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Fragments of Ash by Katy Regnery

4
OUT OF 5 STARS
4

OUT OF 5 STARS

Shameless Recommendation

I like that this series from Katy Regnery is all standalone romances with no overlapping characters or worlds, as I haven’t read every single book yet. You won’t need to in order to immerse yourself in this story, biting your nails as you hope that Ash won’t get caught, and then swooning over Julian falling in love with her. An added bonus to the story was how Katy incorporated the diary from Ash’s mom, it helps you understand her choices that affected Ash. Since this is told in dual POV, you can see how Julian changes from a surly young man who detests having Ash around, into a loving and sweet man who wants to protect her. Also, we see Ash grow from a naive teenager and not feeling safe into a woman that is loved and protected.

Where To Buy

Shameless Recommendation

I like that this series from Katy Regnery is all standalone romances with no overlapping characters or worlds, as I haven’t read every single book yet. You won’t need to in order to immerse yourself in this story, biting your nails as you hope that Ash won’t get caught, and then swooning over Julian falling in love with her. An added bonus to the story was how Katy incorporated the diary from Ash’s mom, it helps you understand her choices that affected Ash. Since this is told in dual POV, you can see how Julian changes from a surly young man who detests having Ash around, into a loving and sweet man who wants to protect her. Also, we see Ash grow from a naive teenager and not feeling safe into a woman that is loved and protected.

Where To Buy

Heat Rating

Genre

Series

About Our Heat Ratings

The hottest of the hot!
ex. BDSM, kink, dub-con

Super hot for adults only.
most modern romance

A little bit of heat.
not overly descriptive

Light romance and fade-to-black.
ex. young adult

Publisher Synopsis

via Amazon

From New York Times bestselling author Katy Regnery comes a dark and twisted retelling of the beloved fairytale, Cinderella!

My name is Ashley Ellis...

I was thirteen years old when my mother - retired supermodel, Tig - married Mosier Răumann, who was twice her age and the head of the Răumann crime family.

When I turned eighteen, my mother mysteriously died. Only then did I discover the dark plans my stepfather had in store for me all along; the debauched "work" he expected me to do.

With the help of my godfather, Gus, I have escaped from Mosier's clutches, but his twin sons and henchmen have been tasked with hunting me down. And they will stop at nothing to return my virgin body to their father

...dead or alive.

** Contemporary Romance. Due to profanity and very strong sexual content, this book is not intended for readers under the age of 18.**
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
Fragments of Ash is part of the ~a modern fairytale~ collection: contemporary, standalone romances inspired by beloved fairy tales.

ASIN: B07FYSHWMK
ISBN: 1944810374

Hot Quotes

& More!

He is so beautiful, I feel it everywhere -- in every frantic beat of my heart -- and I stare at him until he realizes I've frozen in his arms.
As he tongues my breast, his finger moves in slow circles, sliding over my aroused, slick skin.
My fingers curl into the sheets on either side of my hips as he does to my sex what he did to my nipples. Licking, kissing, and sucking on my tender flesh, he brings me to orgasm number two, but his voice is more taut and less playful than before when he asks me: "Are you sure you want to have sex, baby?"

A Modern Fairytale Series


Excerpt

Sitting in an old, broken-in wicker chair that looks out at the barn and meadow, I place my food on the table beside me and bow my head in prayer.
“Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty, through Christ our Lord. Amen.”
When I look up, I see the barn door slam shut and find Bruno standing across the gravel driveway, watching me. He makes a baying sound, then crosses toward me, the pitter-patter of his paws on the gravel making me grin.
“Good morning, sweet boy,” I say, as he approaches. “Are you coming to visit me?”
He pads up the three back porch stairs to my chair, sits at my bare feet, and looks up at me expectantly.
“Are you hungry, baby?”
As if he can understand my words, he darts a glance to my eggs and licks his lips.
“I’m not sure I’m allowed to feed you,” I tell him.
Rowr. Rowr,” he rumbles, looking at my eggs again.
“Hm. Okay. How about I have one and you have one?”
I lower my plate and slide one egg off the side and onto the porch floor. Before it hits the ground, it’s gone.
“Whoa!”
He looks surprised, then sits down genteelly, staring up at me like I’ve hung the moon. I giggle at his hopeful expression.
“More? Doesn’t your master feed you?”
I pick up my fork and try to avoid his eyes as I cut a small piece of egg then spear it with the tines. But I can’t avoid the small movements of his head, which track my every movement.
“Still hungry?”
He whines hopefully, his amber tail swinging back and forth on the porch floor like a duster.
“Oh, fine!” I say, placing the plate on the floor with another giggle. “You win.”
He leans down, gobbling up my second egg, and I make a mental note to change my grocery order from one dozen eggs to two.
“He’s taking advantage of you.”
Julian is standing halfway between the barn and the house, hands on his hips and a difficult-to-read expression on his face. Annoyed? Amused? Hmm. I’m not sure.
“Did you let him eat your whole breakfast?” he asks.
“Wh-what? No! We just . . . I was just sharing . . .”
“. . . your whole breakfast,” he finishes for me matter-of-factly.
He whistles—a short, high-pitched sound—and Bruno immediately trots down the porch steps and sits down in the gravel next to his owner.
“I’m . . . I’m sorry,” I say, reaching for my orange like I’m trying to even the score. You have a dog? Well, look at me, buster. I have an orange. “I should have asked your permission before feeding him.”
“Probably,” he says, reaching down to ruffle Bruno’s head. “But it’s okay. He’s a hound. It’s not like he’s going to get sick. Hounds aren’t prissy.”
“Are some dogs . . . prissy?” I ask, clasping my orange between both hands. This is the longest I’ve spoken to a single, young, available man, on my own, since I was thirteen, and I can almost feel the fourteen-, fifteen-, sixteen-, and seventeen-year-old parts of me jumping up and down and swooning inside.
“Ever meet a poodle? Or a Chihuahua?”
My shoulders skim my ears when I shrug. “I don’t really know that much about dogs.”
“Never had one?”
“No.”
“Okay. Well, Bruno’s a hound. Specifically, he’s a redbone coonhound. He’s a working dog. A hunter.”
“He hunts . . . racoons?”
“His breed does.”
“Oh.” I think this over. “Poor racoons.”
And then the most miraculous thing happens. Miraculous because I wasn’t expecting it. Miraculous because I thought Julian was beautiful when I first saw him yesterday, but I had no idea how he could look . . . when he smiled.
I’m not ready for it. None of me is ready for the lightning bolt of pleasure that enters through my eyes and zaps my whole body, down to the tips of my toes and back up again. I feel lit up from the inside. Hot and bright.
Poor racoons.” He chuckles softly, like he’s surprised, then shakes his head, staring down at Bruno. “Yeah. Okay.” He looks up and meets my eyes, his own still slightly crinkled from his smile. “Don’t worry. I let him tree them, not kill them.”
I realize that my mouth’s hanging open, and I close it, passing my orange from hand to hand as my racing heart pounds in my ears.
His smile fades as he stares back at me, the silence taut between us. His eyes widen, darkening to a deep forest green, and I watch, mesmerized, as he licks his lips before glancing over his shoulder at the barn.
“I should . . . get back to work.”
“Me too,” I murmur.
“You too?” he asks, his brows furrowing in confusion.
“No. Not me,” I say, popping up from my chair, my face flaming as my fingernails dig into the skin of the orange, spraying bitter juice onto my fingers. “I’m not . . . working. I’m just . . . I . . . I have to go, um, too.”
He stares at me for an extra beat, then chuckles softly before heading back to the barn.
I stare at his back, lowering my eyes to his waist, then still lower to his—
“Hey, Ashley,” he says, turning so fast, he catches me staring at his backside.
Can you clock the speed at which a human neck snaps up? Whatever the record used to be, I’m positive I just beat it. “Hmm? Y-yes?”
He grins at me, and I know I’ve been caught gaping. Lord, help me. I brace myself, expecting him to say something lewd or, at the very least, suggestive. Heck, I haven’t been called a bitch in almost thirty-six hours. I suppose I’m long past due.
“Thanks for dinner,” he says softly, then turns back around and saunters into the barn.

My first foray into the Romance genre came my freshman year in high school English, where the teacher had us all read books from several different genres. So, my first book boyfriend and PnR introduction, if you will, was Richard Merlin, from The Wizard of Seattle. Prior to that, I’d only read Fantasy or Sci-fi, with a little teen horror thrown in for angst. I was reading The Vampire Diaries decades before it was even a twinkle in the eyes of the producers. Now, I am addicted to PnR, always reading at least one book a week about vamps, wolves, angels, demons, Fae, or overall magic.

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