Waves of Fiction is thrilled to be participating in the blog tour for this fantastic book and series, including the final teaser from Thou Shalt Not by JJ Rossum!
The PLN’s (Passionate Little Nutcases) have organized a Fan Chat on Facebook with Tarryn on November 10thfrom 9-10pm EST. There will be some contests/games/giveaways too!
Thief by Tarryn Fisher
Published July 21, 2013
Purchase: Amazon / B&N / Smashwords
About the book:Note to Self
Love is patient; love is kind.Love doesn't boast or brag.There's no arrogance in love;it's never rude, crude, or indecent-it's not self absorbed.Love isn't easily upset.Love doesn't tally wrongs.Love trusts, hopes, and endures no matter what.Love will never become obsolete.I'll fight for her.
Thief
Caleb Drake never got over his first love. Not when he got married. Not when she got married. When life suddenly comes full circle Caleb must decide how how far he is willing to go to get the aloof and alluring Olivia Kaspen back. But for every action in life there is a consequence, and soon Caleb finds out that sometimes love comes at an unbearably high price.
My Thoughts:
I don't know if there are enough words to express the range of emotions this series made me feel. What a total mind f***. There are serious issues between the main characters of this series, but I loved every angsty drama-filled minute!
Caleb Drake - he was the prize that kept me coming back for more. Despite the issues he had, I couldn't help but love the man and just want him to be happy! The heartache throughout this book was just gut-wrenching at times. But like I said, it was worth every second.
A fast-paced, twisted series you won't be able to put down - I was SO glad I FINALLY read them. Thank you to all of my GR friends who encouraged me it was worth it. I will not soon forget this series or the characters that left such an imprint on my heart.
5 Suns
Purchase:
Opportunist Amazon / B&N / Smashwords
Dirty Red Amazon / B&N / Smashwords
About the Author:
I am a real
life villain, truly. I drink sick amounts of Starbucks. Most of the time my
hair smells like coffee. I was born in South Africa, and lived there for most
of my childhood. I moved to Seattle just for the rain. Rome is my favorite
place in the world so far, Paris comes in at a close second. I read and write
more than I sleep. When I was eleven, I wrote an entire novel about runaway
orphans, using only purple ink. I am addicted to Florence and the Machine and
will travel to see concerts. I love scary movies and giraffes. I spend way too
much time on Facebook. Meet you there?…
And we're also excited to be the final blog spot & teaser for JJ Rossum's Thou Shalt Not.
The morning flew by,
thanks to movies and a texting partner that was as into the conversation as I
was. My classes were all occupied watching videos, but I had no idea what she
was doing over there that allowed her to be on her phone the whole time. I hoped
she wasn’t interrupting class every two minutes to text me. I could just hear
it now, kids wandering the hallways and lunchroom saying “Mrs. Batista and Mr.
Harper texted alllll morning!” Then the glances would come from other teachers,
then someone would inform the principal, and then pretty soon we would be
called in for meetings and threatened with punishment if we continued this
little texting game. I could try to convince them it was harmless. “It was an
author game!”— I would say — but they would kick me out, fire me. I’d end up
homeless, living out of my roller skate, begging Holly to take me in along with
her delinquent alcoholic of a brother. She would say family comes first, and
I’d be stuck in my car until Marco eventually found me and shot me in the head.
Or had one of his Cuban cronies do it for him. At my funeral, they would all be
muttering “Supposedly it was just an ‘author game’... if you can believe that!”
I’d be dead, and it would all be James Joyce’s fault.
Yeah, so maybe my
mind can turn everything into the worst-case scenario. My mother was a worrier.
But, these thoughts
of being murdered in my house-car stop us from talking. We continued the game,
back and forth with authors we had read: London, Hughes, Achebe, Stein,
Chesterton, Dostoevsky, Browning, Longfellow. On and on we went, and she seemed
to have a story behind every author she was familiar with, every story she had
read. I hadn’t met anyone who shared my love of literature to quite the extent
that she seemed to.
As the lunch bell
chimed and my class dismissed, she was immediately at my door waiting for me.
“You are a
persistent man,” she said, smiling. She was doing bad things to my mind. I was
contemplating a throw down on the death couch with her, but if I was worried
about texting getting me fired and killed, having sex with her in my classroom
would probably achieve that end much more quickly.
“Can you blame me
for trying?” I asked, getting up from my desk to meet her at the door.
“No,” she replied,
“I’m just not used to someone so competitive.”
“Please,” I said as
we began walking down the hall, “You are married to a professional athlete. I
am fairly certain he’s competitive.”
“That’s different,”
she said.
“So, you need to
read James Joyce,” she added, clearly wanting nothing to do with the fact that
I brought her husband into the conversation.
“Okay. I will.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, tell me what
to read and I will.”
“Okay. Well, you
have to read Dubliners then. Short stories, mostly depressing.”
“Sounds like my kind
of pleasure reading.”
“Oh shut up. You’ll
love them. He’s my favorite author.”
“That’s a pretty
bold statement coming from someone who has read so many different books.”
“I can be a fairly
bold person.”
“I can see that,” I
said, wondering why certain things she said gave me goose bumps — the good
kind.
“So you promise
you’ll read it?” she asked as we neared the lunchroom. The sound of the students
waiting in line was almost as offensive as the smell of fried food wafting
through the halls.
“I do. I’ll just
have to hit up my local public library and find it. It’s probably covered in
dust.”
She jabbed me with
her elbow.
“I have two copies
at the house. Come by after work sometime tonight and I’ll let you borrow one.”
“Are you sure your
husband won’t mind if I stopped by?”
“He won’t be home.”
And with that, she smiled and walked into the lunchroom.
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