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Saturday, May 19, 2018

Tour Kick Off: A Taste of Revenge by Mercy Jane Porquez Ballesteros @MercyJane0210 #romanticsuspense #giveaway


Romantic Suspense
Date Published:  October 29, 2017

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A Taste of Revenge narrates the enthralling story of a successful businesswoman, twenty-nine-year-old Maria Mercedes Sofia Castrill√≥n, and her journey to avenge what she has lost.  She is the Chief Executive Officer of MG Grand Business & Co., a company that she founded ten years ago, together with her friend, Ana Elisa Gaston.

Lucio Nieves is her lover of more than four years. He is the heir of G&N Company, being the Chairman’s son. An acquisition is made between the two companies, entailing that MG Grand is to make an exclusive anti-virus software for G&N. A hundred computers are tested; however, days after the deal, a report came that G&N wants to terminate the contract.

Ana accuses Sofia as being the one in charge of the fiasco, as well as the one who placed the malware into the PCs in order to ruin the reputation of the company, and she brings forth a flash drive as evidence to prove that Sofia indeed is the mastermind. Sofia defends herself, but after several arguments, Ana pushes persistently and says to Sofia that she had never really been her friend, right at that moment the bond they had built for years vanished in an instant. Board Chairman, Michael Perez, suggests that the board of directors make the decision on whether Sofia should remain in her position as MG Grand’s CEO. The majority of the committee then decided to remove Sofia from her position and reduce her to only receiving dividends as a stakeholder of the company. Ana’s conniving act becomes clear to Sofia and realize that this had been her plan all along, and so, Sofia’s journey of revenge starts here.




Mercy Jane Porquez Ballesteros was born in Bacolod City, Philippines on February 10,1997. She graduated from Sagay National High School Open High School Program in her hometown Sagay City. Presently, she is pursuing Business Administration Marketing Management at La Consolacion College Bacolod.

In 2013, Mercy at sixteen started writing her book “Poems of Love & Short Stories” which was a compilation of eleven poems and four short stories that was published last 2016. The first few lines of “A Taste of Revenge” her newly published novel, was written in her sophomore year back in High School. She currently released “Love in Between” another collection of poems and short stories. 
In February 2015, she became a stock market trader and foreign exchange trader the following year. Mercy have a business plan prepared for “SLIQUE” her future company.


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May 19 - This and That Book Blog - Guest Post
May 20 - Romance Novel Giveaways - Excerpt
May 21 - Braelynne's Reviews - Review
May 22 - Nerdy, Dirty, and Flirty - Excerpt
May 23 - The Bookworm Lodge - Spotlight
May 24 - Beach Bound Books - Spotlight
May 25 - Mythical Books - Guest Post
May 26 - Book Addict - Spotlight
May 27 - Cristina Loves Writing - Excerpt
May 28 - Valerie Ullmer - Guest Post
May 29 - The Avid Reader - Interview
May 30 - The Mystery Section - Excerpt
May 31 - Texas Book Nook - Review
June 1 - RABT Reviews - Wrap Up




RABT Book Tours & PR

PROMO Blitz: Return of the Convict by William Alan Thomas #scifi #excerpt


Science Fiction
Date Published:  February 2016

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It's 2143. In the aftermath of wars, plagues and environmental breakdown, there's growing hope. Thanks to extensive brain implants, space cadet Dom enjoys a perfect memory. He and girlfriend Astra practice telepathy and attain new heights.

Lucas, Dom's benefactor and parent clone, is a diseased convict now returned from Martian exile. Dom's brain implants offer Lucas the chance for a life-saving mind merger, and he intends to make that happen.



Praise for Return of the Convict:

"a crackling, well-told story...exciting, thought-provoking."--Kirkus Reviews (starred review)

"The novel is in turn thrilling and thought-provoking, and has the makings of a powerful sci-fi franchise."--Foreword Reviews (Clarion Review, 5 stars)

"captivating, relentlessly paced...this novel should more than satisfy anyone who enjoys cerebral sci-fi."--Blueink Review (starred review)



Excerpt

Dec. 16, 2143



There were forty-five of us transports crammed into the space bus, and even though everyone was sedated, the two and a half day trip was arduous.

              After we docked there was a slight shaking. Our capsule shot backward, and stopped. With a hissing of air, the door slid open. “Welcome to Mir,” a man’s voice said. “Everybody out.”

              The artificial gravity here was less than the moon’s; I got up without much difficulty. Two uniformed guards checked us off as we came out. “You’re Dominic Tessier,” one said crisply, when she touched my ID tag with a scanner.

                My legs uncertain, I stepped onto a moving sidewalk that took us through a tunnel. In a few minutes the passageway curved, and the main terminus area of the space station came into view. I held tight to the railing and stared. The people here arrived and departed from all over the solar system: personnel from the space ships, businessmen, and new-world workers. Some, while roughly dressed, had a special swagger. I thought they might be prospectors. Then a group of T-men walked through in unisex suits and skull caps. Although silent, their expressions and gestures showed communication. Thanks to their brain implants, they were telepathic.

                Only a few months earlier, I’d been a student at the Space Training Academy. My brain was being transformed through implants, and I looked forward myself, to a career in space as a T-man administrator. An awful injustice had been done to me, and my dreams were trashed. Yet I felt no regret, resentment, or any emotion at all. A silver bracelet around my wrist created a chemically-induced docility, more powerful than chains.

                Our guards took us along a walkway above a large, brightly lit loading dock. Through the side-mesh I could see the Stellar Blossom. The ship’s blue hull seemed to stretch on forever; it dwarfed the men gathered to service her.

                Ahead was a short, balding man I remembered from my time in jail. “Phil,” I called, catching up to him.

                He turned to me without surprise. “Hello, Dom,” he said in the slow speech of the bracelet wearers. He pointed up the dock to a line of people entering the ship under a bright yellow canopy. “Did you notice? Some are women.”

                “Passengers,” I said. “A different world.”


About the Author


A University of Chicago graduate in English, William Alan Thomas has been a civil servant, fisherman, and first aid attendant, among many other things. He's written most of his life, and today his two main series, thriller and sci-fi, are well underway.





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Friday, May 18, 2018

PROMO Blitz: The Goddess's Choice by Jamie Marchant @JamieMarchantSF #fantasy #excerpt



Book One of The Kronicles of Korthlundia
Epic Fantasy
Date Published: April 2017
Publisher: Bewitching Fables Press

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In a world where the corrupt church hides the truth about magic, the fate of the joined kingdom falls on the shoulders of two young people from opposite ends of the social hierarchy.

Crown Princess Samantha’s life begins to fall apart when she starts seeing strange colors around her potential suitors. She fears that she’s going insane--or worse that she’s defying the Goddess’s will. Robrek is a lowly farm boy with incredible magical powers. He has been biding his time waiting to get revenge on those who call him a demon.

Thrown together by chance, they must overcome their differences to fight their common enemy Duke Argblutal, who, with dark magic, is slowly poisoning the king’s mind and turning him against his own daughter. Time is running out for those chosen by the Goddess to prevent the power mad duke from usurping the throne and plunging the joined kingdoms into civil war.



Other Books in The Kronicles of Korthlundia Series:





The Kronicles of Korthlundia: Book II
Publisher: Bewitching Fables Press

A match made by the goddess is threatened by an Ancient Evil.

As Samantha and Robrek prepare for their marriage and coronation, they are met with opposition on all sides. Not all believe that the peasant sorcerer is worthy to be king, and the young couple must perform delicate political maneuvers to prevent the joined kingdoms from breaking apart.

As the church splits over opposition to their union, an unseen force is poised to release an ancient evil that was last defeated a thousand years ago. When the Soul Stone is broken free of its bonds, all life in its path succumbs to its power. How much will the new royal couple have to sacrifice to free the joined kingdoms of its evil?






The Kronicles of Korthlundia, Book 3
Publisher: Bewitching Fables Press

The Ghost is going to hell. Not even the goddess can forgive his sins: assassin, oath-breaker, traitor (an affair with the queen earned him that title). No one can ever learn the princess is his daughter. To keep this secret, he flees to the land that turned him from a simple stable groom into an infamous killer.

His mission now? To find evildoers and take them to hell with him. But when an impulsive act of heroism saddles him with a damsel who refuses to be distressed, her resilience forces him to questions why he really ran from his daughter.




Excerpt



Chapter 2



The Princess Samantha sat at her dressing table and glowered at her reflection as her maids dressed her hair. She detested balls and loathed the hundreds of suitors who flocked around her: “I have never seen a lovelier flower, Your Highness!” or “Your eyes rival the brilliance of the stars, Your Highness!” If I hear that one again, I’ll vomit. It wouldn’t be quite so bad if even one of them meant it. Sometimes she wished . . . She pushed the thought away. As the heir to the throne, she couldn’t expect romance. 

“Let us be painting your face tonight, Your Highness!” Ardra begged. Samantha’s maid was as small and slight as the princess herself and had hair so blonde it was almost white. The princess smiled at the quaintness of her speech. Although both Ardra and Malvina had been in Murtaghan for over ten years, they still hadn’t lost the peculiarities of their western Lundian accents.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Malvina chimed in. “Lady Shela’s maids said just yesterday we couldn’t possibly be knowing our business ’cause you never be wearing paint.” Malvina, more of a typical Korthlundian woman, was tall and broad and not nearly as pretty as Ardra.

“Lady Shela,” Samantha snorted in disgust. Shela wore so much paint she resembled some ghastly sea creature. Samantha knew she wasn’t pretty, but she was fond of the freckles that speckled her nose and thought the emerald green brilliance of her gown set off her white skin and auburn hair beautifully. Besides being appallingly uncomfortable, paint would absolutely spoil the effect. The princess gestured toward the huge portrait that covered one wall of her bedchamber. “Do you think Danu wore paint?”

Malvina shrugged. “The Princess Danu was said to be a powerful sorceress, Your Highness. She probably didn’t need to wear paint to attract men.”

Samantha laughed bitterly, as she thought of the army of men waiting below. “I wish not wearing paint was all it took to scare them off. They say Danu never married, and see how happy she is.”

Samantha yearned for Danu’s freedom. The long-dead princess was laughing as she galloped across the fields with her auburn hair flying out behind her in the wind. The stars on the forehead and chest of her horse shone against its gorgeous coat. Samantha loved this painting, which was just as well because it was bolted to the wall and couldn’t be removed without tearing her chambers apart. She’d decorated the rest of her bedroom to match. Tapestries of horses covered the walls. Her dressing table, armoire, and large four-poster bed had horses carved into the woodwork. A quilt, embroidered with horses and stars, was spread over the bed. The mantle over her fireplace sported figurines of horses in gold, silver, jade, crystal, and precious stones. Every new ambassador added to her collection.

 “Your Highness, you’ll be having to marry one of them eventually,” Ardra persisted. “The king won’t be letting you hold out forever. You are seventeen, after all. Your mother was only thirteen when she married the king.”

“You needn’t remind me, Ardra.” Samantha picked up her silver-backed brush from the dressing table, a gift from the Neasarian ambassador that was inlaid with an amber Horsetad; diamonds marked the stars at its forehead and chest. She fingered it lovingly. “Do you think it’s true Danu rode a Horsetad?”

“So the bards sing of her,” Ardra said.

Malvina made an impatient noise in her throat. “And they also be singing she turned suitors into toads with her kiss! You don’t really believe such nonsense, do you, Your Highness? Nobody can tame a Horsetad.”

“No, I suppose not,” the princess sighed wistfully, then smiled at the toads that hopped around the feet of Danu’s horse. How I wish my kiss could do that!

Finally, her maids were finished weaving the jewels through her hair and had attached the simple gold circlet of the heir. Samantha tried to take a deep breath, but was prevented by the tightness of her corset. “That’s it. This is the last time I wear a corset. Have my dresses altered to fit without one. And don’t lecture me about fashion. I’d rather be able to breathe.”

Before her maids could protest that without a corset she was almost as flat as a boy, she left the room. She passed through her reception room, which was decorated in a similar style to her bedroom and contained more ambassadorial gifts. Pausing in front of her favorite tapestry—a white mare at the edge of the forest, helping her newborn foal stand, she wished she were heading for the stables instead of the ballroom. She forced her face into a court smile and left her chambers.

Her two bodyguards bowed and fell in behind her. The princess couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t been followed by two heavily armed men. She’d grown so used to them she often forgot they were there.





A full crowd tonight, of course. While the possibility of wearing a crown still exists, not even a deadly plague would keep the hordes away.

Behind the dais at the top of the ballroom was the king’s standard—a brilliant yellow sun on a field of red. Next to it was a smaller standard in her own colors—the head of a white horse on a field of emerald green. The walls were lined with the standards of all the noble houses of Korthlundia; most sported images of ferocious beasts or weapons of war. If I’m supposed to be maintaining the peace, why do I have to dance in a room that celebrates war? Her father claimed they couldn’t redecorate the ballroom without the risk of offending one or more of the Korthlundian noble houses. But Samantha doubted she’d like balls any better no matter how the room was decorated.

As she moved through the crowd, the courtiers parted and bowed. All the men attempted to catch her eye, and the smiles of the women failed to mask their jealousy.

As she mounted the dais where her father and members of the royal council awaited, King Solar beamed at her. His long white hair and beard flowed around his head, giving him the appearance of the wise old man from the bards’ tales. She bowed to him, and he quickly extended his hand, raised her, and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Despite his insistence that she marry, her father did love her. The princess knew she should consider herself lucky. Most royal children had no choice in a spouse, but her father had left her free to choose among the men of appropriate rank. But as she looked over the sea of hungry male eyes, the thought of marrying any of them nauseated her. If only marrying them didn’t mean I had to bed them.

Beside the king, Uncle Caedmon smiled at her. Caedmon, Duke of Tuath and Boirche, was her mother’s uncle and had been her father’s chancellor since she was two years old. He had very bushy eyebrows that gave the impression he was always looking down on people. But he was one of the few members of her father’s council she liked, and he was the only one who exhibited no designs on the throne. His only son had married before she was born.

Immediately after the king announced the opening of the ball, Argblutal, the Duke of Handgriff, stepped forward to claim the first dance. No one else ever dared ask her until the duke had had his turn. Like every Korthlundian man, Argblutal was tall, broad-shouldered, and blue-eyed. Many of the girls found him handsome, but she wasn’t sure why. He was nearly twice her age. He was dressed in a surcoat of black leather with long black velvet sleeves, trimmed in gold and crimson braiding. He had several thick gold chains around his neck. From the largest of these hung a pendant of a panther, the symbol of his house. In defiance of court fashion, he wore his blond beard and hair cropped short. He and Duke Sheen were her closest living relatives on her father’s side, not that they were very close—third cousins or something. Both had thought to inherit the throne until her birth gave Solar a direct heir.

Argblutal bowed. “May I have the first dance, Your Highness?”

“I’d be honored, Your Grace.” Father would throw a fit if I refused. She smiled her fakest smile and accepted his hand.

As the dance began, the duke bowed low over her hand, sliming it with a kiss. “Your Highness, you are the brightest star in a shining crowd tonight.” It’s only the first dance, and I get the star thing already. Is there some book they all read? Fifty-two Compliments for Ladies. The duke danced stiffly, as if he disapproved of frivolity. “Your dress, it’s Saloynan silk, is it not, Your Highness?”

“No, it’s Neasarian. I find the weave so much finer. Don’t you?” The silk did feel delightful against her skin, but she found talk of fashion and fabric tedious. She’d never understood the other girls’ obsession with it, just as she never understood why they giggled so much. 

“So I have heard, Your Highness, but it’s very difficult to come by. The Neasarians are more interested in trading spices than silk.”

This was true, but equally boring, so she smiled and made some inane comment. When the dance finally ended, Argblutal slimed her hand again. “Perhaps we can share another dance before the evening’s end, Your Highness.” Surreptitiously wiping her hand on her gown, Samantha merely smiled. Only if all seven of the hells freeze over.

The next suitor in line was Lord Devyn, Duke Sheen’s oldest son. Devyn was only a couple of years older than the princess, but he looked younger. His chin was covered with only the lightest and most delicate of fuzz. The princess thought he’d look better if he shaved. But, of course, he couldn’t do that; only the clergy shaved. “May I . . . may I have this dance, Y-y-your Highness?”

As the dance began, Lord Devyn turned a dozen shades of red. “Y-y-your Highness looks just like a-a-a flower tonight.” It was obvious he didn’t want to dance any more than she did, but Duke Sheen was bent on controlling Korthlundia through his son. She’d heard the duke had threatened Devyn with the lash to force him to court her. Devyn was only comfortable among his paints and canvases. Besides, he was in love with Count Morfran’s daughter, Lady Aislinn. She wished just once some man would look at her the way she’d seen Devyn look at Aislinn.

Samantha noticed blue under his fingernails. “And how is your latest creation coming? Working in blues, I see.”

Devyn gaped. “I’m doing a seascape, Your Highness, but how could you know?” When she glanced at his fingers, he curled his fingernails into his fists. “Your Highness, how could I have been so neglectful? My father will kill me.” Devyn was a nice boy, but she wished his father would leave him to his art and his lover.

After Devyn, the princess worked her way through her father’s council—Count Kayne, Duke Torin, Count Weylin, Baron Arawn’s son, Baron Teague, and a host of other nobles of varying degrees of importance. Nola, Count of Meillid, looked on wistfully. The count was nearly as round as he was tall, and it was rumored he’d do away with his wife if he thought he stood a chance of capturing the princess’s hand. He had a five-year-old son, and Samantha thought it a wonder Nola didn’t send the toddler to court her.

After the majority of the king’s council had had their turn, ambassadors and foreign envoys began to present themselves. She knew each one was eager to negotiate the most important treaty between their two countries—one that would give them power over the Korthlundian throne. The princess enjoyed the variety of their appearance, but at heart, they seemed little different than the Korthlundian nobles. The vast majority were nearly twice her age, and the talk of stars and flowers sounded little different in a Mintarian accent than in a Korthlundian one. However, the princess smiled when Phomello, the son of the Neasarian ambassador, took her hand. As with all Neasarians, everything from his hair to his skin to his eyes was a deep rich ebony. It was he who’d given her the silver brush and the silk for her gown, and she’d seen him several times in the stables. He seemed to share her love of horses, but the best thing about him was that he could barely speak Korthlundian, so he couldn’t bombard her with mindless chatter.

* * *

The king went to bed at midnight, but Samantha was forced to stay and dance with suitor after suitor.

“Might I dance with the stars of heaven tonight?” Count Pandaran, the only member of her father’s council with whom she hadn’t yet danced, asked. He always danced with her late in the balls; maybe he felt he was saving the best for last. He wore a surcoat of bright turquoise, edged with yards and yards of delicate lace. His hair and beard hung in long, blond ringlets. When the princess took his hand, she cringed at the smoothness of his palms. The damned fool doesn’t even know how to wield a sword. The hands of most of the men at court were like hers—rough and calloused from weapons training. Knowing she would rule after him, her father had always treated her more like a son than a daughter. Despite what other members of the court might think of it, he had insisted she receive weapons training since she was strong enough to hold a sword.

As they whirled around the ballroom floor, a soft glow of rotten orange erupted around Pandaran. A steaming heat seeped from the orange and poured over her, coating her body with a slime so thick a dozen baths wouldn’t cleanse her. The princess nearly cried out in despair. Not the colors again! I thought I’d gotten rid of them! It had been several months since she’d spent all night kneeling at the altar in the palace chapel, praying for the goddess’s help. She’d felt the goddess’s peace and thought the terrifying colors gone forever. But again she’d been wrong. When she’d first seen the colors, she’d gone in disguise to the Temple of the Mother’s Love. It was the only time she’d ever given her bodyguards the slip. She’d told a priest about the colors. He’d insisted she was under the influences of the denizens of darkness and that her soul was in great peril and performed an exorcism. It hadn’t worked. Nothing had. Maybe it’s not demons; maybe I’m insane.

The princess was so upset after her dance that she fled the room without giving an explanation. She ignored the questions from her bodyguards and her maids, but she was shaking by the time Ardra and Malvina had finished undressing her and taking down her hair. When she was finally alone, she curled up into a ball on her bed. The colors had to mean something, but after the exorcism had failed, she’d never dared tell anyone else about them. Tonight she again prayed to the goddess for help. At last, she fell into a troubled sleep, her dreams full of people who glowed as brightly as the jeweled horses on her mantelpiece.


About the Author


Jamie Marchant began writing stories about the man from Mars when she was six, and she never remembers wanting to be anything other than a writer. Everyone told her she needed a backup plan, so she pursued a Ph.D. in American literature, which she received in 1998. She started teaching writing and literature at Auburn University. One day in the midst of writing a piece of literary criticism, she realized she’d put her true passion on the backburner and neglected her muse. The literary article went in the trash, and she began the book that was to become The Goddess’s Choice, which was published in April 2012. She claims she writes about the fantastic . . . and the tortured soul. Her poor characters have hard lives. She lives in Auburn, Alabama, with her husband and four cats, which (or so she’s been told) officially makes her a cat lady. She still teaches writing and literature at Auburn University. She is the mother of a grown son.


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Thursday, May 17, 2018

PROMO Blitz: The Sterling University Series by Rebecca Heflin @RebeccaHeflin #romance #excerpt



Romance
Date Published: November 2017

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Three novellas. Three love stories. It isn't all academic when it comes to love.



Romancing Dr. Love, Book One

She says it’s all about the chemistry. He says it’s all about the romance. Samantha Love has based her entire academic career on the hypothesis that love is simply a chemical reaction. Ethan Quinn thinks she’s taken love and all its mysteries and reduced it to something as romantic as a cholesterol test, and he sets out to prove her theory wrong. Is it chemistry or romance? Or a little of both?



Winning Dr. Wentworth, Book Two

She’s benched her heart. His is on injured reserve. Burned-out and broken-hearted math professor Shelby Wentworth returns to her hometown determined to escape the disgrace of a nasty divorce, shake off the taint of her ruined career, and start over, sans romance, but an unexpected reunion with Nash Taylor, former star quarterback and high school crush, promises to derail her plans. Will Shelby let the past dictate the future, or will Nash win her heart?



Educating Dr. Mayfield, Book Three

He has plenty to learn about love. She’s just the woman who can teach him. Creative writing professor Delaney Driscoll finds her plan to establish a new degree program blocked when Devon Mayfield, the uptight new college dean opposes her request. While she educates him on the benefits of the curriculum, can she make him forget the pain of his past and teach him that love is more than a just four-letter word?

 

Excerpt

Green was not her best color.

Seated at a table in Sterling’s one and only pub, Delaney Driscoll stared glumly across the table at her two best friends as they chattered about their upcoming weddings like two teenagers hopped-up on one-too-many energy drinks.

McGinty’s Pub often played host to life’s happiest and saddest events. It was where birthdays were toasted, engagements were announced, Sterling Bobcats wins were celebrated, and lives were remembered. It was only fitting that weddings should be planned there too.

Taking a swipe at the salt rimming her margarita, she stuck her finger in her mouth with a pout. She really needed to get over herself. Of course, she was ecstatic that her two best friends had found the loves of their lives. But, come on. Was it too much to ask that she find hers too?

“So, what do you think? Delaney? Earth to Delaney!” Sam snapped her fingers in front of her friend’s face.

“Where were you?” Shelby asked, with a quizzical look.

“Oh. Sorry.” She sighed then stuffed a fried pickle in her mouth.

Sam and Shelby exchanged glances.

“No, we’re sorry. All this talk about our weddings must be boring you to tears,” Sam said, a soft, understanding smile on her could’ve-been-a-model face.

Dr. Samantha Love, a psychology professor in the same college as Shelby and Delaney, had hit the news last year with a discovery the press called ‘the love test’—a blood test that determined a couple’s compatibility. One of the largest online dating services in the U.S. now offered the test as part of their premium package. And said ‘love test’ had found Sam’s match in one Ethan Quinn, hunky literature professor and dean of their college. Now their wedding was just two months away—in April.

A whiz kid at statistics, Dr. Shelby Wentworth was a mathematics professor, first at Stanford, and then for a short stint at Sterling, before she became the Director of Sports Analytics for Sterling’s athletics department. She and Sterling’s head football coach, Nash Taylor, got engaged—on the football field, no less—after Sterling won its first NCAA Division I Football Bowl Subdivision Championship, thanks in part to Shelby’s mad number-crunching skills. It was one of the most romantic proposals she and probably a million football fans had ever seen, thanks to an eagle-eyed cameraman who captured the moment, much to Nash and Shelby’s chagrin.

Their wedding was coming up in June.

To make matters worse in the single department, Shelby, who had been Delaney’s neighbor, moved out to Nash’s farmhouse.



About the Author


Rebecca Heflin is an award-winning author who has dreamed of writing romantic fiction since she was fifteen and her older sister snuck a copy of Kathleen Woodiwiss' Shanna to her and told her to read it. Rebecca writes women's fiction and contemporary romance. When not passionately pursuing her dream, Rebecca is busy with her day-job at a large state university.

Rebecca is a member of Romance Writers of America (RWA), Florida Romance Writers, RWA Contemporary Romance, and Florida Writers Association. She and her mountain-climbing husband live at sea level in sunny Florida.

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Wednesday, May 16, 2018

Tour Kick Off: Flames of Florence by @DonnaRussoMorin #historical #thriller #giveaway




Historical Thriller
Date Published: May 8, 2018
Publisher: Diversion Books

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"A glittering Renaissance gem of a novel. Donna Russo Morin, a master of her craft, has penned an intricate story full of lush historical detail with a plot that will leave you breathless." —Tasha Alexander, New York Times bestselling author of Death in St. Petersburg

In her final standalone novel featuring Da Vinci's Disciples, Donna Russo Morin delivers a thrilling story of the secret female artists of Florence, under the tutelage of Leonardo Da Vinci, and their heroic, potentially deadly efforts to save great works of art from the infamous Bonfire of the Vanities.

"Illicit plots, mysterious paintings, and Leonardo da Vinci all have their part to play in this delicious, heart-pounding work." —Kate Quinn, New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of The Alice Network

Lorenzo de Medici is dead, and his son Piero has brought war and famine upon the city of Florence. Yet, the glory that is Renaissance artistry grows more magnificent, as does the work of the women known as Da Vinci's Disciples. Now they face their most dangerous challenge, one shrouded in the cloak of a monk.

From the ashes of war, Friar Girolamo Savonarola rises. Some call him a savior and a prophet, a man willing to overthrow tyrannical rulers and corrupt clergy, the Borgia Pope among them. Fra Girolamo is determined to remold Florence from an avaricious, secular culture to a paragon of Christian virtues.

Many call Savonarola a delusional heretic, incapable of anything but self-serving fanaticism. When he sets out to destroy all secular art forms, Da Vinci's Disciples call him an enemy … but not all of them.

"Like a glorious Italian fresco-richly textured and vividly portrayed … Highly recommended for lovers of history, art, and courageous women." —Anna Lee Huber, bestselling author of the Lady Darby Mysteries

"Donna Russo Morin renders one of the most tumultuous periods in Florence's history in bright colors and with vivid descriptions. This tale of a group of determined women standing up for what they believe in … will absolutely resonate with modern readers." —Alyssa Palombo, author of The Most Beautiful Woman in Florence





Donna Russo Morin’s passion for the written word began when she was a child, took on a feminist edge as she grew through the sixties, and blossomed into a distinctive style of action-filled historical fiction at a defining moment in her life. As a second-generation American of full Italian descent, Donna combined her historical research with her genealogical studies, finding that her birth name (Russo) and her family roots are traceable to ninth century Florence…the very city in which the Da Vinci’s Disciples trilogy is set.

Donna Russo (Morin) is the internationally published author of six multi-award-winning historical novels including PORTRAIT OF A CONSPIRACY: Da Vinci’s Disciples Book One (a finalist in Foreword Reviews BEST BOOK OF THE YEAR), and THE COMPETITION: Da Vinci’s Disciples Book Two (EDITOR’S CHOICE, Historical Novel Society Review). The final book in her Da Vinci’s Disciples trilogy, THE FLAMES OF FLORENCE, releases May 8, 2018. Also this summer, my novel, inspired by our own home state, GILDED SUMMERS: A Novel of Newport’s Gilded Age will also release this summer. Her other titles include The King’s Agent, recipient of a starred review in Publishers Weekly, The Courtier’s Secret, The Secret of the Glass, and To Serve a King.

A 25-year professional editor/story consultant, her work spans more than 40 manuscripts.  She holds a BA in Communications and an A.A. in English Literature.  Donna teaches writing courses at her state’s most prestigious adult learning center, online for Writer’s Digest University, and has presented at national and academic conferences for over ten years.  In addition to her writing, Donna has worked as a model and an actor with appearances in Showtime’s Brotherhood and Martin Scorsese’s The Departed. Currently under contract to a consortium of international producers, Donna has added screenwriting to her professional acumen.

Her sons—Devon, an opera singer; and Dylan, a chef—are still, and always will be, her greatest works.



Contact Links

Twitter: @DonnaRussoMorin
Instagram @donnarm.telleroftales



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