Dziś zapraszam Was na premierę najnowszej książki z serii The modern fairytales - "Fragents of Ash", czyli retellingu Kopciuszka. Więcej informacji o książce: View this email in your browser Thank you all for signing up for the Release Blitz for Fragments of Ash by Katy Regnery. The blitz is scheduled for Monday, October 1 so please ensure you post between 8am – 8pm EST on this date. We have provided HTML but if you would like to prepare your own post, the following information is included in this email: Banner Cover Blurb Purchase Links Teasers Excerpt Author Photo Author Bio Author Links Can you please submit the link to your post, and review if applicable, on this form so we can easily access them. If posting on Twitter can you please tag @givemebooksblog and @KatyRegnery so we can retweet also. If you signed up for an ARC, please ensure your review is included with your post & put your review up on Goodreads and Amazon, it would be much appreciated. If you are unable to post for any reason, please let us know as soon as possible. PLEASE NOTE: If signing up for any of our events, please join the Facebook group Give Me Books Event Bloggers. Thanks so much for being part of the Release Blitz. Give Me Books All materials for this event have also been added to a Google Drive Folder for your convenience. Access the Google Drive Folder OR save graphics from Album in our Blogger Group Enter the link to your blog post here Join our event blogger group on Facebook RELEASE BLITZ Title: Fragments of Ash (Inspired by “Cinderella”) Collection: A Modern Fairytale Author: Katy Regnery Genre: Standalone Contemporary Romance Release Date: October 1, 2018 BLURB From New York Times bestselling author Katy Regnery comes a dark and twisted retelling of the beloved fairytale, Cinderella! My name is Ashley Ellis… I was thirteen years old when my mother – retired supermodel, Tig – married Mosier Răumann, who was twice her age and the head of the Răumann crime family. When I turned eighteen, my mother mysteriously died. Only then did I discover the dark plans my stepfather had in store for me all along; the debauched “work” he expected me to do. With the help of my godfather, Gus, I have escaped from Mosier’s clutches, but his twin sons and henchmen have been tasked with hunting me down. And they will stop at nothing to return my virgin body to their father …dead or alive. ** Contemporary Romance. Due to profanity and very strong sexual content, this book is not intended for readers under the age of 18.** ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ Fragments of Ash is part of the ~a modern fairytale~ collection: contemporary, standalone romances inspired by beloved fairy tales. The Vixen and the Vet (Beauty & the Beast) - available now Never Let You Go (Hansel & Gretel) - available now Ginger's Heart (Little Red Riding Hood) - available now Dark Sexy Knight (Camelot) - available now Don't Speak (The Little Mermaid) - available now Sheer Heaven (Rapunzel) - available now Fragments of Ash (Cinderella) – available now Swan Song (The Ugly Duckling) – coming soon GOODREADS LINK: Visit the Fragments of Ash Website: PURCHASE LINKS US: UK: CA: AU: B&N: Kobo: iBooks: EXCERPTS All rights reserved. Used with permission. #1 When my mother and I first moved in with the Răumanns five years ago, it was summertime, and I was only thirteen, but Mosier forbade me to wear anything more revealing than a T-shirt and a floor-length skirt or loose-fitting pants, no matter how warm the weather. No shorts. No short skirts. No sundresses. And further, the T-shirt couldn’t have a V or scoop neck. It had to cover me completely to the base of my neck. Having lived most of my childhood in LA, where I spent my entire summer running around in bathing suits, shorts, and tank tops, it was a difficult adjustment, but my mother insisted on my compliance, telling me that Mosier valued modesty and only wanted the best for me. At one point, toward the end of that summer, Damon and Anders, who were sixteen at the time, were swimming in the pool on an especially hot day while my mother and stepfather attended an event in New York City. Even though Tig had warned me to stay in my room while she was gone, I got bored and lonely, and eventually found myself on the pool deck outside, looking for company. “Anders,” said Damon, who paused in the middle of a game of water volleyball, “look who it is: Ashley.” Anders flicked a glance at me. “You should go back inside.” “Why?” I asked. But Anders ignored me, gesturing for the ball. “Throw it back.” “No, no, no, bro,” said Damon. “Our new sister’s finally come out of her room. We should be social. Welcoming.” He looked me up and down in my shapeless, baggy pants and high-necked blouse. “Bet you’re pretty cute under that outfit, huh? Tan all over from the California sun?” Damon and Anders were identical twins, both dark-haired and dark-eyed, but Damon’s eyes were flirtatious and playful, while Anders kept his gaze carefully averted from me. “Tată nu-i va place,” said Anders to his brother, a warning in his voice. “El nu este aici. Taci!” said Damon, waving his brother’s words away and still staring at me. “Hot day. Why don’t you come in? Join us!” I grinned at him, shrugging my shoulders. “No bathing suit.” “Dă-mi pace,” said Damon, clapping his hand over his heart as he winked at me. “You got underwear on under those clothes?” “Maybe,” I said, winking back at him. I’d unbuttoned my pants slowly, doing a little striptease for my stepbrothers before pulling my blouse over my head and throwing it on the pool deck. Clad in only white cotton panties and a matching bra, I’d executed a perfect dive into the deep end, joining Damon’s team for water volleyball, despite Anders’ disapproval. An hour later, my mother and Mosier returned to find me on Damon’s shoulders, serving the ball to Anders. “What the fuck is happening here?” Vhat d’ fuck ees happening here? Damon gasped, scrambling to push me off his shoulders, so I fell backward into the pool. By the time I gurgled to the surface, my stepbrothers were pulling themselves out of the water, standing side by side on the pool deck before their father. “Dracu’ să vă ia!” Mosier thundered. “There is only one rule! She will be pure!” Standing by myself in the pool, my eyes widened with shock as his fist shot forth, breaking Damon’s nose with a loud crunch before blackening Anders’s eye with a quick jab that sent his head reeling. “Du-vă în pula mea!” Mosier roared. “Get out of my sight!” #2 My eyes skitter to the barn, where I can hear voices raised in increasing anger. Suddenly a man comes stalking out of the door, wearing a T-shirt, jeans, and black leather gloves that cover his forearms. He takes them off and tucks them under his arm as he approaches me. “Are you kidding me, Jock?” he asks over his shoulder, practically spitting the words. “Goddamnit.” Jock calls to the man from the barn door, and that’s when I see a reddish-brown hound escape from behind Jock, rushing across the driveway toward me. A dog! I feel my face split into a grin. I love dogs. With the exception of Mosier’s attack animals, I have always loved dogs, but Tig never let me have one. There’s a dog here? Oh, God, please let this work out. Please let me rest here a while. I squat down, holding out my hand to the animal as he approaches. He sniffs my hands before letting me pet him behind pendulous, curtainlike, velvet-soft ears. “Hello, baby. You’re so beautiful, you sweet, sweet girl.” “He’s male,” spits a voice over my head. I look up, rising slowly, unable to look away from the man yelling at me. Eyes. Bright green and heavily lashed, they widen in surprise, staring into mine for a long and life-changing moment before they narrow with anger, sliding away from me and back to Jock. I don’t hear anything as his voice lowers to a point of fury, likely telling Jock all the reasons I am unwanted here. Usually it would sting a little to watch someone reject me summarily on first meeting, but I am so mesmerized by his face, by his body, by his rugged and innate beauty, I can barely breathe, let alone force my ears to function in any sort of meaningful way. He is tall. Taller than me, six two or six three, with a clearly defined, muscled body under a gray T-shirt and beat-up jeans slung low on his hips. He wears boots that, in the sunlight, appear to be flecked with a million pieces of diamond dust—they twinkle every time he moves them. With his hands on his hips, the cords of sinew in his forearms pop just enough to create a map of trails that lead to his wrists and hands. The backs of his hands, like his boots, are dusted with diamonds, and when he raises one to reinforce one of the many reasons I absolutely may not stay here, it catches the sunlight and sparkles. As I stare at his hand, I realize it’s quiet—really quiet—and the silence startles me back to reality. I look at Gus, who darts a quick and disappointed glance at Julian. “Happy now?” I slide my eyes—slowly, bracing myself for impact all the while—to Julian, watching him flinch, his jaw tight and his pink lips pursed as he regards me. “I’m not trying to offend you,” he huffs. “I’m . . . not offended,” I answer, my voice lower than usual. I’m being honest. I haven’t heard a single word he’s said. “Of course she’s fucking offended,” says Jock, the expletive almost comical when delivered in his British accent. But Gus knows better, and the expression on his face proves it. He knows that I am accustomed to being rejected and it doesn’t bother me in the way it would shock and distress another woman. “She has nowhere else to go,” he says quietly. “And this is my land,” Jock adds with quiet steel, his gentility back in check. “So you’re going to force me to have this . . . this . . . this girl stay here.” But this does offend me, in fact, because I’ve been waiting to be a woman for a long time, and at eighteen, I’m allowed to wear the title. “I’m an adult,” I hear myself say. “Barely,” he shoots back, his eyes changing color to a dark and angry evergreen. “I’ll stay out of your way,” I assure him. “I’m good at that.” “Fuck this,” mutters Julian, running a hand through his hair and looking pissed. “Fine! But I stay rent free as long as she’s here.” “Done,” says Jock, holding out his hand to shake on it. Julian raises his sparkling hand and shakes with his landlord before putting his gloves back on and leveling an angry gaze at me. “Stay the fuc—” He pauses, his jaw ticking as he struggles for self-control. Finally he manages to grind out: “Stay out of my way.” “No prob—” I start to say, but he turns on his heel and stalks back to the barn, disappearing into its inky depths. The dog stares up at me for a moment, his hound eyes mournful, as though wishing he could apologize for his owner’s rough behavior. After a beat, he turns forlornly and lumbers after his master. “That went well,” says Gus. “Moody bastard,” mutters Jock. #3 Sitting in an old, broken-in wicker chair that looks out at the barn and meadow, I place my food on the table beside me and bow my head in prayer. “Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty, through Christ our Lord. Amen.” When I look up, I see the barn door slam shut and find Bruno standing across the gravel driveway, watching me. He makes a baying sound, then crosses toward me, the pitter-patter of his paws on the gravel making me grin. “Good morning, sweet boy,” I say, as he approaches. “Are you coming to visit me?” He pads up the three back porch stairs to my chair, sits at my bare feet, and looks up at me expectantly. “Are you hungry, baby?” As if he can understand my words, he darts a glance to my eggs and licks his lips. “I’m not sure I’m allowed to feed you,” I tell him. “Rowr. Rowr,” he rumbles, looking at my eggs again. “Hm. Okay. How about I have one and you have one?” I lower my plate and slide one egg off the side and onto the porch floor. Before it hits the ground, it’s gone. “Whoa!” He looks surprised, then sits down genteelly, staring up at me like I’ve hung the moon. I giggle at his hopeful expression. “More? Doesn’t your master feed you?” I pick up my fork and try to avoid his eyes as I cut a small piece of egg then spear it with the tines. But I can’t avoid the small movements of his head, which track my every movement. “Still hungry?” He whines hopefully, his amber tail swinging back and forth on the porch floor like a duster. “Oh, fine!” I say, placing the plate on the floor with another giggle. “You win.” He leans down, gobbling up my second egg, and I make a mental note to change my grocery order from one dozen eggs to two. “He’s taking advantage of you.” Julian is standing halfway between the barn and the house, hands on his hips and a difficult-to-read expression on his face. Annoyed? Amused? Hmm. I’m not sure. “Did you let him eat your whole breakfast?” he asks. “Wh-what? No! We just . . . I was just sharing . . .” “. . . your whole breakfast,” he finishes for me matter-of-factly. He whistles—a short, high-pitched sound—and Bruno immediately trots down the porch steps and sits down in the gravel next to his owner. “I’m . . . I’m sorry,” I say, reaching for my orange like I’m trying to even the score. You have a dog? Well, look at me, buster. I have an orange. “I should have asked your permission before feeding him.” “Probably,” he says, reaching down to ruffle Bruno’s head. “But it’s okay. He’s a hound. It’s not like he’s going to get sick. Hounds aren’t prissy.” “Are some dogs . . . prissy?” I ask, clasping my orange between both hands. This is the longest I’ve spoken to a single, young, available man, on my own, since I was thirteen, and I can almost feel the fourteen-, fifteen-, sixteen-, and seventeen-year-old parts of me jumping up and down and swooning inside. “Ever meet a poodle? Or a Chihuahua?” My shoulders skim my ears when I shrug. “I don’t really know that much about dogs.” “Never had one?” “No.” “Okay. Well, Bruno’s a hound. Specifically, he’s a redbone coonhound. He’s a working dog. A hunter.” “He hunts . . . racoons?” “His breed does.” “Oh.” I think this over. “Poor racoons.” And then the most miraculous thing happens. Miraculous because I wasn’t expecting it. Miraculous because I thought Julian was beautiful when I first saw him yesterday, but I had no idea how he could look . . . when he smiled. I’m not ready for it. None of me is ready for the lightning bolt of pleasure that enters through my eyes and zaps my whole body, down to the tips of my toes and back up again. I feel lit up from the inside. Hot and bright. “Poor racoons.” He chuckles softly, like he’s surprised, then shakes his head, staring down at Bruno. “Yeah. Okay.” He looks up and meets my eyes, his own still slightly crinkled from his smile. “Don’t worry. I let him tree them, not kill them.” I realize that my mouth’s hanging open, and I close it, passing my orange from hand to hand as my racing heart pounds in my ears. His smile fades as he stares back at me, the silence taut between us. His eyes widen, darkening to a deep forest green, and I watch, mesmerized, as he licks his lips before glancing over his shoulder at the barn. “I should . . . get back to work.” “Me too,” I murmur. “You too?” he asks, his brows furrowing in confusion. “No. Not me,” I say, popping up from my chair, my face flaming as my fingernails dig into the skin of the orange, spraying bitter juice onto my fingers. “I’m not . . . working. I’m just . . . I . . . I have to go, um, too.” He stares at me for an extra beat, then chuckles softly before heading back to the barn. I stare at his back, lowering my eyes to his waist, then still lower to his— “Hey, Ashley,” he says, turning so fast, he catches me staring at his backside. Can you clock the speed at which a human neck snaps up? Whatever the record used to be, I’m positive I just beat it. “Hmm? Y-yes?” He grins at me, and I know I’ve been caught gaping. Lord, help me. I brace myself, expecting him to say something lewd or, at the very least, suggestive. Heck, I haven’t been called a bitch in almost thirty-six hours. I suppose I’m long past due. “Thanks for dinner,” he says softly, then turns back around and saunters into the barn. #4 Instead of going inside, I walk around the house, to the backyard, to see if I can help bring in any dirty dishes, but the picnic table is empty. All traces of our dinner party have already been cleaned up by the Ducharmes siblings. I look up at the midnight sky, at the dozens and dozens of stars, and I wonder if Gus is right. What he says feels right, but I feel very young and very small as I stare up at the universe. It’s not wrong to give yourself over to loving if the chance arises. “We get amazing night skies up here.” I look over my shoulder and find Julian, tall, barefoot, and beautiful, walking toward me. “Yes, you do,” I answer, giving him a shy and tentative smile before I turn my attention back upward. My skin prickles with awareness. My lips tingle, remembering the insistent pressure of his. And elsewhere in my body, I clench hard, willing those deep-set tremors not to start up again right now. I want to believe what Gus has told me—that liking and wanting a man isn’t wrong—but it’s new to me, and I need a little time to reconcile my desire and conscience together. “When I lived in DC, it was what I missed the most, besides Noelle. More than the cheese. More than the beer. More than the skiing.” He stops, standing beside me, staring up at the firmament. “I missed Vermont’s night skies. And the millions of stars.” “I can see why,” I say. “When I lived in LA, I never saw stars.” I giggle. “I mean, I saw the people kind, but not the sky kind.” “Who’s the most famous person you ever met?” “Hmm. Maybe . . . Gigi Hadid . . . or Bella? Hmm . . . Or Cara Delevingne? Kate Moss mentored my m—Tig for a while, um, and she knew Gisele, of course. Also—” “Wait a second! Gisele? Did you ever meet Tom Brady?” he asks, his voice eager. “Let me guess.” I glance at his face. “Patriots fan?” “The biggest.” “Tig went to their wedding, but I never met him. Sorry,” I say, giggling as he lays a hand over his heart and pretends to cry. “Speaking of the rich and famous, Noelle tells me you met the vice president while you worked in Washington.” “She did?” His teasing expression disappears quickly as he straightens, dropping his hand. “Uh, yeah. Long time ago.” “Not so long,” I say. “Yeah, well . . . I guess it just feels like a while ago.” I wait for him to say more, hoping to learn why he left Washington so abruptly, but he stretches his arms over his head and yawns. “I’m tired. You must be exhausted.” “At school I was on the dining hall rotation, which meant cooking for one hundred souls regularly. Tonight was a breeze.” “Your soup was amazing.” “Thank you.” “The steak too.” “Thank you again.” “And the tart.” “That was your sister. Let her know you thought so.” “And the kiss.” “Thank—” I’m grinning at him, but my eyes widen at his unexpected compliment, and I immediately look back up at the sky. It’s dark out so he can’t see my blush. His chuckle is soft and low beside me, and maybe I’m wicked for not feeling more guilty, but I feel my smile grow as I trace Orion’s belt. I don’t dare look at him, but I feel him step closer to me, the warmth of his chest radiating against my back. If I moved slightly, one step even, his body would be flush against mine, and the shiver down my arms has nothing to do with the night chill. I want him to touch me, but I know he won’t. As though he can read my mind, he whispers, close to my ear, “Not unless you ask.” I close my eyes and say a prayer for strength and virtue, which, sadly, works, because the next thing I hear is his footsteps receding. “Good night, sweet Ashley,” he says to my back, his voice a low rumble. My eyes open slowly to the glittering heavens. “Good night, sweet prince,” I whisper to Julian’s stars. ALSO AVAILABLE IN THE MODERN FAIRYTALE COLLECTION US: UK: CA: AU: B&N: Kobo: iBooks: AUTHOR BIO New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Katy Regnery started her writing career by enrolling in a short story class in January 2012. One year later, she signed her first contract, and Katy’s first novel was published in September 2013. Forty books later, Katy claims authorship of the multititled New York Times and USA Today bestselling Blueberry Lane Series, which follows the English, Winslow, Rousseau, Story, and Ambler families of Philadelphia; the six-book, bestselling ~a modern fairytale~ series; and several other stand-alone novels and novellas, including the critically-acclaimed, 2018 RITA© nominated, USA Today bestselling contemporary romance, Unloved, a love story. Katy’s first modern fairytale romance, The Vixen and the Vet, was nominated for a RITA® in 2015 and won the 2015 Kindle Book Award for romance. Katy’s boxed set, The English Brothers Boxed Set, Books #1–4, hit the USA Today bestseller list in 2015, and her Christmas story, Marrying Mr. English, appeared on the list a week later. In May 2016, Katy’s Blueberry Lane collection, The Winslow Brothers Boxed Set, Books #1–4, became a New York Times e-book bestseller. Katy’s books are available in English, French, German, Italian, Portuguese and Turkish. Katy lives in the relative wilds of northern Fairfield County, Connecticut, where her writing room looks out at the woods, and her husband, two young children, two dogs, and one Blue Tonkinese kitten create just enough cheerful chaos to remind her that the very best love stories begin at home. AUTHOR LINKS Website/Newsletter Signup: Email: Facebook: Pinterest: Goodreads:

Mon, 1 Oct 2018, 19:09


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