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#LongandShortReviews #Wednesdaybloggingchallenge 6.5.19

Today’s topic is BOOKS THAT NEED A SEQUEL and…..I’m lost.

I have a feeling I know the books  most people think need sequels, but I’m not so sure.

The Catcher in the Rye – I’ll be honest – I hate this book. But…I can see people wanting to know what happens to Holden when he ( finally) grows up.

Gone Girl. Want to know if she had the baby? If she was ever sent to prison?

The Handmaid’s Tale. The HULU show makes you believe the story continued after the end of the book. But Atwood hasn’t written a sequel yet and I’m not sure the way the TV show depicts what happens in Gilead is what she’d like to happen.

To Kill A Mockingbird. Want to know if the town changes it’s opinion of Boo based on how he’s treated by Scout and Addicus? Or if the racist attitudes of the town folk change with time and wisdom?

Charlotte’s Web. Want to know what happens to Wilbur and the gang after Charlotte’s “babies” appear?

In all honesty, most books that are standalones are standalones for a reason ( in my humble opinion). I’ve gotten closure on them. We all saw how miserably a sequel fail, esp. if not written by the original author. Anyone remember SCARLET, the supposed sequel to Gone With The Wind? Yeah, I don’t either.

Just sayin’..

Let’s see what books the other authors in this challenge think need sequels: L&SR

Until next time ~Peg

 

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#TeaserTuesday 5.29.19

So I have a new series coming out from Wild Rose Press with the series title A PRIDE OF BROTHERS. It’s about a PI/Security agency made of 4 brothers. The first book is RICK’S STORY.

Rick Bannerman’s job is to protect. An elite bodyguard and P.I., he’s used to denying his emotions and ignoring his feelings in order to keep those in his care safe, at all costs. When lawyer Abigail Laine becomes the target of a vengeful client, Rick slips into protection mode even though Abby refuses his help. Four years ago Rick left Abby standing on a balcony alone, after walking away from a kiss that sent them both reeling. His refusal stung, and Abby’s sworn to forget it so she can shield her heart and move on with her life. But now she needs Rick’s professional help and her reluctance to accept it could just cost her her life. Can these two stubborn and independent people put their troubled pasts behind them and learn to trust one another?

Intrigued so far? Keep reading…

“You’re shirking your wedding guest duties,” she said with a slight head bob.

“There’s no such thing.”

“Yes, there is. As a guest, a male guest,” she lowered her chin, pinning him with her own intense glare now, “it’s your responsibility to dance with the female guests. There are quite a few unattached women at this wedding and it hasn’t gone unnoticed you’ve danced with no one except the bride. That’s bad form. And etiquette. And…rude.”

Her eyes narrowed when his laugh, loud and filled with humor, bounced through the trees. “Unnoticed by who? The wedding police? Kandy?”

Her gaze darted down to her shoes and then back up at him. “Among…others.”

With his head still cocked, he unfurled his hands from his pockets, stood upright and moved into her space. Even in her heels, she had to dip her head back to maintain eye contact.

“Others?” he asked, his voice low, so low she had to pitch forward a little to hear him. “Or…just you, Abigail?”

When he was close enough for her to know her breasts would bounce off his chest if she inhaled, he leaned down, fingered the lapel on his jacket, his knuckle grazing the column of her throat.

Her brain shut down the moment his fingers made contact with her skin. Despite the nippy bite in the air she was hit with a fireball radiating downward from his touch. It was a wonder she didn’t start sweating.

Abby swallowed.

And then did it again.

His eyes were focused on hers, those half closed lids doing nothing to shield the heat smoldering under them. “If you wanted to dance with me, all you had to do”—his gaze dipped down her lips again—“was ask.”

Dance? Lord, she wanted to do a whole helluva lot more than simply dance with this man.

“I—”

She licked her suddenly parched lips, her eyes never wavering from his sharp gaze.

In a move as natural as breathing, she stepped into the minute amount of space separating them, shot her hands around his neck and yanked his head down until their lips slammed together.

Holy Mother.
The heat from his fingers had been hot enough to singe, but it was an ice cube compared to the incendiary inferno of his mouth fused with hers. It briefly crossed her mind it was a miracle she didn’t burst into flames on the spot.

As stupefied as she was by what she’d done, she was able to glean a few pertinent details.

One, Rick’s jacket fell from her shoulders when she grabbed him, plunking down on the ground behind her.

Two, her shoulders and arms may have been bare once again, but the volcano of heat seeping from Rick’s body inoculated her against the cold air.

Three, the man’s body was as hard as it appeared to be. Pressed up against him without a whisper of space between their bodies, protected only by their clothes, every solid inch of muscle and sinew molded to her.

And four, but certainly not least, after a brief still moment, Rick was kissing her back.

Oh, mama, was he.

During all those late nights of studying when her eyes were starting to bleed with fatigue she’d close them and bring his face to mind, his lips were often the feature she dwelled on the most. Thick and smooth, she’d fantasized what they’d feel like against her own. Would they be soft and seductive? Hard and masterful? Taut and teasing?

Nothing she’d conjured in her lusty and frustrated imagination compared to the reality of Rick Bannerman’s mouth on hers. As smart as she was and as adept at language and words, she couldn’t think of one adequate way to describe how utterly delicious and amazing he tasted.

Her entire body relaxed when his hands slipped around her waist and pulled her flat up against him. The low slung back on the bridesmaid’s dress ended right above the dip in her spine. Rick’s hands rested on the space between her naked flesh and the silk material, one finger slipping below it to rest along the top of her hipbone. Lazily, he rubbed it back and forth across her skin.

Every nerve fiber south of his touch fired. The same wobbling sensation from earlier in the evening flowed through her again and her hands tightened around his neck for fear she’d fall.

Intrigued now? Check back periodically. I don’t have a release date or a cover yet, but I am in first edits, so YAY for that!!! hopefully, the book will go live before the end of the hear.

Until next time ~Peg

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What’s in a name? Well, placement of a book on a book shelf, for one thing…

I’ve never been quiet about the fact I’m not a fan of the 50 Shades phenom. I don’t read erotica or erotic romance and the thought of having to endure a three book arc on the subject wasn’t something in my reading desire wheelhouse.

Now, before the haters start commenting, know this. I applaud EL James. I truly do. She wrote a series that hadn’t been seen or read before and made quite the beaucoup bucks doing so. So, yay for her. The subject matter simply didn’t appeal to me so that’s why I never read it or watched the movies made from the book.

The title of this blog may have you scratching your head and saying, “What’s EL James got to do with placement on a book shelf?”

Let me ‘esplain, Lucy.

The name on my books is Peggy Jaeger. J.A.E.G.E.R.

The name on ELJames books is, well, EL James. J.A.M.E.S.

The reason I mention this is because I was in my local independent bookstore, the Toadstool, the other day and saw this:

 

Get a gander at that second shelf. My books, my sensual, contemporary romances about strong women, the families who support them and the men who can’t live without them, are sitting smack-dab next to books that…are not about those kinds of people. This is the luck of the alphabetical draw. My fear is that people will see her name, my books next to them, and equate the subject matter in her books with the kind that I write. This is a valid fear, too, because I’ve had more than 1 person come up to me at book signings, author events, and when I’ve been on the radio, and ask, “Do you write crap like that 50 Shade stuff?” And yes, that is a direct quote. So, my fear is justified, kids.

I knew I couldn’t complain to the manager because, really, it’s not his fault our names are so close alphabetically. Also, complaining would make me look like a diva-bitch, something I never want to be, especially since the Toadstool has been so good to me.

So, I grin and go on, hoping that someone will be trolling the Romance aisle, see her new book displayed and then their gaze will drift toward my books. They’ll pick one of mine up, read the blurb and realize my books are sososososo different from EL’s. And they’ll buy one of mine, instead.

Hope springs eternal, kids.

Until next time. ~Peg

 

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