Wow! This was a really cool book! It's been a while since I got the heebie-jeebies from a book, but this one definitely had some spine-tingling moments in it! The storyline was fresh and original, the dialogue was perfect and the characters were very complex. Immediately,  the first chapter drew me in with an iron grip and kept me in it's clutches throughout the entire book! With plenty of chills, a healthy scoop of supernatural, tons of mystery and intrigue and even a little flair of romance, this book thoroughly fulfilled all my needs in a book! I was up very late at night reading this- getting creeped out- and I just couldn't stop reading! I can't wait to see what else this author comes out with!

 I absolutely enjoyed this book! With plenty of shifters, a hint of mythology and tons of sweet n spicy romance, this book satisfied all my paranormal romance needs. The author has done a spectacular job with creating a complex shifter society with some incredibly hot wolves! The descriptions were amazing, the dialogue flawless, very complex characters and the romance was enough to make me swoon! This is an absolutely beautiful love story that proves love knows no boundaries! I thoroughly enjoyed reading this and was lapping it all up into the late hours of the night. I can't wait to see what other books she has up her sleeve!

The room was a featureless eight-by-eight, relieved by a single chair and the door pad softly glowing in the recessed overhead lights. Pulling up from a stretch, Peri stifled a shudder as a feeling of electricity crawled over her skin, pooling where the training suit pinched.
      Concerned, she passed a hand over the spiderweb of white stress lines in the otherwise black leather, frown deepening when her hand turned to pinpricks as the electric field in the fabric phased. Seriously? The slick-suit ran from her neck to the top of her boots, elevating her slight form to dangerous and sexy, but a wardrobe malfunction would slow her down.
      “Hey! Excuse me?” she called toward the ceiling, her high voice laced with demand. “I’m getting excessive feedback from my slick-suit.”
      A soft chime fell flat in the tiny room as the audio connection opened. “I’m sorry,” a man’s voice said, the hint of sarcasm telling her they knew it. “Possible suit malfunctions are acceptable under the parameters of the exercise. Begin.”
      Again the chime rang. Adrenaline surged with her quick intake of breath. She didn’t see the cameras, but people were watching, comparing every move to an unattainable perfection. Squandering a cocky three seconds, she stretched to show her confidence along with her lithe shape. Challenge one: technological fence, she thought, glancing at the locked door pad.
      In a swift motion, she grasped the back of the wooden chair, flinging it into the wall. It hit with a startling crack of wood, and she knelt before the pieces. Nimble fingers bare of the slick-suit’s gloves sifted through until she found a metal pin. Rising, she padded to the locked door and used it to wedge open the door pad.
      This task is mine, she thought, then walled it off, concentrating on the maze of wires until she found the one she wanted. Hand fisted, she tensed to yank it free, then hesitated. With her “malfunctioning” suit, she might end up on her ass, blowing out smoke as she tried to remember how to focus. Not worth the risk, she thought, following the wire back to the circuit board and shorting the door with the pin instead. The ceiling chimed her success. Peri saluted the unseen cameras, smug as the door slid open. Eleven seconds.
      Pin set between her fingers to gouge, she dove into the cooler air and into a spacious, spongy-floored room. The ceilings were higher, the light brighter, and at the far end, a closed door beckoned, the light on the lock already a steady green. Beyond it was everything she’d been working for, everything she’d been promised. She just had to get there.
      A faint whisper of air gave her warning. Peri ducked, lashing out with a back kick to send a man pinwheeling into the wall. Shit, he’s huge! she thought as his slick-suit flashed white. But it was fading to black even as she watched. He wasn’t out of it—yet.
      “Nothing personal, right?” she said, her eyes jerking from his holstered weapon to the two men sprinting to her. Three against one wasn’t fair, but when was life ever?
      They attacked together. Peri dropped, rolling to take out the closest. He fell and she swarmed him, jabbing his throat with her elbow. There was the telltale thump of a pad, but she’d struck hard enough to make him gag. His slick-suit flashed white as she rolled to her feet. One down.
      The second grabbed her, a glass knife at her throat. Screaming in defiance, she stabbed his ear with the chair pin. He howled in real pain, and she threw him over her shoulder and into the first man, now recovered.
      Following them both down, she scrambled for his blade, running the glass training knife across both their throats. The glow of the technological blade against their skin flashed, indicating a kill, and their slick-suits turned white. Gasping, they went still, paralyzed. Real blood, looking alien in the training floor, dripped from the one man’s ear.
      Peri straightened, keeping the pin as she turned her back on the men and walked confidently to the distant door. No more of their lame excuses, she thought, the adrenaline high still spilling through her, though shifting to a more enduring burn of anticipation. She’d been working toward this for months. How many times did she need to prove she was ready?
      With a heavy thunk, the lights went up. At the door, the pad shifted to a locked red.
      Peri jerked to a halt. “Excuse me?” she directed at the ceiling, and the audio connection pinged open.
      “You failed to demonstrate proficiency with projection weapons,” the man said again, but she could hear an argument in the background.
      Peri cocked her hip, knowing the time was still running, ruining her perfect score. “You mean a gun?” she asked with disdain. “Handguns are noisy and can be taken away, and then I have to do more damage to fix it.”
      “Your time is still running,” the man said, smug.
      “How can I prove my value if you keep changing the rules?” she muttered, stomping back to the three men, still paralyzed in their white slick-suits. Jaw clenched, she snatched the nearest man’s handgun. “I already killed you,” she said when the man’s eyes widened, and she spun, shooting out the cameras in the corners instead: one, two, three.
      “Reed!” the man shouted as his screens undoubtedly went black.
      Peri dropped the weapon and waited, shaking the pinpricks from her fingertips. The audio channel was still open, and a smile quirked her lips as she caught some argued phrases, “best we have” and “it’s that shitty attitude of hers that makes her perfect.”
      Glancing at her watch, Peri shifted her weight. “So am I going, or do you want me to try it again with feeling? I have stuff to do today.”
      There was silence, and then a younger voice took the mic. “You will report to medical tomorrow at nine. Congratulations, Agent Reed. It’s yours.”
      Her breath caught, the quick intake lighting a fire all the way to her groin, and then she steadied herself. “Friday,” she countered, ignoring the men behind her, groaning as their slick-suits returned to a black neutrality. “I want to say good-bye to my mother.”
      Again the silence, and Peri’s good mood tarnished as she caught a whispered “Might not remember her when she gets back.”
      “Friday,” the young voice came back, and Peri’s jaw clenched at the pity in it. Her mother didn’t deserve anyone’s pity, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to say good-bye.
      But the door lock had shifted green, a solid thump echoing as it opened onto an empty, white hallway. Her thoughts already on a shower and what was in her closet that her mother might actually approve of, Peri paced forward into the light.



​

“You know what I’d like to do?” Jack leaned in to Peri, his hand curving suggestively about her waist, and she breathed in the faint scent of ozone and aftershave like a balm. Under it was a hint of gun oil, and Peri was hard-pressed to decide which one intrigued her more as they stood outside her apartment door with their carry-ons, glad they had the next week off.


“Mmmm, I like games,” Peri said as she tapped her key card to her apartment door pad. It disengaged the lock with an almost unheard click, and she turned to him, seeing the bound heat behind his sandy hair and blue eyes as he leaned to nuzzle under her ear. The tips of her short black hair tickled her neck along with his lips, and she stifled a quiver.


“I’d like to be there tomorrow when they find that ball of wax you left them,” Jack whispered. “That’s all. What did you think I meant?”


Peri exhaled in annoyance, giving him a little shove as he pulled back and took up their bags. Eyes rolling, she pushed open the door, her faint smile widening as Carnac, their cat, came out to weave between their feet, threatening to trip them.


“Hi, Carnac. Did you miss me more than Jack is going to tonight?” she said, scooping up the orange tabby and cuddling him as she followed Jack into the spacious apartment they
shared. It was dark, and Detroit’s neon-draped skyline sparkled through the wide glass windows. The lighted mass-transit rail circled to touch upon the city’s hot spots to look like jewels on a necklace, and she let Carnac slide from her. It hadn’t been a strenuous job, but the timing had been meticulous, requiring several days and multiple dry runs. She was mind-weary and ready for some downtime.


“Lights up,” she said, to shake the apartment out of extended leave, and the glow brightened to show the comfortable mix of her and Jack among the modern open-floor plan, everything angled to take advantage of the view of a glittering new Detroit.


“Sure is a pretty thing,” Jack said as she dropped her coat and purse on a chair and went into the open kitchen to give Carnac some soft food.


“The accelerator?” she asked, seeing that he’d taken it from his pocket and was holding it up to the spotlight over the gas fireplace. The walnut-size, meticulously engineered crystal was one-of-a-kind, and it caught the light like a disco ball, sending wavelengths too short to be seen ricocheting around the apartment to make her back teeth hurt. She’d held it briefly before giving it back for Jack to carry. It gave her the willies, the orb’s facets feeling warm and malleable even as they pricked her skin.


Jack lowered the glittering crystal. “Hard to believe something this small is worth an entire city,” he said as he put it back in his pocket.


Hard to believe you can hold it like that in your bare fingers, she thought as she ripped open a pouch of cat food. “Whenit’s plugged in, sure,” she muttered, watching Carnac weave between her feet as she set the bowl on the floor and fondled the cat’s ears. “Right now it’s giving me a headache.”


The small orb was Event Horizon’s latest wonder, fracturing wavelengths to allow information to be sent out on a particle, instead of an entire wave. In layman’s terms, it was like having a single bandwidth hold a hundred thousand conversations instead of one, and it would revolutionize how information was handled. Whoever held it would own the world.


And it’s in Jack’s pocket, she thought as she seriously considered sleeping with it under her pillow tonight. It would go to Opti in the morning, and from there, returned to Event
Horizon, the company that had developed it. It bothered Peri how often corporations stole or patented technology just to shove it in a drawer so their older technology would remain viable.


The pop of a wine bottle brought her head up, and she smiled at Jack, loving him. The accelerator had been in a research facility outside of Cincinnati, and they’d done well to


get in and out with no one the wiser. Preparation and skill had meant there’d been no need for her to draft, transposing a small part of time and space a few seconds into the past in order to erase a mistake. Content, Peri gave Carnac a last fondle about the ears and went to join Jack in the living room. It had been months since she’d needed to draft to rub out what could have been a fatal error, and she enjoyed feeling normal.


“Oh, please tell me you’re joking,” she said as Jack turned on the TV and settled back into the cushions, eyes riveted on the menu as he loaded his latest fix. “Ja-a-a-ack . . .” she moaned as opening credits flowed over the flashing images of an athletic girl and her sidekick parrot, doing a magic spell and catching the sexy vampire. “Can’t you fall in love with something remotely possible?”

Mercy Brown's life changes when she accepts a position as companion to the disabled sister of wealthy shipyard owner Jonah Barnes. She is instantly attracted to the rugged former sea captain, even if his brusque manner offends her. Mercy soon finds herself entangled in the quirky family's secrets.
From the first, Mercy is troubled by prowlers, disturbances from the attic, and unearthly howls on the property. After meeting several unusual household members, including a groundskeeper who works by night and the mischievous Maxwell Barnes, Mercy realizes she should flee while she can.
Pages from Mercy's first novel go missing and Jonah's domineering personality causes tension in the house. Only Mercy's fondness for her young companion, Faith Barnes, as well as her fascination with Jonah prevent her from leaving, but will her desire for him endanger her life? ​

Buy the Book: http://www.bookstrand.com/book/captains-mercy

A particularly loud clap of thunder sent Mercy jumping to her feet. She quickly put her book away and left the room, hoping to find Michaels or Augusta still awake. Maybe she could talk to them until the storm passed.
  The empty hallways seemed eerier than usual. When she reached the parlor, she heard something even more frightening than thunder--a long howl that mingled with the wind. Perhaps it was the wind...
 Another clap of thunder was followed by a crash from upstairs.
Goodness, lightning might have struck the house.
She hurried to the foot of the stairs and called, "Michaels? Augusta? Mr. Barnes?"
No reply.
Her stomach tight and her heart pounding, she ascended. The storm was directly overhead now. Wind beat against the house and roared through the trees.
Recalling how it felt to be lost outside, she hoped Max and Faith weren't caught in the storm.
Reaching the top of the stairs, she glanced around. Lightning flashed through the tall, rectangular windows, illuminating the hallway.
She walked toward the dark, windowless corridor leading to the attic.
"Mr. Barnes?" she called again.
She glanced over her shoulder, back toward the stairs. When she turned around, she cried out, startled to find herself facing Jonah who now stood outside the attic door, holding a lamp.
"Miss Brown, what are you doing up here?" he demanded, wearing his usual scowl.
"I heard noise from up here. A crash. I thought perhaps lightning had struck the house and someone might be hurt." She couldn't keep the tremors from her voice. "I'm also worried about your siblings. You don't suppose they're caught in the storm?"
Jonah's brow furrowed and he stepped closer to her. He held up the lamp and studied her face.
"I'm sure they're fine," he said in a gentler tone. "Max is quite capable and I doubt they'd venture out until after this passes. Are you all right, Miss Brown?"
"Yes. Fine."
Another clap of thunder made her jump.
"You don't look fine," he said. "Are you afraid of the storm?"
She chuckled nervously. "Silly isn't it? A grown person afraid of a thunderstorm."
"Why don't we wait it out in the library?"
"There's no need for you to keep me company."
Again she jumped at the thunder and lightning.
"Keeping you company is far more pleasant than the paperwork I've been looking over." He offered her his arm in a gallant gesture that took her aback. She rested her hand on it lightly. Goodness, she shouldn't enjoy how solid and warm he felt, yet she was unable to ignore it. His arms were rock hard from years at sea and working in the shipyard.
On their way downstairs, she asked, "What were you doing in the attic? I thought I heard howling up there a short time ago and then a crash."
"The wind, I'm sure. No doubt the crash you heard was Michaels. He tripped over an old trunk. He's up there now, making repairs on a window that was blown open by the storm. He's also trying to get rid of more unwanted guests of the flying rodent variety, so I remind you to stay away from the attic."

When fantasy and reality collide, only love can be believed.


Shattered by a brutal attack and forced to flee, painfully withdrawn Dr. Prudence Marsh buries her emotions under numbing logic. For years, her escapes to a fantasy world created to survive her hellish past have been nothing more than a guilty pleasure. But when the host of the safe house turns out to be a dead ringer for her dream warrior, she fears she’s lost her precious mind along with everything else.


Ex-SEAL Max Delaney has been known to dabble in a hot, delicious mess—or two, or three. He has no idea how to handle a cold, sour one. Blackmailed into babysitting Dr. Marsh in his hidden bunker while she finishes a top-secret project sucks. Until he falls for her. Then it blows. Every clue Max unravels buys him more questions. Every step forward lands him two steps back, flat on his ass.


Demons past, present, and future haunt Max and Prudence as they stumble along the twisting path to love. Merciless enemies and shifting alliances drive both to desperate measures, tumbling them over the border between shadow and substance—where each must choose what, and whom, to believe.


Amazon BN iBooks Kobo Amazon U.K. ARe

He whispered praise in her ear, “That’s it. Now don’t you feel better?”
She shivered in response, though her hands at his back had warmed. He smiled into the fresh scent of her hair and wrapped her more tightly in his arms. She was his now; even if she didn’t know it yet.
With firm, subtle pressure, he brought her head to rest on his shoulder. Her hands tightened around him, then, finally, her body relaxed fully into his.
Her sigh was what did him in, what scrambled his brain and sent the jolt to his heart, then racing lower, hotter. He swallowed hard. Patience was suddenly a whole lot scarcer than it had been a minute ago.
The Balconies. Any one of the half dozen private patios facing the ocean would do. Each of the double doors was chaperoned by a broad back discreetly turned from the couples enjoying the seclusion they offered. It was one of the unique and best features of the club.
With experienced ease, he guided his plunder across the dance floor to the nearest unoccupied one. “You’re a bit flushed. Would you like some ocean air? The view is great.”
She blushed and murmured something indistinct he chose to take as assent. Another covert tip and nod to the bouncer—the same one who’d been at the VIP gate, still wearing the frown—and their path was clear.
The moon cast a diamond-strewn path across the water and glimmered in her depths of her eyes. He wanted to climb into that fire and stay there until Judgment Day.
After a few gulps of the salty night air, she said, “Thank you, Mr. Delane. I’m afraid the effects of the alcohol may have—”
“It’s Delaney." He squeezed her hand. “Calling me Max would solve the problem, you know."
“I’m still not certain I’m comfortable—”
“We can’t have that. I want you very comfortable.” He kept his voice low and soothing, ran his hands up her tantalizingly bare arms to cup her face. She gasped at his touch, her eyes widened and her lips parted.
He’d meant the kiss to be subdued, a simple brushing of mouths, and that’s how it started. But he couldn’t stop what followed. Couldn’t keep his hand from gripping the back of her head; holding it at the best angle for his access; from tracing her lips with his tongue and gently opening her mouth to accept it; prevent his other hand from roaming between the cool satin of her hair and the warm silk of her dress to the swell of her sweet, tight ass; squeezing it, and pulling her close. Close enough for her to feel the rock hard extent of his hunger. Close enough for him to feel the moist heat of hers—God help him with what control he had left.
Her arms circled his waist, her delicate, surprisingly strong hands pressed into his back, stroked, pulled at him in helpless, inexperienced little tugs that made him want to push up her dress and set her on the railing, wrap those long legs around his waist, and--
“Please, Delane.” The desperate ache in her plea squeezed him like a fist and echoed all the way to his toes. He shook with the effort to clamp down on his lust.
“‘Max.’ Say it, Prue. Say it and I’ll take you to paradise, sweetheart. C’mon,” he whispered it into her ear, then nipped it tenderly. Understanding why he needed that particular surrender wasn’t important, winning it was.
He slipped the hand on her ass under her dress, ran his finger under the lace of her panties, reached to stroke the hot velvet, teasing her, driving himself to the knife edge of desire.
“Oh…ah…M-M-Ma—”
A warning rush of overused air boxed his ears a few seconds before a shrill voice pierced them. “There you are, Max, darling! I thought this was our balcony. Remember? A couple of weeks ago we…”
Bam. Just like that, Prue froze in his arms. He opened his eyes and saw the shutters slam over hers, dousing the lighthouse, leaving him at sea in empty darkness.
​

    Award-winning author Rhea Rhodan resides in Minnetonka, Minnesota. She’s been telling herself stories since long before she learned to write. She attended the University of Minnesota with a focus on Journalism, then Brown Institute for Broadcast Journalism. After many adventures, misadventures, and a couple of short marriages, she found the love of her life in Regensburg, Germany, and has been living happily ever after since.
   She journaled those adventures extensively (some might say rabidly) beginning in middle school, but didn't combine her writing and story-telling until several years ago, when one of the stories grabbed her by the throat and shook her like a rag doll until she gave in and wrote it. Having tasted freedom, her muse refuses to return to the confines of her head, and has successfully turned the tables, keeping her at the keyboard to appease it.
   She welcomes feedback and fan mail :>). You can join her on Facebook and Goodreads, too. Rhea is always happy to meet new friends.


http://www.rhearhodan.com
http://www.facebook.com/rhearhodan
https://twitter.com/RheaRhodan
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6152084.Rhea_Rhodan
For (very) occasional updates with great contests, subscribe to Rhea's newsletter on her website. 

Thank you for having me on Recipe Fairy. I’m Rhea Rhodan, and I write romance with a touch of magic or paranormal twist.


How did you get started writing?
I’ve journaled pretty much since I learned how to write. I began telling myself stories long before I learned to read. I didn’t combine the two until six or seven years ago, when one of my stories wouldn’t let go of me. After completing the rough draft, I began to research the industry and hone my craft. My first book was published in 2012.


Where do you get inspiration for your books and characters?
TV, books, or even someone standing on a street corner may trigger ideas. Research can be inspiring, too. For example, the location of my previous release, The Legacy of Buchanan’s Crossing (a contemporary fantasy), is a real place. It’s history gave me great fodder for some aspects of the story. Characters spring from my own twisted imagination. For the most part, they write the stories.


What kind of books do you enjoy reading yourself?
My reading time is precious these days, so I’m particular in how I spend it. I crave variety, in reading as well as writing, so I’m not as big on series as other readers seem to be. I’m not a fan of first-person point-of-view for the same reason. I enjoy a range from dark erotica to YA fantasy (but do not care much for the popular dystopian variety), with sci-fi romance, historical romance, romantic suspense, and some paranormal thrown in.


Romances (from medium to extra spicy) are far and away my favorite read. The only sub-genre I rarely pick up is pure contemporary romance. I crave a little something extra. For example, my debut novel, Finding Grace, is a contemporary/romantic suspense with a heroine who gets visions. My new release, Melting Shadows, is a romantic suspense with a different paranormal twist.


For audiobooks on the StairMonster, gripping mysteries are best. They get me back on that torture machine because I have to know what happens. Books I listen to while knitting can lean toward the literary (though not much farther than Neil Gaiman or Georgette Heyer) :>D.


Most of my non-fiction comes from magazines and books on writing, so I expect my fun reading to be just that, entertaining and satisfying. I avoid anything depressing, overly detailed, too literary, and loathe cliff-hangar endings.


Any suggestions for my TBR within those parameters would be much appreciated! 

      After a prolonged rant about how easy women have it, Patrick awakens as a woman (Trish). But rather than staying a woman, he's male one day and female the next. The male and female characters share a single mindset – so Patrick is always in Trish's head and vice versa.
      As much as Patrick tries to keep his situation private, he eventually becomes a worldwide sensation sought after by luminaries as diverse as the Pope and Hugh Hefner. While attending a party, Patrick meets a rap superstar named Gi-Slam. Their connection is immediate and powerful.
         Gi-Slam's onstage biker-bitch character contrasts with her genuine girl-next-door persona (Gigi). Gigi is bi-sexual and she has a relationship with both Trish and Patrick. As the relationship with Gigi deepens, Trish takes her leave and Patrick experiences true love for the first time.


For More Information

• Going Both Ways is available at Amazon.
  
• Pick up your copy at Barnes & Noble.
  
• Discuss this book at PUYB Virtual Book Club at Goodreads.
  

 I had to pee. Now needing to pee when you first wake up is pretty normal for most people and I was no exception. But I was surprised by the urgency of the need and jumped out of bed.
I shuffled to the bathroom, lifted the toilet seat and began to pee. “What the hell?”
Instead of hearing the splash of urine hitting water, a warm stream ran down my legs. I had a momentary thought that my penis must have somehow gotten tucked behind my scrotum during the night. I reached down to reposition myself.
That’s when I screamed. A high-pitched girly sound.
In place of my cherished man gland was a soft void.
That’s when I fell backward into the bathtub, bringing down the shower curtain and rod with me. My head hit the tile wall and bounced forward so I was looking down onto a chest that was unmistakably female. I instinctively raised my hands and saw ten newly polished, French-manicured fingers. My butt was sitting on the base of the bathtub and my legs were draped over the edge. I say “my legs” but they really weren’t mine. Unlike the gnarled and hairy limbs that had served me reasonably well for twenty-seven years, these legs were unblemished and clean-shaven. I bent my knees upward and was greeted by painted toenails that nicely complemented their northern counterparts. As the final test, I slid my right hand down my torso and felt what could only be described in mixed company as lady parts. My lady parts.
That’s when I fainted.
I don’t know if I was out for a second or an hour, but when I came to I realized with unprecedented clarity that I had gone to sleep as a man and awakened as a woman. I had a flashback to reading Kafka’s story about the man who woke up to discover he’d been transformed overnight into a giant bug. At first he believed he was dreaming but gradually came to the conclusion that the situation was real and his life would never be the same. I’m certainly not comparing womanhood to the insect realm, but my metamorphosis was just as shocking and my life would be changed just as dramatically.
I sleep in the nude. I like having easy access to scratch, reposition, or otherwise handle my most cherished of possessions. So when I pushed myself up from the tub, I was able to see the upper half of my new naked self in the bathroom mirror. My mop of mousey brown hair had been replaced with shoulder-length tresses of strawberry blonde. My eyes were blue, but that was the only part of my face that remained unchanged. My
 scruffy beard, twice-broken nose, and bushy eyebrows were now represented by the kind of wholesomely plain, girl-next-door features that are the mainstay of stock photographers. My aforementioned breasts were pleasantly perky though, to my practiced eyes, a bit undersized. I moved my gaze downward and saw that my figure was more pear-shaped than hourglass. That disappointment, however, was offset by a respectably taut stomach and a perfectly formed innie navel that stood in for my incipient beer belly and a lint-collecting outie that looked like the result of a knot-tying contest between toeless sloths.
That was as much as I could see in the mirror even on tiptoes, but I needed to see more. I ran to the kitchen to retrieve a chair and carried it back to the bathroom. I stood on the chair and studied my newly acquired lower half in the mirror.
I placed my hands on hips that seemed wider than necessary to support a rather meager bosom and slight torso. From this perspective, looking down into the medicine cabinet mirror, it was clear that my pear-shaped figure was really more akin to a bowling pin. I was slim on top but decidedly “big-boned” on the bottom. I smiled to keep from crying. I hoped I at least had a good personality.
I continued my visual inspection of my feminine physique and, like any red-blooded American male (albeit one suddenly trapped in a woman’s body), I focused my attention on the nether regions. I was truly delighted to see that my female counterpart eschewed the indignity of landing strips or Brazilian waxes gone wild. Instead, my privates were graced with the simplicity of a traditional au naturel trim. From my point of view there’s enough weird shit going on down there that there’s no need for women to further complicate our search for that Holy Grail of sexual congress, the G-spot. I mean if the damn thing even exists—and it sure seems to change its hiding place from one woman to another—then I’d suggest women spend less time grooming their pubic hair and maybe invest in a groin-area tattoo with specific instructions and detailed directions. Just saying.
My legs, though unblemished and smooth, struck me as too short and a little chubby. Now, as a guy, I would have looked on the positive side and rationalized that this babe sported a powerful pair of legs that could tightly wrap themselves around my waist giving the missionary position some extra sizzle. As a woman, however, it felt like a flaw. Not a fatal flaw, but a flaw nonetheless.
That’s when I felt like my head was going to explode.
Despite possessing a woman’s body, I was still thinking like a guy. But not completely. I’m reluctant to say I was hearing voices in my head because that’s usually the first sign of severe psychosis; but there was something weird going on with my mind. I was actually assessing my new physical form from two disparate perspectives—as both male and female. And I wasn’t at all sure which perspective was winning.
I twisted myself to the right and looked over my shoulder at a rather bodacious ass. This was a booty that could go cheek-to-cheek with the likes of Jennifer Lopez and Shakira. The first thing that popped into my head was that I now possessed a body designed for stiletto heels that would lengthen my legs, divert attention from my rather pedestrian chest, and tilt my butt for optimal viewing pleasure. I wondered how hard it would be to learn to walk in heels without wobbling.
All in all, if I’d been me, I would have tapped this girl right on the spot.
That’s when I got creeped out.
 Self-gratification via masturbation is one thing, but thinking about screwing yourself, with your own penis in your own vagina, is a whole other level of depravity. I was actually giving myself a serious once-over and grading my new attributes. I’ve always had an unapologetically frat boy attitude toward women. Like video games, beer, and Doritos, women were put on Earth for my enjoyment. Sure it was great if they could hold a conversation and maybe pick up the occasional tab, but it was the superficial stuff that mattered most in my book. I remember someone suggesting that “they all look the same in the dark,” but I never bought into that line of reasoning. Sure, I’ve been known to chase the occasional ass attached to a just slightly better than coyote-ugly face, but that was only in the most dire of circumstances. I was convinced that allowing myself to routinely settle for anything less than a solid B would start me on that slippery slope from Sotheby’s to “Pawn Stars”—and eventually I’d get stuck with a piece of merchandise no one else wanted.
I stepped down from the chair and stared into the mirror, trying to determine if my insides had also changed overnight. I searched my memory and tried to recall specific moments from my childhood and recent past. It was all there. I might have been a babe on the outside, but my brain and thought processes still belonged to me, Patrick Morelli, the quintessential guy’s guy.
A guy’s guy with undersized boobs and chubby thighs.
That’s when I remembered last night’s conversation with Sarah.

 I absolutely, truly enjoyed this book! It was light-hearted and even funny at times and kept me completely gripped from beginning to end! I was completely compelled to finish this book in one sitting and just couldn't put it down. While I've read books with this theme before, none of them have been brave enough to actually dive into the sexual encounters they might encounter living as the opposite sex. Even though it does, this book isn't raunchy, the sexual content is kept light and actually pretty funny. The storyline is rich, the dialogue is perfect and the characters are pretty complex and well developed. I really, truly enjoyed this book, and am very curious to read some more of this author's work!

In the future there is no disease. There is no war. There is no discontent. All citizens are complacent members of the Global Governance. But one summer is about to change everything.

Keeva Tee just turned fifteen. All of her dreams are about to come true. She s about to make the trip to Monarch Camp to be imprinted with her intended life partner. One day they ll have perfect kids and a perfect life. But in her happy, carefree life in the Ocean Community, something weighs on her mind. She hears whispers about anomalies citizens who can t be imprinted. No one knows what happens to them, but they never seem to come back.

When Keeva arrives at Monarch Camp, her worst nightmare becomes a reality she is an anomaly. After imprinting, the people she loves change, and she starts to doubt everything she s ever believed. What if freedom and individuality have been sacrificed for security? And what if the man who solves all the problems is the very man who s created them and what if he isn't a man at all?

When Keeva finds a warning carved under a bunk bed she begins to understand: nonconformity will be punished, dissent is not an option, insurgents will be destroyed.


Add to Goodreads


Buy Links:
Amazon│Barnes & Noble│Books A Million│Select Books

    A fascinating look into what the world could be like if one single entity tried to conform everybody to the same standards- while staying apart from them themselves. Immediately, you are drawn into a world of a seemingly peaceful society, where everybody is expected to be the same, go through the same experiences and end up with the same destinies. However, as nature has it, there's always some anomalies- somebody just a little different. This story is absolutely absorbing and very easy to just jump into. The characters are complex, the dialogue is nice and full and the storyline is very fresh and original. I was completely enraptured from the beginning all the way to the end and just couldn't put this book down! I absolutely enjoyed reading Anomalies and am anxiously looking forward to a sequel soon!

SADIE TURNER is a Los Angeles-based producer and writer originally from Brighton, England, who works in business development with several Hollywood entrepreneurs. She has various projects in development, and also teaches yoga. 
Author Links:
Website│Goodreads│Twitter│Instagram

COLETTE FREEDMAN is an internationally produced playwright, screenwriter, and novelist who was recently named one of the Dramatist Guild’s “50 to Watch”. Her play Sister Cities (NYTE, 2009) was the hit of the 2008 Edinburgh Fringe and earned five star reviews: It has been produced around the country and internationally, including Paris (Une Ville, Une Soeur) and Rome (Le Quattro Sorelle). She has authored fifteen produced plays including Serial Killer Barbie (Brooklyn Publishers, 2004), First to the Egg (Grand prize shorts urban shorts festival), Bridesmaid # 3 (Louisville finalist 2008), and Ellipses… (Dezart Festival winner 2010), as well as a modern adaptation of Iphigenia in Aulis written in iambic pentameter. She was commissioned to write a modern adaptation of Uncle Vanya which is in preproduction and has co-written, with International bestselling novelist Jackie Collins, the play Jackie Collins Hollywood Lies, which is gearing up for National Tour. In collaboration with The New York Times best selling author Michael Scott, she has just sold the thriller The Thirteen Hallows, to Tor/Macmillan, which comes out Dec 6, 2011. She has just sold the novel The Affair to Kensington and is getting ready to shop her YA series The A+ Girls.
Author Links:
Website│Goodreads│Twitter