Giveaways, Reviews

Devil’s Mountain (Book One of the Devlin Legacy) by Bernadette Walsh – Review/Giveaway

Title: Devil’s Mountain (Devlin Legacy #1)

Author: Bernadette Walsh

Publisher: Lyrical Press

Length: 122 pages

Genres: Paranormal/Fantasy Romance (Horror)

Heat Level: Steamy


You will hate Him for all that he’s taken, but you will love Him. God help you, you will love Him.

 Mary Devlin accepted her fate years ago, to serve Slanaitheoir, the mountain spirit who saved her ancestors from the Irish Famine. The hauntingly beautiful woman submitted to His every caress, His every humiliation, but He’s gone too far by threatening her family.

Mary’s daughter-in-law is now an unwitting pawn in the fickle spirit’s game. Mary must challenge her fate and that of all future Devlin women, but Slanaitheoir is the most powerful being in the land. And when part of her still yearns for His touch and love, how can she fight him and win?


Marcie, one of the Wanna-Be Manhattan Moms who had also experienced success, lived a few blocks away on East 85th Street. A group of successful Wanna-Be Manhattan Moms had formed a little Upper East Side sorority. We would go to Mommy-and-Me classes, play dates and at times babysat for each other. I’m not sure exactly what happened to the not-so-successful Wanna-Be Manhattan Moms. None of us mentioned them.


Marcie agreed to babysit Aidan while I went to my acupuncture appointment at the Yorktown Natural Fertility Clinic. Bobby refused to go back to the New York Infertility Institute. In fact, it was all I could do to convince him not to use condoms. “I’ve got my beautiful wife and my beautiful son,” he said in a sing-song voice whenever I raised the topic of another child. “That’s all I want. That’s all I need.”


Why wasn’t that all I needed?


The first few months of Aidan’s life, I was completely satisfied. I’d never been so happy or imagined I could be so happy.


But then, the old familiar niggling started. I’d take Aidan in his stroller through Central Park and see a woman pushing twins in a stroller. Or a mother holding the hands of a small boy and a girl. And I would get that sour taste in my mouth, the same one I had tasted for years whenever I saw a pregnant woman.


And so it began.


I couldn’t very well steal a vial of Bobby’s sperm and take it with me back to Dr. Feinberg’s office. But we had, somehow, managed to conceive Aidan on our own. Perhaps with some Chinese herbs and acupuncture we could conceive again. Marcie swore by acupuncture, and after she had been thrown out of two Manhattan IVF clinics she tried traditional Chinese medicine and conceived her own miracle baby. Why couldn’t I too, conceive a little miracle baby with the help of magic teas and shiny needles?


Just one more, I thought to myself as I opened the heavy glass doors of the Yorktown Natural Fertility Clinic. “Just one more miracle. And then. Then I’ll be happy and content.”


I promise, I silently swore to God, the universe or whoever else might be listening to my thoughts.




A row of needles lined my bare stomach. They were in my ears, on my wrists and even between my toes. The acupuncturist, a hippy-looking woman in her mid-fifties with frizzy red hair, twisted the needles between my toes once more before she lowered the lights and left the room.


The first five minutes were always the hardest. Inevitably at least one of the needles would burn. Dr. Hippy-Dippy said that meant it was working. It was all I could do not to rip the offending thing out.


I breathed in and out slowly, and tried to focus on my breathing, on anything rather than the needles. As I lay in the darkened room, with only the sound of a small fan to block out the traffic from Second Avenue, my shoulders, which had felt like they were jacked up below my ears, relaxed. I continued my purposeful breathing and closed my eyes.


Someone took my hand. I opened my eyes and was no longer on the table, but clothed in a long red robe and standing in a forest. And the most beautiful man held my hand.


“My love,” He said, His voice harsh and guttural. And somehow familiar.


A lone ray of sunlight made its way through the heavy woods and shone on His black hair. His pale skin glowed and His jade eyes glittered in the low light. They drew me in.


Without another word He led me to a roaring fire outside of a cave. The fire was hot, and a small bead of sweat formed on my upper lip. The man unbuttoned the red robe and took it from my shoulders. Underneath I wore only a thin sheath of white silk that hid nothing from His probing gaze.


I should have been embarrassed, but the hungry look in His hypnotic eyes stirred a fire within me. With a finger, he gently followed the lines of my plump, full breast.


“So ripe,” He whispered in a harsh rasp. “So fertile.”


That word hit me like a hard slap. I turned away. “No,” I choked out, “I’m not.”


He pulled me to Him, His lips mere inches from my own. His musky breath filled my


nose. “You could be.” His lips covered mine. At first soft, like the finest silk, but then more forceful, moreurgent. My passion soon met His and I couldn’t help but run my fingers through His magical hair as he devoured my lips.


He tore the sheath in two and it fell away from me, leaving me naked. His green gaze bore through me, and it was almost as if I could feel the very cells of my body change. My breasts felt heavier and skin softer, my lips fuller. It was as if He transferred His own beauty to me. I ran my hands across my face first, and then my breasts, my nipples, taut and tender. Instead of being embarrassed, I reveled in my newfound beauty.


My skin was hot but His hands were hotter and they almost burned my flesh as they explored every inch of me. Every touch brought both pleasure and pain.


I pulled at His golden shirt, eager to see all of Him and He seemed surprised by my daring, my need for Him. He smiled, like a wolf about to catch His prey, and ripped the silk from His body as well.


This nameless man pushed me onto the soft grass beside the fire. Starting at my toes, His scalding tongue sucked and bit me. As He traveled up my calf and along my thighs, I trembled, not with fear, but with a hunger I’d never felt before. A ravenous, ancient hunger.


He spread my legs and His rough, scalding tongue explored me, possessed me. Before I could climax, He stopped.


“Don’t,” I begged. “Don’t stop.” His animal gaze bored into me. “Are you mine?” I threw my head back and arched my back, inviting Him to enter me. “Yes, yes. Go on!”


“Are you mine? Will you give me what I want?”


My skin was on fire, dying for His touch. “Anything,” I moaned.


A terrible smile contorted His beautiful face. “Don’t you want to know what I want?”


I couldn’t take it anymore. I rubbed myself against Him. “Anything. You can have



“I want you to have my child. I want to share the blood with you.”


I don’t know where I got the strength, but I pushed Him off me. He lay on his back, more surprised than hurt. His eyes darkened, but before He could get up I pounced on him, lowering my swollen sex onto Him, allowing Him to fill me. I ground into Him and felt Him grow even larger within me. I rocked back and forth, overcome with ripples of orgasms as I fucked Him, as hard as I could. Like a woman possessed.


Like an animal.


Okay, can I admit that I’m not one for horror/paranormal?  For some reason, paranormal to me is horror.  So the chance to read book one in a new series completely intrigued me and I’m so glad that I picked it up to read.

Devil’s Mountain had themes and places that I really like.  Ireland (on the bucket list, plus I’m Irish), mythology, folklore, witches, devils and yes, the baby troupe.  Ms. Walsh handled the baby troupe brilliantly.  Instead of it being the usually, had sex, got pregnant and hid it.  She put a completely different twist on it that had ramifications through out the book.  Great job for this tried and trued Harlequin reader.

Having the book told in different POV’s was also great.  I’ve read a couple of books like this and for me, it made the book richer and I understood what each of the characters was thinking, doing and feeling.  I never felt lost in the process of reading either. 

Caroline was a hoot to read and get to know.  She angered me at times but I got her and what motivated her.  Mary was a completely different story.  There was a time or two that I really wished I could have reached in the book and slapped her.  In the end, she made sense.  Getting into Mary’s backstory and motivation was interesting and of course, set up Caroline’s destiny.

I laughed, cried, felt complete sadness and utter shivers while I read this book.  I can’t wait to read about the other Devlin women.

4 1/2 Harlie’s and can’t wait to read the others…


Bernadette Walsh has been writing contemporary and paranormal romance for four years. She has published three novels to date (The House on Prospect (Echelon Press) and Gold Coast Wives (Lyrical Press)) and the first book of her paranormal trilogy, Devil’s Mountain — Book One of the Devlin Legacy. While Bernadette has hopped around genres, all of her books to date have a common theme: strong women handling what life throws at them the best way they can.

Twitter: @BWalshWriter









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My Sister’s Boyfriend by Sylvia McDaniel Blog Barrage/Giveaway

Title: My Sister’s Boyfriend

Series: The Trouble with Twins

Author: Sylvia McDaniel

Publisher: Virtual Bookseller

Length: 167 pages/70,000 words

Genres: Contemporary Romance (Comedy)

Heat Level: Sensual
The trouble with identical twins…
He’s back. The one guy she never wanted to see again. Her high school indiscretion, Brent Moulton, has returned to Tyler, Texas. Only Jennifer Riley knows the truth about that night so long ago when she switched places with her twin sister, Julie, and gave her virginity along with her heart, to her sister’s boyfriend in the backseat of his father’s Mustang.
…they look alike.
Fifteen years later, life has thrown them back together. Will Brent realize he slept with the wrong twin? Will he overcome his commitment issues and realize that Jennifer just might be the right twin for him.

“Never again,” Jennifer Riley vowed as she stepped into the black-paneled wooden coffin outside the entrance to the Hilton Hotel in downtown Tyler, Texas. Traffic whizzed by on Main Street, some cars slowing at the sight of a woman climbing into a coffin.
Jennifer tugged at her filmy black chiffon dress, trying to cover as much of her exposed cleavage as possible. “No matter how busy Julia gets or how much she pleads, I refuse to do this again. I didn’t come back to Tyler to dress up as an over-the-hill sex queen.”
 Paul, her sister’s employee, stood quietly by, holding the lid open. “Ready?”
 Jennifer took a deep breath, dreading the darkness that would engulf her. “Yes, make it quick. I hate lying inside this creepy box.”
Jennifer watched the coffin lid come down, shutting out the noise and headlights from the traffic.
“You all right?” Paul asked.
“Hurry!” Her breath sounded harsh in the darkness. She felt the pallbearers lift the coffin onto the cart and roll it along the sidewalk into the hotel.
After tonight, Julia, her twin sister, would have to find someone else to jump out of coffins and sing seductively when she needed help with her business. No ifs, ands, or buts!
As the new Development Director at County General Hospital, Jennifer would be way too busy to fill in at her sister’s fledgling singing telegram company. Not to mention that popping out of coffins could be damaging to her career.
The cart jostled along the hallway of the hotel until she heard wolf whistles and loud, boisterous, voices cheering, and she knew they’d arrived at the party.
Paul rapped on the coffin lid. “Are you ready?”
Jennifer cleared her throat and searched for the button that would pop open the door. Whatever happened to women jumping out of cakes? What nut case thought coffins were funny?
The coffin lifted. She gripped the sides, trying to find her balance as the pallbearers slid the casket off the cart until the box stood upright. She landed with a jarring thunk on the floor. Why couldn’t you get good pallbearers these days?
Paul tapped on the side of the coffin to let her know it was show time.
“In honor of your birthday, your friends and family have given you a gift from the other side. The other side of the hill, that is,” Paul announced as the noise from the crowd swelled.
Music started to play, and Jennifer hit the button on the inside of the wooden box. The lid sprang open and she slinked out, her chiffon dress clinging like a second skin that left little to the imagination.
“Happy Birthday,” she sang in her alto voice, her eyes blinded by the lights. She blinked rapidly, hoping her eyesight would adjust to the brightness of the room. When her vision finally cleared, she found herself staring into the face of the one man she’d hoped never to see again.
There before her, wearing a stunned expression on his face and a Marvin the Martian child’s birthday hat on his head, sat Brent Moulton.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” said the captain of her old high school football team, the person voted most handsome and most likely to succeed.
Jennifer’s voice cracked as she gazed into the emerald eyes of the boy who’d once been the object of her teenage dreams. A lock of dark hair lay across his high forehead. His full lips smiled as she stumbled over the words to the song she’d sung countless times.
I should never have agreed to do this tonight!
Dancing for a man who, almost fifteen years ago, hadn’t known the difference between her and Julia was anything but special, but the show had to go on.
She slinked around him, her heart beating in her throat as she ran her hands along the hard, contoured muscles of his shoulders. Brent must have existed on nothing but Wheaties, because his physique resembled a professional football player’s rather than that of a high school kid.
Of course, he would never remember her. She had portrayed Julia that night so long ago when they’d pulled a switch on him. Nevertheless, deep down inside, the foolish young girl Jennifer had been back then had convinced herself that he’d known which twin he was with. Yes, they looked alike, but when someone really knew the two of them, their differences were obvious.
With a coo that she hoped resembled Christina Aguilera’s crooning, she ran her fingers down his cheek as she began the last chorus of the song, the place in the act where she was supposed to lean forward and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. She gazed at his lips, full and inviting, and remembered the feel of them against her own that moonlit night when he believed he was kissing Julia’s lips.
She chickened out.
As the song ended, Brent reached up and unexpectedly pulled her onto his lap, wrapping her in his muscular arms. A full-blown explosion of magnetism rushed at Jennifer like a Eurail locomotive as she gazed into his laughing emerald eyes, catching her completely off guard.
Fifteen years had passed since that night, and still he’d tag teamed her libido and brought back all those annoying yearnings she thought she’d buried long ago.
Sprawled across Brent’s lap, her bottom rested against his legs, and her head lay against his muscular arm. The memory of his kiss had her heart beating a sharp rhythm against her chest. Hopefully he’d forgotten his date with Julia the night before they left for college.
He ran his hand down her arm, leaving a trail of goose bumps beneath the black chiffon sleeve of her dress. “Hi,” he said as his gaze swept down the length of her, his voice deeper, sexier than she remembered.
“Hi,” she managed as a shiver ran down her spine and her lungs tightened beneath the unyielding black dress.
“It’s been a long time.” The corner of his lips turned up in a cocky grin. “Shouldn’t I get some kind of official birthday kiss?”
Determined to control the situation, she placed her hands on his jaw and brought his face close to her lips. She placed a quick, chaste kiss on his cheek. “Happy birthday!”
Sylvia McDaniel and her very supportive husband Don, the love of her life, live in Texas with son Shane, Putz the klutzy dachshund and Ashley our shy dachshund. During the day, she works for a small insurance agency from home, helping clients with their commercial insurance coverage. 
The weekends are spent working out in the garden until the temperature climbs above ninety degrees. Recently, with the help of her husband, she learned to make homemade blueberry and blackberry jam. Cooking is not her favorite past-time and she prefers Don’s cooking any day of the week.
Currently, she’s written fourteen novels.  In the last year, she’s been a finalist in six writing contests and was a 1996 Romance Writers of America Golden Heart finalist. Sylvia is very involved with the Dallas Area Romance Authors.
She can be reached by email at
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