Copper
Girl
The
Copper Legacy
Book
One
Jennifer
Allis Provost
Genre: urban
fantasy
Publisher:
Spence City
Date of
Publication: June 25, 2013
ISBN:
978-1939392022
ASIN: B00CXWC7JU
Number of pages:
248
Word Count: appx
80k
Cover Artist:
Lisa Amowitz
Book Description:
Sara had always
been careful.
She never spoke
of magic, never associated with those suspected of handling magic, never
thought of magic, and never, ever, let anyone see her mark. After all, the last
thing she wanted was to end up missing, like her father and brother.
Then, a silver
elf pushed his way into Sara's dream, and her life became anything but
ordinary.
Book
Trailer: http://youtu.be/Ml9Q3WmSHBw
MY THOUGHTS:
Rating: 3.5 Stars !!!
Firstly I would like to thank the author and the tour organizers for giving me this opportunity to Read and Review this book!!!
Well, to be honest I didn't like the book a lot like others. I saw so many 5 starer reviews and jumped on chance to grab a copy but after reading this book I'm sadly saying that I din't get quite impressed by it.
My main complaint is regarding the pace. From the very first chapter I noticed that the pace is quite slow and it felt boring as well. The descriptions of everything was dragged to much and it dimmed my excitement.
The positive points are one and only Sara, I loved her, she is the heart and soul of this story and the author described her and her thoughts very beautifully but yet her thoughts were dragged to much. Micah was good as well and I liked their chemistry and attraction.
The action and mystery part is good and it kept me reading the book till the end but honestly the pacing made me quit this book now and then but just to know the end I went on reading.
This book is definitely worth a shot if you are a patient reader and want a too vivid insight of all the tiny details as well that are not that much important in building the story then this book is for you but this is certainly not for me. All the best!!!
Excerpt :
Chapter 1
It
seemed like a good idea at the time.
My
office, like most modern offices, cranked the air conditioning down to Arctic
proportions during the summer months. Consequently, we workers arrived in the
morning dressed in sandals and sleeveless tops, donned heavy sweaters upon
reaching our desks, and ended up shivering by noon. Ironically, when our
workday ended we were hit by a wall of oppressive heat the moment we stepped
outside the main doors. No, this wasn’t a flawed system in the slightest.
That
day, I wasn’t having it. I had the grand idea of spending my lunch hour
outside, away from the icy wind stiffening my fingers and chilling my neck.
After I unwound myself from the afghan I kept in my desk (and only used in the
summer months), I gathered up my lunch and my phone and headed out for an
impromptu picnic in my car.
What
I hadn’t considered was that the office runs the air conditioning so cold
because it was, well, hot outside. Very hot, in fact. So hot that the cheese
was melting in my sandwich and the lettuce looked like something that had
washed ashore months, maybe even years, ago. I was parked in the shade and had
taken down my car’s convertible top, but I still couldn’t manage to get
comfortable. I’d already shed my sandals and cardigan, which left me wearing my
sundress and…
Dare
I?
I
glanced around the parking lot of Real Estate Evaluation Services, the ‘go-to
firm for all your commercial real estate needs’, according to the brochures. No
one, human or drone, was taking a noontime stroll, and, by virtue of my being
on the far side of the lot, no cars were near mine. Most of my coworkers didn’t
even have cars, so the lot was rarely more than half-full. What was more, from
where I sat, I couldn’t even see the office.
I
dared.
I
took a deep breath and channeled my inner wild woman, then leaned the seat back
and slipped off my panties. Removing that small bit of cotton made an
incredible difference, and the heat became somewhat bearable. Enjoyable, even.
Was that a breeze?
Ignoring
my decrepit sandwich, I fully reclined the seat, set the alarm on my phone, and
closed my eyes. A nap. Now that would make today bearable.
Suddenly,
he is there.
Here.
Kissing
me, holding me.
I
know I’m dreaming, because he’s perfect. His lips are soft but insistent, his
hands gentle. I glide my fingers across his back, feeling thick cords of
muscle, before sinking my fingers into his hair. It’s superfine, like cobwebs,
and when I crack an eyelid, I learn that it’s silver. Not gray or white, but
the elegant hue of antique candlesticks and fine flatware. Cool.
I
squeeze my eyes shut again, not wanting the dream to end any sooner than it has
to. He kisses me once more, and I can’t help melting against him. His hand
travels up my leg, up past my hip… shit! No panties!
I try
twisting away, but he already knows. I feel his mouth stretch into a smile, and
he moves to nuzzle my neck. “What’s your name?” he murmurs.
“Sara,”
I reply. “Yours?”
“Micah.”
By now, his hands have traveled to my waist, and he slides one around to stroke
the small of my back. “Why did you summon me, Sara?”
“I
didn’t,” I protest. “I don’t know how.” I would say more, but he nibbles a
trail from my neck to my shoulder, and pushes my dress to the side. As for me,
I let him .
Micah
raises his head, and I get a good look at him for the first time. His eyes are
large and dark gray, like thunderheads, his features chiseled into warm caramel
skin, and his unruly mop of silver hair seems to float around his head. He
wears an odd, buff-colored leather shirt, made all the odder in this heat, and
matching leather pants and boots. Boots?
“You
did summon me,” he insists. “My Sara, you must tell me why.”
“Does
it matter?” I ask. I pull him back to me, kissing him with all the passion I’ve
never felt with anyone during my waking hours. Micah kisses me back, fingers
deftly unbuttoning my dress while his other hand rubs my lower back. I’ve never
felt so free, so alive as I do in Micah’s embrace, and I have no intention of
rushing this. None at all.
My
phone screamed for attention, thus ending the best dream that had ever been
dreamed. Ever. I fumbled to silence it, then shook myself back to reality. I
still felt warm and glowy from the dream, almost after-glowy. It wasn’t until I
stretched and got tangled in my clothing that I noticed anything was amiss.
The
straps of my dress had slid down around my elbows, and the dress itself was
unbuttoned to my waist. What’s more, my bra was all askew and a nipple was
dangerously close to freedom. I shot a quick glance around the parking lot as I
fixed my clothing; luckily, there was no one around, either of the human or
robotic drone persuasion. I hoped no one had gotten an eyeful of how I was
apparently fondling myself in my sleep.
Some
dream. Soon enough, I got the top half of my dress squared away and reached
into the passenger seat, only to come up empty. My panties were gone.
Great.
Either one of my coworkers had found me sleeping and stolen them, or a randy
squirrel had absconded with my delicates. Hoping for the latter, I stuffed my
feet back into my sandals and returned to the office and my ever-growing
mountain of paperwork.
Speaking
of the mountain there was a fresh sheaf of reports on my desk, ready for
sorting. My title, if it can be called that, is Quarterly Report Collator.
This
impressive moniker means that I have the ability—no, make that the
responsibility—to place various documents and reports in their proper order,
usually alphabetically. I’ve even been known to utilize ascending numbers when
the occasion warrants, a feat those who get paid far more than I do cannot seem
to manage. As long as they keep paying me, I’m fine with my place on the food
chain, low though it may be. It sure beats the alternative--a luxurious but
caged life as a sellout government shill, performing spells on command as if
they were parlor tricks. My family may have lost much, but we still have some
pride left.
I
dove right into the heap of reports, for once appreciating the mindless work
since it gave me the mental space to dwell on my dream lover. Why would a man
in my dream claim that I’d summoned him? And what was with his getup? Micah had
looked like he should be playing the part of a swashbuckling hero in a trashy
romance novel, not hanging around in the parking lot of a midsized corporation
specializing in commercial real estate acquisitions and liquidations.
And
his name: Micah. I was certain that I’d never heard it before, which puzzled
me. If I were going to create a dream lover, wouldn’t I give him a regular name
like Tom or Joe? A name I was at least familiar with?
I
swiveled in my chair and called up my search engine. We are not, under any
circumstances, supposed to use this bit of technology that is standard issue
with each and every one of our ergonomically correct workstations. I’m not
quite sure what the punishment for internet usage is, but I’ve always imagined
ninjas dropping out of the ceiling and hauling me off to their lair. After
enduring a mild torture session, I’m given a cup of hot sake and sent on my
way.
I
could have waited until I got home. I had a nicer computer and better, faster
internet access than the office does, but I couldn’t wait. Not while the image
of Micah’s thundercloud eyes still burned in my memory, inciting
not-safe-for-work thoughts.
I
typed in Micah: define, and the results page immediately listed a bunch of
Biblical references. Mmm, not exactly helpful. I clicked around for a while
until I found one of those sites that specialized in the meaning of names. It
read thusly:
Micah
( mī ' kə ) he who resembles God.
Huh.
My dream man was certainly attractive, but I didn’t know if I’d go so far as to
call him a god. Then I remembered that there was a type of stone called mica,
which also seemed like an unlikely source for me to pull a name from. In the
midst of typing mica: stone, I was interrupted.
“Hey,
beautiful.”
I
glanced up and saw Floyd, the office sleaze, hovering at the edge of my
cubicle. Better and better. I clicked off the browser and nonchalantly swiveled
away from the keyboard. To throw the ninjas off my trail, of course. “You and
Juliana heading over to The Room tonight?” he asked.
The
Room is a local hangout, stocked with stale beer and watered-down liquor, not
to mention a floor that has never, ever been mopped. Not. Even. Once. But it’s
cheap and close to the office, so we all go. Since I started working at REES,
I’ve been a regular. “We haven’t discussed it.”
“Everyone’s
going,” Floyd pressed. “C’mon, I’ll buy you a drink. You like gin and tonic,
right?”
I
heaved the stack of reports from my lap to my desk and uncrossed my legs,
squarely planting my feet in order to deliver the Keep Away From Me speech to
Floyd yet again, when I remembered my lack of undergarments. Quickly, I
snatched my afghan from where I’d tossed it before lunch and spread it across
my lower body like a shield.
“Whatever,”
I mumbled, which Floyd counted as a victory.
“See
you there,” he drawled. I hate him.
I
spent the rest of my shift with my thighs clamped together, having mild anxiety
attacks whenever I stood. Or sat. Or reached for anything. Needless to say, by
the end of the day I was more than ready for something eye-wateringly
alcoholic. Juliana, my best friend and REES’s office manager, was game, as she
usually was, and we made it to The Room in time for happy hour. Normally, I
feel like I’m in her shadow, what with her long, dark hair, matching eyes, and
the body of a pre-war pinup girl, but tonight I didn’t care. Right about now, a
little overshadowing was just what the doctor ordered.
After
a few bowls of pretzels, and more than a few cocktails, I confessed my al
fresco state, to which Juliana and I clinked glasses and downed a few shots in
honor of my missing panties. Floyd, the scum, welshed on his promise of gin and
tonic. I really do hate him.
Jennifer Allis
Provost is a native New Englander who lives in a sprawling colonial along with
her beautiful and precocious twins, a dog, two birds, three cats, and a
wonderful husband who never forgets to buy ice cream. As a child, she read anything
and everything she could get her hands on, including a set of encyclopedias,
but fantasy was always her favorite. She spends her days drinking vast amounts
of coffee, arguing with her computer, and avoiding any and all domestic
behavior.
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/jennallis
Twitter:
@parthalan
Tour
giveaway details:
prize pack
including a signed copy of Copper Girl, swag, and a necklace inspired by the
token Micah gives Sara.
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