Tuesday, June 28, 2016

Blog Tour + Review + Excerpt + Teaser + Giveaway: Seared On My Soul by Cole Gibson

Title: Seared On My Soul
Author: Cole Gibson
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Publish Date: June 27, 2016
Review Source: ARC

 She’s so young, so full of life…

I couldn’t let her die…

Even if she made the world’s worst coffee.

Emily Garret never asked to be rescued, let alone by a walking JCrew ad whose idea of fun is probably managing his stock portfolio and watching the nightly news. Then again, she never thought she would wind upside-down in a ditch after a night having a little too much fun.

Reece Montgomery never planned on being anyone’s hero, especially the foul-mouthed, bleach-blonde barista from the local coffee shop. He thinks there’s more to Emily than her tattoos, and lip ring, but getting close means letting her into his past and meeting his ghosts.

And he’s not sure she’s ready for that battlefield.

As the old saying goes, "Opposites Attract."  This is the perfect saying for Emily and Reece.   Two people whose lives cross paths daily, yet never truly ended up really seeing each other until fate intervened.

This is one of those romance novels where both characters are fighting to overcome some tough life happenings that have shaped them to be who they are.  The directions that they each have taken has basically pulled them into opposite direction, but when they are in the presence of each other the issues that they battle with in seem to become nonexistent.  

I enjoyed reading this story because it just goes to show that you really can't judge a book by its cover.  You should take the chance to get to know someone before you pass judgment on them just because they may seem different from what society deems correct.  And, it also goes to show that those who seem completely put together may very well be just the opposite of that and completely torn apart.  We can each relate to these very points at some time in our lives and it just goes to show that people can change, and love can happen when you least expect it to.  Also, my final take away is that with support any thing is possible to achieve.  

My world becomes nothing but pain.
Every breath is a mixture of blood, smoke, and gasoline. 
From far away, I hear sirens and muf ed voices that can’t quite penetrate the darkness I’ve fallen into. Blood, tasting of copper, trickles down my throat. A searing ache, like barbed wire, rips into every inch of my body. 
Am I dying? 
Terror coils around my gut and I ail in the darkness inside my mind, desperate for anything to hold onto, an object to keep me grounded so I won’t fall away. My ngers brush against something soft and I grab hold, twisting the fabric into my st. 
It doesn’t take me long to realize the fabric is attached to something—or rather someone—because seconds later a pair of muscular arms snake around my shoulders and press 
me against an equally rm chest.
It doesn’t make sense. I haven’t been held this way since 
Daddy died nearly a decade ago.
“Can you hear me?” The unfamiliar voice sounds 
distant, echoing inside my head like a cavern.
I try to answer, but my throat is tight and blood coats my 
tongue. Instead, I hold tighter, pressing my knotted ngers against his chest. His warmth bleeds into my skin, loosening the fear twisted around my ribs just enough for me to breathe— only it comes as a gasp. “I don’t want to die.” The words are a surprise, but I realize they’re the truest words I’ve ever spoken. 
Unconsciousness tugs at me with velvety ngers, pulling me deeper inside myself. I clutch the fabric in my hands, suddenly terri ed that if I’m pulled away, I might not be able to nd my way back. 
The darkness presses against me, smashing me beneath a wall of endless satin. My ngers lose their grip on the man’s shirt, and I can feel myself slipping. Fear rises inside my throat, a jagged lump I can barely breathe around. “Don’t,” I manage to choke. My voice sounds far away—almost as if it were coming from outside my body. Or maybe I’m the one outside my body. 
The thought sends an icy wave of terror crashing over me. 
“Don’t what?” the man asks, sounding farther away than before. Even so, the panic in his voice is unmistakable. 
The darkness grows heavier, and I am too weak to ght. Even my fear ebbs under the crushing weight of exhaustion. It takes all my remaining strength, but I manage to breathe life into the words tangled on my tongue before 
unconsciousness consumes me. 
“Don’t let me go.” 

At seventeen Cole found herself homeless with only a beat-up Volkswagen Jetta and a bag of Goodwill clothing to her name. The only things that got her through the nights she spent parked in truck stops and cornfields were the stacks of books she checked out from the library along with her trusty flashlight. Because of the reprieve these books gave her from her troubles, Cole vowed to become a writer so she could provide the same escape to readers who needed a break the reality of their own lives.


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