Bittersweet Symphony
Series: The Edge, Tales From the Coffin
Publisher: Decadent Publishing
Pages: 25
Genre: Erotica, paranormal
Reading Level: 18+
Source: Received from publisher for an honest review
Reviewer: Viari Rose
Blurb: The Bone Cruncher hasn’t visited in a while, and Estella thinks it’s something she did. Misery loves company, but she loves food more. Putting on a smile, she musters up an erotic story. But can she make it to the end of the tale without comfort eating?
To onlookers, Seren lived the high life in London with her orchestra conductor of a husband. She had a major case of unrequited love for her best friend, though, so their relationship was doomed from the beginning. Divorce papers served, it’s time for her to go back to her hometown on the England-Wales border and face the music.
Owen, now a postman of their little market town, is thrilled to see Seren when he shows up at her doorstep with mail. It’s not long before they’re releasing their pent up lust and love for each other. Within that mail, though, are letters addressed to Seren’s parents. They’re from her ex and hold a truth Seren is too fearful to face. Even with Owen by her side.
Owen, now a postman of their little market town, is thrilled to see Seren when he shows up at her doorstep with mail. It’s not long before they’re releasing their pent up lust and love for each other. Within that mail, though, are letters addressed to Seren’s parents. They’re from her ex and hold a truth Seren is too fearful to face. Even with Owen by her side.
Tales from the Coffin are tales told by one vampire and a zombie, it is the third book in the series.
What we have here is a beautiful tale within a story. And all stories don't end happy, though this ones does...in a way. Beautifully written, that skirts that wonderful line of what I find comfortable. It's a world that I would love to fall into again and again.
What we have here is a beautiful tale within a story. And all stories don't end happy, though this ones does...in a way. Beautifully written, that skirts that wonderful line of what I find comfortable. It's a world that I would love to fall into again and again.
The doorbell chimed.
Kitted out in her mother’s quilted pink dressing gown, Seren slipped her feet into fuzzy slippers—pink and oh so warm—and slumped her way to the front door of her family home.
She eased it open, hoping it was her parents loaded with luggage and tales of adventures from an impromptu holiday they’d taken to Mykonos or the Maldives. Yes, that had to be it, she convinced herself. They were impulsive when it came to travel, and rarely did they include her in such details until their return. Never mind that they would think the place empty, and that they would have a key. She still hoped it would be them.
“I didn’t expect to you to be here, Seren. Helô cariad.”
No. It couldn’t be. No one but Owen spoke Welsh to her. It meant “hello love.” A rush of childhood memories flooded her, and a sense of homecoming she’d been searching for caressed her and squeezed at her heart. His familiar face felt like a warm caress on the bitter winter morning.
He’d built himself out since the last time she’d seen him at the town social five years earlier. Whenever she’d visited home, she always made it quick and avoided town and his usual hangouts. Mainly because it saved having to explain to Andrew that he was just a friend. She had become sick of trying to prove that point to her husband.
Wearing a navy blue postal uniform, he emanated compassion and tenderness through every crinkle in his face. Mouth tilted into a smile, wooly hat pulled down, and scarf wrapped high up to the man’s chin, she’d know those bright silver eyes peeking through the fringe of his hair any day.
“Owen!” she squealed, ever so happy to be reunited with her friend. But his grin turned awkward, and his feet fidgety, his discomfort a reminder of their terrible parting five years earlier. She didn’t know whether to apologize or fling her arms around him.
Blocked by indecision, she twiddled her fingers against her robe and hoped he would say something to signal they were okay.
Perhaps sensing her unease, he edged forward and reached for her hand but quickly backed up. “I haven’t seen you since—”
“Since I made a fool of myself and announced we should make use of the coat room.”
Ex Ghost Tour Guide turned smutty author. JoAnne grew up in a small sea-side town on the coast of North Wales and lived in a house that backs onto a graveyard. Perhaps that is why she is fascinated with all things dark and macabre. Having worked as a Ghost Tour Guide with Britain's most renowned exorcist, and published various articles on paranormal subjects, it's no surprise to her or her family that she now writes fictional tales about ghosts, zombies and vampires; basically anything that goes bump in the dark.
She now lives in North Carolina with her husband, two kids, and two puddy cats. When they aren't demanding her attention, or jumping on her head, she strums away on the keys of her little laptop, creating worlds and adventures she could only ever dream of. Come across the pond and faraway....with JoAnne Kenrick!
She now lives in North Carolina with her husband, two kids, and two puddy cats. When they aren't demanding her attention, or jumping on her head, she strums away on the keys of her little laptop, creating worlds and adventures she could only ever dream of. Come across the pond and faraway....with JoAnne Kenrick!
For more info on Tales from the Coffin, visit the blog.
For more info on our Decadent Thursdays, see this post.
This looks very good!
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