Sunday, 20 August 2017


It's still Sunday here... for another five minutes... so I have time to squeeze in this week's group.
I must confess that this has always been a favourite of mine - even more so since I walked down the aisle to it at my wedding eight weeks ago!

I hope you enjoy - I know it did quite well over the pond, too!



Little Mowbury is a sleepy English village deep in the Cotswolds. The kind of village where you’re only a local if your lineage can be traced back to the dinosaurs. Where you can find everything in the single shop from morning newspapers to dry-cleaning, and getting your shoes mended. And, of course, where everybody knows everybody else’s business. It’s easy to find… you can’t miss it… just ask anyone and they’ll tell you… “It’s left at the crossroads.”

After being dumped on graduation day by the love of his life, Harry Boyd, Micah Lewis returned to the sleepy village he grew up in. Living next door to his mother wasn’t his best idea, granted, but when your heart was broken, there really was no place like home.

Six years later, secure and content in his job as midwife for a local birthing centre, the last person he expected to move into Lilac Cottage across the street from him was Harry Boyd. Seeing Harry again sends Micah into a tailspin and opens wounds he thought had long since healed. Although, Harry himself isn’t the only issue Micah has to face. That would be Harry’s very beautiful and very pregnant partner, Selena. But is everything as it seems?


"When did the newbies get here?" Micah asked as Jenny took the cake out of its Tupperware container and slid it onto his grandmother's silver serving plate. He'd been working flat out this week. Angie, one of the other midwives was sunning herself on the beaches of Costa Rica and he'd been sharing her shifts with Tom and Lara. Ergo, he wouldn't have noticed if the removal company had driven over his foot and asked him to help them unload.
"Moving van showed up yesterday afternoon," Jenny replied, turning on the tap to wash her hands. She grabbed the tea towel and dried them. "She said they were arriving tomorrow," she continued, "but I saw the agent airing the cottage out yesterday. He let slip they were coming a day early. You should have seen her chins wobbling when the old trout thought she'd got one up on me."
Micah covered his yawn with his hand. The one-upmanship between his mother and Doris Abernathay had been going on for so long he couldn't even remember why it started. He wasn't entirely sure whether the two women knew either, but they steadfastly held onto it like two dogs fighting over a bone. "Perish the thought," he muttered under his breath as she shrugged into her cardigan and picked up the cake.
"What was that?"
"Nothing, Mummy dearest," Micah replied quickly. "Come on, or we're going to miss the all important etiquette spot of ten-thirty. We don't want the neighbours to think we're uneducated 'cundry' folk do we?"
"You're not too big to put over my knee, Micah Lewis," Jenny threatened and slapped a hand to Micah's rear to prove her point. He laughed loudly at the thought of his five foot mother laying six foot of him over her tiny lap.
After locking the front door, Micah tucked his keys into his pocket and fell into step beside Jenny on the short walk to Lilac Cottage. "Do we know their names yet?" he asked as he lifted the cast iron door knocker and let it go. The thud of iron on wood gave a satisfying thwack he heard echoing throughout the cottage.
"No," Jenny said, running an absent hand through her short blonde hair. "But the wife is pregnant."
Micah opened his mouth to question how the hell his mother found out these things when the door opened to reveal a beautiful willowy brunette with cornflower blue eyes. The first thing Micah noticed was the hesitant, almost fearful light in the woman's gaze, pretty much the same as the pheasant's he'd encountered in the early hours of this morning. Definite dear in the headlights. But why? Who had she been expecting? By the time he'd finished his inner observations, his mother was already across the threshold and the two women were staring at him expectantly.
"You'll have to excuse Micah." Jenny chuckled. "He was on a late shift last night and I confess I may have woken him earlier than he'd have liked."
The woman smiled and her blue eyes came to life. "Poor you," she said. "I know what it's like to be sleep-deprived at the moment, so I feel for you. Please, come in, I'll put the kettle on. I'm Selena."
Micah stepped inside and closed the door behind him, wiping his feet on the welcome mat in the hall. "How far along are you?" he asked, taking the tiny hand she held out to him in both of his and shaking it warmly. His trained eye said about eight months, give or take, and a slight frown creased his brow as he noticed the slight puffiness of her fingers and ankles. Selena raised an eyebrow at his question. "I'm a midwife at the birthing centre in Winbourne," he explained quickly.
"Oh, I see," Selena laughed, a light tinkling sound. "For a minute I thought you had a fetish for fat and puffy."
"Technically, I do," Micah returned easily, immediately liking this woman. "But in a professional capacity, not a creepy one."
"Please, have a seat," Selena said, guiding them into the lounge. "Excellent timing," she called out as they heard the front door open and close. "You can put the kettle on." She smiled at someone standing behind Micah. "This is Jenny and her son—"
The fine hair on the back of Micah's neck stood up and goose bumps immediately broke out on the smooth skin of his arms. He knew that voice. God, how he knew that voice. But why here of all places? What the hell is he doing here—didn't I run far enough? Swallowing against the sudden dryness of his mouth, Micah slowly turned and pain bloomed in his chest. It had been six years since the man standing before him had calmly walked out of Micah's life. Six years and now here he was. Acutely aware of the interested gazes of the two women, Micah squared his shoulders, and kept his tone as even as he could when confronted with the only man he'd ever loved—and his pregnant wife.
"Hello, Harry."


Saturday, 19 August 2017


A friend and I were talking tonight and I know there are going to be very differing opinions, but I'm going to ask the question anyway....

Can there be too much sex in a story?

For me? I have to say yes.

When I first started reading MM fan fiction, the sex was different and titillating, I am more than willing to admit that. However, when I began to tiptoe around the genre and seek out different authors, I found that these writers were so talented and wove such stories with great plot lines, I wasn't that bothered by the sex scenes. Sometimes I even skimmed through them to get back to the story. That's not to say they aren't written well, or that I found them boring in any way; I was just so engrossed in the story I wanted to know what happened next!

There are, however, books I've read where the MCs seem to spend all their time in bed, doing naughty things to each other. And while the scenes are designed to titillate, I find myself wondering why no one has needed to pee, eat, or go to work. Then, of course, there is the sticky situation of not showering in between rounds of rampant sex (they must crackle when they get out of bed with all the dried bodily fluids floating around - not to mention the fact that they must have to chase the sheets round the room with a chair and a whip by the time they've finished). Then... there's the chaffing! By the time they're on their fifth or sixth sex scene in 48 hours, all I'm doing is wincing and wondering if there's enough lube in the world to soothe the bottom's poor little... well... bottom - and whether the top can walk!

So, what do you think?


Martha Esposito: "I am not much on writing reviews but I will say I really enjoyed this book. Great job Lisa" 

LeeAnnP: "It seems as though I have been waiting forever for this book to come out. When the author first let us see a snippet I was hooked. The concept was both frightening in what happens and intriguing, since I couldn't wait to see how it all worked itself out. When I started reading this 5 hours ago, I kind of knew what to expect. But as the story unfolded and more and more was revealed I found my self speed reading. Hoping what I thought would happen could be right. One thing I did not see coming, but when it did, I thought it was perfect. So much going on in this story. So many secondary characters that I enjoyed getting to meet. I enjoyed every page, every sentence, every word! Cannot say enough good things about the main characters, what they went through and how they were at the end. Wonderfully written. Captured my attention straight off and by the time I was done, I had huge crushes on Nick and Ford as well as Jesse and Danny."

DiverseReader: "I first fell in love with Lisa Worrall with her Laurel Heights books. She brought such a depth to her mysteries that left you with that lingering haunted feeling. When I saw the synopsis for Looking for Jesse I knew she was taking us back to that feeling and I wasn’t wrong.

As a mother, reading books that involve children in a dark way affects me hard. I knew going in what I was dealing with but still you’re never really prepared, are you?

Jesse, as you can guess, is kidnapped when he goes to a Christmas village with his father. Pretty much every parent’s nightmare. And a year later he’s still missing. Yeah, I know… A whole year. The horrors he endures are beyond words. And my heart broke throughout this entire story.

It’s told through multiple POV’s. Nick, (the dad) Jesse, even the kidnapper! That was very interesting. And it was rough to read, each passing word but I was invested. I had to see Jesse get home. As I read on I realized it wasn’t just Jesse who needed to get home and then the race was on. Time was a huge factor in this story and I didn’t put the book down once. I couldn’t leave these characters in limbo.

Lisa Worrall writes suspense in a way that you feel it in your bones and it lingers like an unforgettable frostbite. You will not be able to stop until the end and even after that it will stay with you."

New England Girl: "I read this story in one sitting. I had to. I had to find out if Jesse would be found! If Danny would be found! What happened? How? Why? I had to know now!" 


Thursday, 17 August 2017



A trust destroyed is a trust that is hard to recover…
Brendan Matthews is happy training racehorses for a living. He thinks he’s hit the jackpot when a wealthy orthopedic surgeon, Adam Ahmadi, sends six yearlings his way. Not only are the horses a cut above the rest, their owner isn’t too shabby either.
But not everything is as it seems. Adam has many secrets, most of them dark and deadly. When Adam’s past returns with a vengeance, he disappears, leaving Brendan confused and hurt.
If Adam survives, will his past destroy their future?


This was a wonderfully written story that propelled me into the world of horse racing and the work that goes into getting a horse ready for the track.

The romance was smooth and sweet and the suspense had you asking questions about Adam's past, and giving you a satisfying pay off at the end.

Recommended whether you're a racing fan or not.


Tuesday, 15 August 2017


I am working on a new story called The Collector, hopefully available around Halloween.
There is no cover yet, so I'm borrowing Mr Somerhalder, 'cause he's really pretty and, yes, there are vampires in the story. Here is a little snippet to tease the literary tastebuds. I hope you like it 😀


The mist was low on the ground, the moon high above him casting pools of light through the clouds as they chased each other across its surface. Walker stared up at it, enjoying its soft light from where he perched on the edge of the inappropriately large, in his opinion, ornate stone monument.
Who in the hell needed a headstone the size of a small house? What difference did it make? You were gonna be taking a dirt nap under the damn thing, not taking selfies with it! Prestige. Status. Those were the two words that tap-danced across his mind. He shook his head. What did prestige or status matter when you were dead? It might be a kiss my ass to some of your relatives whose share of the will you spent on it but, in twenty, thirty years, they’d all be dead, too! Then who’d give a crap?
He turned to look at the name carved into the black marble. The gold lettering gave off an iridescent glow in the light from his pocket torch. Gerald Higginbottom. Taken from us too soon. Walker checked the dates and gazed heavenward. Too Soon? Couldn’t they think of a better platitude? He was ninety-three for God’s sake!
Walker yawned widely as he turned off the torch and shoved it back into his jacket. He stretched his arms high above his head and winced as his muscles creaked in complain at the dampness of the air. Maybe he was getting too old for this shit. He blew on his hands to warm them, then scoffed at the ridiculousness of it all. Here he was, at his age, spending another night in another cemetery sitting next to another pile of dirt. Speaking of which…
The earth on the fresh grave beside the monument he’d chosen as his ring side seat, began to move. Only a little, but enough for the trained eye to see, even in this light.
“Come on,” Walker mumbled impatiently. This was his third and, thankfully, last one of the night and he wanted to go home. He had three episodes of Game of Thrones and a bottle of A+ waiting for him.
The mound of earth grew slowly, then finally collapsed in on itself as a pale hand pushed through the dirt and into the cold night air. Walker watched, a half-smile curving his lips. He loved this part and always had to tamp down the urge to help, but it was forbidden. It was better in the long run if they did it themselves. Bit like a chick emerging from the egg, it was all part of the process. He was simply there to guide them when their rebirth was over. His smile widened as the grave’s occupant emerged from the ground in a tumble of wreathes and posies that had been laid atop of it. She stood up, wild-eyed and afraid as she looked down at herself, bare feet pressing into the dirt. She lifted her hands, stared at her ruined fingernails and said the same two words everyone else said on realising what had happened.
“Oh fuck.”
“Indeed,” Walker replied, holding up his hands in surrender as she spun around to glare at him, her teeth bared, fangs glinting in the moonlight. “Whoa there, sweetheart. You can put those away. I mean you no harm.”
“What’s going on?” she ground out. Fear making her more dangerous than even she could imagine. “Where am I?”
“Two excellent questions,” Walker soothed. “I’m going to take you to someone who can answer them, and everything else you need to know. Come,” he held out his hand, “you must be hungry.”
“Who are you?” She hesitated only a moment before she took it and stepped off what should have been her final resting place.
“Name’s Jack, Jack Walker.” He smiled, enjoying her soft gasp as his fangs descended. “I’m The Collector.”

Monday, 14 August 2017


What attracts you to a book first? What is it that makes you stop and think, "Ooh, that looks good." I'm always fascinated by this question, because the answers can be so diverse.

Is it the author themselves?

Is it the title?

How about the cover?

What about the blurb?

Or do you ignore all of those and wait for the reviews?

For me, its a mixture of all of the above. There are authors who I would read their shopping lists if they released them. Sometimes a title leaps out at me. One that always sticks in my head is "Dude, Did You Just Bite Me?" And of course the cover is often what draws you in first. But, even though the cover draws me in, it doesn't always make me get my purse out. The blurb has to be one of, if not, the most important part for me. If my spidey senses aren't tingling when I read those few lines, it doesn't matter to me how great the cover is.

How about you? What tickles your fancy?