s quiet, empty courtyard.

Just as I thought—no flames, no people fleeing for their lives.

The sofa called to me, yet the alarm blared on.

I should probably investigate, even though it meant I might have to talk to someone. And for what was probably a false alarm. I stumbled to my bedroom dresser and wrestled a pair of plain white panties up under my nightie. Where had I thrown my bra? When you’re a size 36D, you do not venture forth into public without one.

My eyes swept my twin-sized bed, the flowered rug, the vanity whose drawers I used to store cat toys. No bra to be seen.

Feet thudded down my hallway.

WHOMP! A fist hit my front door.  “Vacate the building now! Everyone out!” The man’s voice resounded through my door, then grew fainter as he moved away from me.

In an instant, sweat beaded my forehead. Vacate the building?

A siren, then others, wailed from the street. A megaphone-amplified voice blared from outside. “Immediate evacuation is required.”

“Chuck!” I shrieked. That ingrate. He’d probably hidden from me again. I dropped to my belly and crawled commando-style around the bedroom, checking under the bed and dresser. No sign of his malevolent green-eyed gaze. I checked the open laundry hamper. He wasn’t there either.

Outside, shouts and cries came to me from a distance, sirens grew louder, and banging noises intensified. I rushed again to the open living room window. Spotlights now lit the courtyard below, which had transformed into a disaster scene. Groups of people milled behind barricades. Firefighters twice the size of ordinary humans unfurled hoses and set ladders up against walls, while smoke drifted from some windows on the fourth floor, where I was.

Holy moley! Were we really on fire?

Books by Anne Pfeffer

Just Pru

When shy, anxious Pru loses her apartment in a building fire, she learns how to make friends and find love.
“….a laugh out loud, heartwarming story…. The eccentric characters are easy to fall in love with and to cheer for…” The Self Publishing Review

Girls Love Travis Walker
Despite his sexy charm and good looks, Travis must struggle to get the job and girl that he wants.
“This novel deserves every award it got… an incredible redemption story that’s both lighthearted and sincere…” http://www.talksupeblog.com

The Wedding Cake Girl
When expert scuba diver Alexandra wants to leave her island home for college, she must stand up to her difficult, demanding mother.
“A well written emotional plot with a lot of twists and turns that will keep you hooked from the beginning. Highly recommended for all YA genre fans…” http://www.coziecorner.blogspot.com

Any Other Night
After Ryan’s friend Michael dies with a secret, Ryan must take over Michael’s unfinished business.
“…. beautifully realized characters in a gripping, page-turning plot….This lively, fresh young-adult romance is Say Anything for a new generation…”
Reviewed as Loving Emily. www.kirkusreviews.com

Hi! I grew up in the desert around Phoenix, Arizona, where I had a bay quarter horse named Dolly. If I wasn't riding, I was holed up somewhere reading Laura Ingalls Wilder or the Oz books or, later on, Jane Eyre and The Grapes of Wrath. Horses eventually faded as an interest, but I ended up with a lifelong love of books and reading.

After college and eight years of living in cold places like Chicago and New York, I escaped back to the land of sunshine. I now live in California, one mile from the Pacific Ocean, with my dachshund Taco. I have worked in banking and as a pro bono attorney, doing adoptions and guardianships for abandoned children.

As a writer, I'd always been interested in children's books, since they had meant so much to me as a kid. I've found I especially like writing books about teens and twenty-somethings, an age where you make so many decisions about who you are and how you want to spend your life.

I love hearing from readers, so please write to me any time at my website www.annepfeffer.com.

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★★BOOK BLITZ & GIVEAWAY★★ Losing Heart by Donna Brown

Losing Heart

by Donna Brown

Genre: Psychological Thriller, Women's Fiction

Release Date: November 1st, 2014

Hosted by: Book Enthusiast Promotions (http://bookenthusiastpromotions.com)

"I hate you. I hate you with all of Sylvia's heart."

Helen has waited for months for the heart that will save her life. After reaching out to the grieving mother of her donor heart, Helen realises that a second chance comes at a price. The price, she soon realises, is much steeper than she'd ever have chosen to pay.

There's more than one way to break a heart. There's more than one way to destroy a life…

 

Donna is a longtime book lover and sometime book reviewer and has devoured books from an early age. She writes short (or long) stories as and when inspiration hits and is married to fantasy author David M. Brown (Fezariu's Epiphany, A World Apart). She was also co-contributor to David's book, Man vs Cat, a humorous look at life with six rambunctious rescue cats. Donna has lived in many different areas of the UK over the last 30-something years but has remained in Yorkshire for the past decade. She ardently disputes the misnomer that 'It's grim up north'. You can find Donna on Google+, Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, and Goodreads, or visit her and her husband's shared blog: B-Lines and Felines.

"You are carrying your beeper with you?" Dr Meadon checked.

"Yep. I bet you a hundred that it'll finally buzz at my funeral," she said drily.

Dr Meadon sighed and laid his pen down.

"You're still seeing Deborah?"

Deborah was the transplant therapy coach. So far as she could tell, her role seemed to consist of stating the obvious and - a little too hopefully in Helen's opinion - offering the Kleenex box.

"For my sins."

"And how about support at home?"

Home. She thought about her response. Well, doc, I haven't had sex with my husband for a year and if he isn't having an affair he probably should be. My daughter probably can't wait for me to die. Peachy.

She snorted. "Who the hell says peachy?"

Dr Meadon looked confused and she shook her head, waved a hand as if to shoo the comment away.

"It's good. We're good."

"Well, you keep that beeper handy, Helen. You never know when it'll happen."

When, she noticed. Not if. Was she the only realist these days?

* * *

"Josie was a little upset," Tom said after dinner.

She dropped spoons in the dishwasher and shrugged.

"She'll get over it."

"This isn't her fault, Helen. And she's hurting." His voice dropped. "We're all hurting."

"Yeah, well, this isn't a Hallmark movie."

He nodded, slowly, thoughtfully, and then hurled his wine glass at the wall.

"Josie," she heard him holler. "Let's go to the movies."

She couldn't stop herself raising her own glass in a silent toast as he backed the car out of the drive a couple of minutes later, trying to pretend she didn't care about the disgust in his eyes.

* * *

Helen had been diagnosed with heart failure five months previously and placed on the transplant list. Her deterioration had been faster than anyone had anticipated. She was sure she was supposed to be the devoted wife and mother until the end, strengthen the family so they could survive their grief, make sure the final months - weeks? - were full of special memories in case she didn't get a new heart. But this wasn't a Hallmark movie. She was grieving now and she was surely entitled to that, if nothing else.

She began mopping up red wine, shooing away Billy, their yappy Dachshund.

"You'll end up bleeding or drunk, Billy, and there's only so much a woman can take."

She threw away the damp kitchen roll and picked up her wine glass, knowing she shouldn't be drinking at all. At this stage it was hard to take rules seriously. Shouldn't she enjoy the time she had left, just in case?

Just in case. That seemed to be her mantra these days.

Sighing she set the glass back down. If the beeper went...

If the beeper went. Her whole life rested on whether or not the beeper went.

 

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1tqGlpb

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1zrW6zP

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Release Blitz ~ An Etiquette Guide to the End Times by Maia Sepp ~ Excerpt + Giveaway!

An Etiquette Guide to the End Times - Cover Reveal

By Maia Sepp

Women's Fiction / Dystopian

Date Published: June 6, 2014

   Good manners never go out of style…do they?

There aren’t any zombies (yet), but the world is still at the brink of destruction: It’s 2028 and global warming has led to rising oceans, crazy weather, and resource scarcity. On top of that, someone just turned the Internet off. Seeing as how it’s humanity’s last chance to turn things around manners are, understandably, a bit frayed.

Etiquette buff Olive O’Malley is busy microfarming her urban property and minding her own business (and her chickens) when the government comes calling. Their goal is to push the populace towards carbon-neutrality while keeping kvetching to a minimum, and they come with a proposal: transition Olive’s popular etiquette column to a radio show for the masses, and they’ll help Olive find her grandfather, who’s gone missing.

Olive doesn’t trust the hipster government officials who try to bribe her with delicious-but-probably-a-little-evil chocolate pastries, and declines their offer. (Politely, of course.) But they won't take no for an answer, and soon Olive is knee-deep in turmoil, eco-terrorism, and missing chickens. Now she has to untangle herself from their demands and figure out how to make sure her family (and her poultry) are safe before it’s too late.

*Note* This Novel is Written in Canadian English. 

Excerpt

My superhero power is definitely not sleeping. When I was looking for a house, my realtor rhapsodized about this bedroom’s perfect southern exposure, about the tastefully herbaceous wall treatment and charming old-world feel. Right now my room could be more accurately described as a floral-wallpapered sauna, full of an impossible heat, like three Julys stuffed into one. It isn’t helping.

I watch the overhead fan stop again, gyrate, and then restart before I roll over, the sheets coming with me. After a minute I shift to the other side, flinging the covers away with a sigh. The fan finally grinds to a halt, probably the victim of a wiring problem I haven’t been able to pin down, although lately I’ve been thinking it might just hate me.

I relocate to the living room and angle the pedestal fan my way. God, it’s hot. I close my eyes and lean back on the couch for a minute, hoping sleep will take me. The sofa is a faux leather hand-me-down that’s supple after years of wear, smelling faintly earthy, soft against my skin.

Eventually I switch the TV on. Our cable hasn’t worked properly in months, service so erratic it’s like the people running the company are legless, as my grandfather Fred would say–a charming Irish way of saying spectacularly drunk, even though my grandfather hasn’t seen Ireland since he was a child. My eyes land on Fred’s easy chair, a pale green monstrosity he could barely squeeze through the front door when I finally convinced him to move in with me. His pipe, his books, and his old-man slippers are still where he left them.

After flipping through a bunch of static, I shut the TV off and switch to the radio, which promptly announces it’s five-thirty in the morning. I ponder what to do next, discarding juggling, mind reading, and origami, although I spend more time thinking about mind reading than I probably should, considering I’m the only one here. Finally I pull my computer tablet onto my lap and turn it on. I write an etiquette column for a spunky arts and culture website, and my latest instalment is due on Friday; other people’s problems are always a delightful way to get my mind off my own. I start to page through the letters, which all start with Dear Olive. Dear Olive, I’m convinced my neighbour is milking my goat. Dear Olive, my neighbour’s windmill is keeping me up at night. Dear Olive, my wife is hoarding solar panels. What do I do?

Three crashing noises erupt above my head, each more ominous than the next. I wait for it to stop, but twenty minutes later I’m clinging to the side of my house, staring down a pair of raccoons who seem intent on defiling my solar array. For a long while it’s just the three of us, locked in visual combat, but it’s my roof and unless they start paying rent, they’ve got to go.  Eventually they get spooked by the noise of the six a.m. domestic surveillance drone overhead, which would make this the first time I’ve ever been happy to see a drone. I watch as it starts its first pass of the morning. They’re smaller than the military version–sleek, modern, ever-watchful. Rumour is they’re even biodegradable, although that hasn’t exactly endeared them to the population.

After the raccoons finally lumber off I pull myself onto the roof and take a look at the solar panel they’ve sullied, the wires connecting the array to my house almost stripped. It’s not easy to carry out rooftop repairs quietly at six in the morning, and it definitely wouldn’t be polite to wake anyone up, but I don’t want to be back up here tomorrow, either. If I leave the panel like this, they’ll come back and finish the job, I know it. They’re organized.

I look up when a newfangled Town Car, still boxy and authoritarian but now electric-powered, turns onto my street. I watch it as it goes; there are almost no cars on the roads these days, and the sight makes a faint sense of unease pulse through me. I hope whoever’s in that car isn’t carrying bad news for one of my neighbours.

After it eases past my house I try to concentrate on how to get myself off this roof. I’ve brought my very last roll of duct tape with me and after a moment of conflict, I wrestle a piece off and start to fix the panel, but my foot slips and my right hip ends up bouncing off the shingles. I pull myself into a sitting position to gather my wits, my stomach clenched into the size of a peanut, my breath suddenly ragged and shaky. I don’t want to go splat on the driveway beside my house. It’s a bungalow, true, and not that far to fall, but it’s still a worry.

Over my left shoulder the sunrise glows on the horizon, beautiful in a terrifying sort of way. It’s hard not to be nervous about what the sun will do to us today; so far the summer of 2028 has broken four temperature records, slow-cooking our city under our feet, making everything smell like asphalt and failure.

About the Author : Maia Sepp

Maia left the tech sector to write about sock thievery, migraines, and...the tech sector.

The Sock Wars is her debut novel. The first chapter of The Sock Wars was published as a short story/novel excerpt titled Irish Drinking Socks, and became a Kobo bestselling short story. The Sock Wars has been a top-100 digital bestseller on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and the iBookstore, as well as a genre and Writing Life bestseller on Kobo.

Maia's second novel is The Migraine Mafia, a story about a nerdy thirtysomething's quest to come to terms with a chronic illness. It is available online everywhere.

Her latest is a humorous near-future dystopian novella, titled, An Etiquette Guide to the End Times, available June 2014. To be notified about new releases, please add yourself to Maia's mailing list: http://www.maiasepp.com/mailing_list.html.

Authors Links

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Blog | Mailing List Sign Up

Buy Links

Amazon / Kobo / Smashwords / iTunes

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