Blog Tour! Girls’ Night Out by Liz Fenton & Lisa Steinke ~ #BlogTour #GirlsNightOutBook #Extract

Blog Tours, Extracts

girls night out


Girls’ Night Out


Liz Fenton & Lisa Steinke





Welcome to my stop on the blog tour today! I’m thrilled to share a fabulous extract from Girls’ Night Out by Liz Fenton & Lisa Steinke! This extract is from the acknowledgments section of the book and follows Liz and Lisa’s year-long journey in bringing this book to the world and the impact it had on their friendship! Before the extract, here is a little more about the book and its lovely authors.






About Girls’ Night Out



girls night out


For estranged friends Ashley, Natalie, and Lauren, it’s time to heal the old wounds between them. Where better to repair those severed ties than on a girls’ getaway to the beautiful paradise of Tulum, Mexico? But even after they’re reunited, no one is being completely honest about the past or the secrets they’re hiding. When Ashley disappears on their girls’ night out, Natalie and Lauren have to try to piece together their hazy memories to figure out what could have happened to her, while also reconciling their feelings of guilt over their last moments together.

Was Ashley with the man she’d met only days before? Did she pack up and leave? Was she kidnapped? Or worse—could Natalie or Lauren have snapped under the weight of her own lies?

As the clock ticks, hour by hour, Natalie and Lauren’s search rushes headlong into growing suspicion and dread. Maybe their secrets run deeper and more dangerous than one of them is willing—or too afraid—to admit.





Girls’ Night Out by Liz Fenton and Lisa Steinke is published in paperback and eBook on 24th July by Lake Union Publishing.

To purchase a copy of the book, you can follow the links below:


Amazon UK

Book Depository




About Liz Fenton and Lisa Steinke



Fenton_Steinke_AuthorPhoto_credit_Debbie Friedrich_2016.jpg


Liz Fenton and Lisa Steinke have been best friends for thirty years. They’ve survived high school, college, and the publishing of four novels together, including the bestselling novel The Good Widow. Liz lives in San Diego, California, with her husband and two children. Lisa, a former talk-show producer, now lives in Chicago, Illinois, with her husband, daughter, and two bonus children. They’re huge animal lovers—between them, they have seven rescue dogs. Visit Liz and Lisa at


Follow Liz & Lisa on Twitter!










Girls’ Night Out broke us open, hard and wide, before putting us back together again. Our friendship and our partnership were put to the test in a way we’d never experienced before. The pressure of writing a follow-up that could rival The Good Widow hit us hard. We argued. We cried. We wondered if this book would ever make it to you.
Girls’ Night Out took us on a year-long journey from the beautiful beaches of Tulum, where we excitedly developed this plot while drinking margaritas and touring ancient ruins, to the magical city of New Orleans, where we fought and struggled with our developmental edits, our thirty-year alliance crumbling. Would the book make it? Would we?
What had started as a wink, wink storyline about two longtime best friends whose connection begins to fragment when the business they founded takes off, slowly began to acutely resonate. We were also lifetime friends. We too ran a business together. Under time constraints and rigorous rewrites, we started bickering more than ever, wondering how and why life had begun to imitate art. We’d never had these problems before. Maybe a testy voice here or a curt email there. But nothing like this. Why now? We plunged into a dark ravine. We felt hopeless.
Thankfully, the elasticity of our friendship remained durable, our strong bond pulling us back together and forcing us to learn from our mistakes. From each other. And interestingly enough, this novel began to come back together too, almost as if the fate of our friendship and the book were intertwined. And maybe they were, because both are stronger today after the pressures they endured.
This challenging but important experience is why we’ve dedicated this book to friendship—something that isn’t always easy. That is both delicate and strong. That is worth fighting for. Go hug your best friend. Or give her a call. (Maybe not a text this time!) Remind her why she’s important to you—even if you think she already knows! And most important, never be afraid to utter those two magical words: I’m sorry.






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Huge thanks to Sian at ED PR and Amazon Publishing for my blog tour invite and review copy!


Blog Tour! Now You See Her by Heidi Perks ~ #NowYouSeeHer #Extract #BlogTour

Blog Tours, Extracts

Now You See Her Hi-Res Cover Image.jpg


Now You See Her


Heidi Perks





Welcome to my stop on the blog tour today! I’m thrilled to share a fabulous extract from Now You See Her by Heidi Perks! This extract is from the beginning of the book and instanly grips the reader – I loved it! Before the extract, here is a little more about the book and its lovely author.





About Now You See Her



Now You See Her Hi-Res Cover Image




Charlotte is looking after her best friend’s daughter the day she disappears. She thought the little girl was playing with her own children. She swears she only took her eyes off them for a second.

Now, Charlotte must do the unthinkable: tell her best friend Harriet that her only child is missing. The child she was meant to be watching.

Devastated, Harriet can no longer bear to see Charlotte. No one could expect her to trust her friend again.
Only now she needs to. Because two weeks later Harriet and Charlotte are both being questioned separately by the police. And secrets are about to surface.

Someone is hiding the truth about what really happened to Alice.



To purchase a copy of the book, you can follow the links below:

Amazon UK

Book Depository



About Heidi Perks






Heidi Perks worked as a marketing director for a financial company before leaving to become a full-time mother and writer. She is a voracious reader of crime and thrillers and endlessly interested in what makes people tick. Heidi lives in Bournemouth with her family.

Follow Heidi on Twitter and on her website!











Now You See Her by Heidi Perks

‘My name is Charlotte Reynolds.’ I lean forward as I speak into the tape recorder, though I’m not sure why. Maybe it just feels imperative that I at least get my name across clearly. Reaching out for the glass in front of me I grip it between my fingertips, pushing it slowly in anti-clockwise circles, watching the water inside it ripple into tiny ridges. I don’t even realise I’m holding my breath until I let it out in a large puff.

The clock on the otherwise bare white wall flashes 21:16 in bright red lights. My children will be in bed by now. Tom said he will stay the night and sleep in the spare room. ‘Don’t worry,’ he told me when I called him earlier. ‘I won’t go anywhere until you’re home.’ This isn’t what I’m worrying about but I don’t say as much.

Home feels so far away from this airless whitewashed room with its three chairs and desk and the tape recorder balanced on one end of it, and I wonder how long I will be here. How long can they keep me before they decide what comes next? Ever since the fete I have dreaded leaving my children. I’d do anything to be tucking them into their beds right now so I can breathe in their familiar smells, read them that one more story they always beg for.
‘They’re not holding you there are they?’ Tom had asked me on the phone.

‘No, they just want to ask me a few questions.’ I brushed off the fact I was in a police station as if it were nothing. I didn’t tell Tom the detective had asked if I wanted someone to be with me, that I’d refused and had told her as breezily as I could that I didn’t need anyone as I’d happily tell her what I knew.

My fingers begin to tingle and I pull them away from the glass and hold them under the table, squeezing them tightly, willing the blood to rush back into them.

‘So, Charlotte,’ the detective starts in a slow drawl. She has asked me if she can use my first name but hasn’t offered me the privilege in return. I know her name is Susanne because she said as much into the tape, but I expect she knows I won’t call her that. Not when she introduced herself as Detective Inspector Rawlings. It’s a small point but it reinforces who is in control. My breath sticks tightly in my throat as I wait for her to ask me what I was doing there tonight. In many ways the truth would be the easy option. I wonder if I told her she’d let me leave now so I can go home to my children.

‘So,’ she starts again and asks her first question but it isn’t the one I’m expecting. ‘Let’s start by you telling me what happened thirteen days ago,’ she says instead. ‘The day of the fete.’







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Huge thanks to Rachel and Cornerstone for my review copy and blog tour invite!

Dark City by Sarah Kay Moll ~ #DarkCity #Extract





Dark City


Sarah Kay Moll




Welcome to the blog today! I have a fabulous extract from Dark City by Sarah Kay Moll, which publishes tomorrow!! If that stunning cover isn’t enough to whet your appetite, this extract certainly will! But first, here is a little bit more about the book and its lovely author:



About the Book




Jude has a tender heart. Yet he was born into a criminal empire and groomed from childhood to step into his father’s violent footsteps. To survive, he created a second personality. Ras is everything Jude isn’t—cruel, remorseless, and utterly without fear, as incapable of love as Jude is of malice.
But when Ras meets a ruthless socialite, he begins to feel a strange stirring of emotion, a brush of Jude’s passion against his own dark heart. Meanwhile, Jude finds himself with a knife in his hand, the evil in Ras’s soul bleeding into his own.
As the walls between them crumble, they could lose everything—their lovers, their family, and their hold on the dark city itself.
Coming together could break them…or make them whole.





To purchase a copy of this book, you can follow the links below:

Amazon UK

Publisher’s Website




About Sarah Kay Moll



sarahkay moll.JPG


Sarah Kay Moll is a wordsmith and an amateur homemaker. She’s good with metaphors and bad with coffee stains, both of which result from a writing habit she hasn’t been able to quit. She lives a mostly solitary life, and as a result, might never say the right thing at parties. She’s passionate about books and has about five hundred on her to-read pile. When she does go out, it’s probably to the library, the theater, or the non-profit where she works.

Sarah lives in a beautiful corner of western Oregon where the trees are still changing color at the end of November and the mornings are misty and mysterious. She spends her free time playing video games and catering to her cat’s every whim.


You can find Sarah on Twitter here!

On her website here!

Sign up to her mailing list!

Find her on Goodreads!




extract 1


Extract from Dark City


Ras makes his way down from the deck of the yacht, stained with the blood of a man foolish enough to cross his criminal syndicate. He walks through the pleasantly lit, opulently decorated rooms of the yacht, looking for goodies to steal—cash, jewelry, or if he’s lucky, drugs.
“Hey.” A low voice, with a slight huskiness to it, like coarse fur, comes from a corner of the room. A beautiful woman, maybe twenty years old, smiles at him, a curve of full, luscious lips. She holds her chin high, arrogant and unafraid, and her feet barely seem to touch the ground as she walks toward him. With every step, her hips sway, her silky black dress rippling and flowing over her like an unbroken stream of water. She reminds him of one of those ancient Egyptian statues, queens with long, slender necks set to rule the world.
“You’re a syndicate hitman, aren’t you?” she says, stopping her approach only when they’re close enough he could kiss her if he leaned forward. Now he can see the color of her eyes, brown like sugar cooked to a crystalline crisp, with the same shine. She watches him distantly, her composure icy and flawless.
“Yes,” he says. “And I never leave any witnesses after I do a job.”
“You should reconsider,” she says, and just when he thinks she’s going to kiss him, something sharp scratches against his stomach, a little paring knife pressed to his side.
“Let me off this fucking boat,” she whispers, “or I will gut you.”
It takes some time before he can focus on anything besides the cold turn of her lips, her calculating gaze, like he’s nothing more than a chess piece held between her fingers, hovering above the board as she considers her move. But finally he gets his shit together and strikes, a hand as quick as a cobra, catching her wrist in its bite. He twists hard, instinct and training replacing thought, until she drops the knife onto the carpet beneath them. She doesn’t make a sound.
The next moment seems to stretch and linger, her wrist still in his hand, her eyes cold and fearless as a winter night, as though she could match him, darkness for darkness.
He, who feels nothing, is unsettled by the stirring within him, by the way her every last detail seems fraught with meaning. The bones of her slender arm beneath the heavy press of his fingertips, the steady firm shape of her mouth, the curves of her body beneath a black satin dress that falls soft as a negligee.
She is dangerous, to him, to his father, to the syndicate. And yet…
He lifts the hand that holds her wrist. “Move your hand in a circle.”
She obeys, her hand moving gracefully, delicate fingers, long nails painted wine red. There’s no wince of pain, no hesitation or difficulty. Nothing is broken or sprained, and, for some reason, he’s glad.
“Let me go,” she says, as though her force of will alone could save her.
“Will you keep your mouth shut?” he asks, the words a surprise to himself the moment they leave him.
The corner of her mouth turns up in a cold smile, like she knows she’s won. “I’m not an idiot.”
“How can I trust you?”
“My name is Scarlett Bancroft,” she says. “If I tell anyone, it won’t be hard to find me.”
The last name, at least, is familiar to him; one of the city’s oldest, richest families. The Bancrofts built this city, or so one of the more prominent members of the family liked to say until his campaign for mayor was cut short by a bullet.
“Why aren’t you afraid of me?” he asks, fingers still on her wrist, reluctant to break the current he can feel flowing between them, two circuits feeding into each other a blue-white arc of electricity.
“I have nothing to lose,” she says indifferently. Not a cry of desperation or a plea for pity, just the simple statement of a fact.
“People will be here to take care of the body in fifteen minutes. Be gone by then.”
She nods, and where he expects relief, gratitude, there’s only a kind of determined fatigue, a long march through a cold night not yet over.
“My name is Ras.” He lifts her hand to his lips, kissing her palm, then releases her and turns all at once, walking quickly into the night without looking back.


Wasn’t that wonderful?!






Huge thanks to Sarah Kay Moll for appearing on the blog with a wonderful extract from Dark City!


Baltic Books Blog Tour: Extract from Burning Cities by Kai Aareleid ~ #BurningCities #Extract #BalticBooks #LBFBaltics

Blog Tours, Extracts

Kai Aareleid - Burning Cities


Burning Cities


Kai Aareleid



Welcome to my spot on the Baltic Books Blog Tour today! I’m thrilled to share a fabulous extract from Burning Cities by Kai Aareleid!

I’m so excited and honoured to be a part of this blog tour! I hope you enjoy the extract! But first things first, here is a little bit more about the Baltic Books Blog Tour, Burning Cities and its lovely author!

This year the Baltic countries – Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania – are celebrating 100 years of independence with new translations of Baltic Books coming to the UK for the first time and a series of cultural events happening across the UK. The Baltics are also being honoured as the Market Focus at London Book Fair (LBF), the biggest book trade event in the UK.



Kai Aareleid - Burning Cities


About Burning Cities:



Burning Cities is a poetic historical saga by Estonian author Kai Aareleid, in which the fortunes of a small family parallel those of a small nation under Communism. A young girl growing up in Soviet Estonia is witness to tragic events both grand and domestic.

Opening up about her family history, Tiina revisits the first two decades of her life following the Second World War, in Tartu, Estonia. The city, destroyed by Nazi invasion then rebuilt and re-mapped by the Soviets, is home to many secrets, and little Tiina knows them all, even if she does not know their import. The adult world that makes up Communist society, is one of cryptic conversations, undiagnosed dread and heavy drinking. From the death of Stalin to the gradual separation of her parents, Tiina, as a young girl, experiences both domestic and great events from the periphery, and is, therefore, powerless to prevent the defining tragedy in her life – a suicide in the family.

Translated for the first time into English, Burning Cities is an intimate portrayal of life under Soviet Communism and an absorbing family drama told with poetic precision.



To purchase a copy of this book, you can find the links below:

Amazon UK

Peter Owen Publishers




About Kai Aareleid:


Kai Aareleid







And now here is the fabulous extract from Burning Cities:





On the evening of Women’s day, Vova shows up at the door of
dr Köller’s villa carrying a large paper-wrapped bouquet, pinned
together at the top. Tiina unwraps it in the hall. luckily no one
else is at home – no one to ask questions or make a comment. Ten
white carnations, fist-sized, like snowballs. Gorgeous. Tiina hunts
around for a vase and puts the flowers in her room. Why do Mum
and Dad say that carnations are Russians’ flowers? Tiina wonders.
They are so pretty. Can flowers have a nationality?
‘Thanks,’ she tells Vova. ‘So . . . should we go to the cinema?
What do you think? I can check what’s on.’
Tiina looks for the newspaper and traces her finger down the
listings. ‘So. Sun Valley Serenade is playing at the Saluut Cinema.
no, wait. This is Saturday’s paper.’ She searches for a fresh issue
of Onwards and turns to the back page. ‘So. Today. Komsomol
Cinema: The Airfield’s Not Receiving. Kalev Cinema: The Eventful
Day. Kultuur Cinema: Threatening Nights. There’s nothing good.’
‘I wouldn’t mind watching Afanasy nikitin’s Journey Beyond
Three Seas again. Or The Secret of Two Oceans.’
‘Oh, you and your sea films.’
‘They’re not just sea films. Or, well, kind of . . .’
‘Fine, fine. let’s just go for a walk then. We’ll make an “eventful
day” of our own.’
They stroll a good distance along the river-bank, walking back
up from the lower town only when they reach the main road,
because Tiina wants to go past her old house and see whether the
renovation is still under way.
‘They took our class to clean up building rubble from the new
cinema one day,’ Vova tells her at the top of the hill. ‘Soon we’ll
be able to watch movies here.’
Tiina nods. At the moment the construction site is still sur –
rounded by a tall wooden fence. Tiina has observed that you never
know how long fences will last – neither the fences nor the ruins.
Fences, ruins. Could today be the day that she climbs over the
fence? Over another fence that has enticed her for years – one that
others have crossed but over which she’s never had anyone to
accompany her? You don’t go into those kinds of places alone:
the fence is high, the ruins dark. But Vova is here now. Work on
the church is rumoured to have halted again, so it’s hardly likely
anyone is guarding the site. no church is so off limits that the two
of them can’t have a look around before someone changes their
mind, sweeps the ruins up and hauls them away, too. Before they
level it.
‘I want to show you something. Come on,’ Tiina says and starts
walking ahead.
They pass Vova’s school. In front of them is a grey wooden
fence, behind it a red-brick steeple. They gaze upwards. The roof
is almost complete; they can see scaffolding. Tiina turns past the
ice-cream booth and walks away from the street until they reach
the rear part of the fence. Vova follows her.
Tiina peers through a gap in the boards: brown grass, patches
of snow, bricked-in arched windows, empty ones higher above,
dark openings.
‘What’s there?’ Vova whispers.
‘A church. It’s a church. It was bombed and burned down. I’ve
never been in, but today . . . let’s climb over.’
‘What’s there to wait for? let’s climb over.’
‘Why? What do you mean by today?’
‘Well, I mean . . . I’d like to go today. With you. Should we?’
‘There are trees over on the side by our school – that spot’s
better for climbing,’ Vova says.
He walks ahead, and Tiina allows herself to be led.
‘Some boys from my class have gone in there in secret,’ Tiina
says. They’ve both lowered their voices to a whisper for some
reason. ‘One showed me a lump of white stone, he brought it to
school. He said it’s foreign stone, that it’s from Jesus’ statue, pure
marble. Another said Jesus almost melted in the fire.’
‘mm-hmm. In the heat.’
‘That’s rubbish. marble doesn’t melt. It crumbles into pieces;
that part’s right.’
‘Well, I don’t know.’
‘I do.’
Tiina is silent. She walks along the planks behind Vova. ‘The
boys said, too, that this place is haunted and cursed and all sorts
of other things.’
‘What do you mean, “cursed”?’ Vova asks.
‘Well, that they’ve started rebuilding it several times, and that
each and every time something happens. last year when they
started working on the dome, one builder fell from the scaffolding
to his death. This year a wall collapsed on a guy putting up plaster,
no warning . . .’
‘do you believe that?’
‘Believe what?’
‘In a curse?’
Tiina thinks for a few moments then answers, looking Vova
straight in the eye, ‘no, I don’t.’
Vova has climbed up to the top of the fence and holds out his
hand to Tiina. ‘Come on.’
They saunter over the knee-high weeds revealed by the melted
snow up to the edge of the church wall and walk along it. The
empty windows have been barricaded tight. Vova scales the side
of a chimney and finds a low doorway. He pulls on the boards
until he manages to pull a few away.
‘Well, why not? let’s risk getting cursed.’
Vova climbs in first.
light seeps through the scaffolding and the gaps in the
disintegrating inner walls. Tiina turns and sees behind her a giant
crippled mass that looks like it was once the altarpiece. Her eyes
play tricks on her in the dim light – it appears something is glinting
in the eye sockets of the statue’s disfigured head. A chill comes
over her, and she seizes Vova’s sleeve. Fragments of stone crunch
beneath their feet. The space smells of damp plaster and soil. The
light, wherever its source might be, is fading with every passing
moment. The church is dusky and quiet. The brick walls radiate
cold; the only sound is a dull metallic clattering high above. Then,
the fluttering of wings. Footsteps. Tiina startles.
‘The wind,’ Vova says, as if he read Tiina’s thoughts. ‘Pigeons.’
‘Pigeons,’ Tiina repeats.
‘Yeah.’ Vova peers around. ‘I guess this was a beautiful church.
estonian style of church. Shame about the statue.’
Tiina says nothing. Coming here wasn’t a good idea. The place
has filled her with a sudden, terrible feeling of grief and hopeless –
ness. Churches should comfort people, that’s what she’s gathered
from what Aunt Ida says, but this . . . this comforts no one. Will
it ever actually be rebuilt?
mrs Wunderlich had gazed at her engagement photograph taken
in front of the altar and said, ‘now, it’s all gone.’ She was right, it’s
gone. And now she’s gone, too. When news of the big reno vations
came, mrs Wunderlich said, ‘I don’t need any more renovations,
I’m going to go to be with Johannes.’ And on the second-to-last
day of the year, when everyone else had already packed their things
or changed spaces, it happened. She didn’t need to pack or change
spaces to move in with Johannes.
Will the time ever come when these walls are white again and
the altarpiece is healed, stretching its arms wide and saying, Come
to me? When the roof finally blocks out the sky, glass is replaced
in the windows, the steeple towers above the city and the bells
start to ring once more?
Or will this place ultimately be wiped away by the arrival of a
fleet of tractors and trucks, of spades and wheelbarrows, rails being
laid to haul away waste, a communal workday being held and the
site made clear and bare again? It’ll then be an empty square crisscrossed
by footpaths for a while, before residential buildings all
identical to one another spring up on it. Which is more needed?
A church or places to live?
Tiina stands in the doorway, staring at the clouds careening
away above the ruins, and can vividly perceive the way the world
moves, the way time moves and how everything can change at any
moment. Just like this church. One summer’s morning it was
there – the pews, bells, hymnals and altar cloths – and the next
moment the sky was filled with aeroplanes, a deafening blast
thundered and then it was rubble.
Vova’s lips suddenly brush across Tiina’s cheek, just for an
instant. Tiina comes back down from the heights and the expanses,
back to that march evening, wraps her arms around Vova and
holds him tightly.





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Huge thanks to Hannah and Maddie at Midas PR for the fabulous extract and blog tour invite!