\nO que dizer depois de ler uma obra prima? Um livro \u00fanico que ficar\u00e1 com voc\u00ea para sempre? Uma hist\u00f3ria de amor em todas as formas? Voc\u00ea n\u00e3o diz nada, s\u00f3 sente.
\nSentimentos, tantos sentimentos! \u00c9 imposs\u00edvel n\u00e3o sentir tudo e mais um pouco desse livro, da primeira \u00e0 \u00faltima p\u00e1gina, e continuar com todos esses sentimentos depois, aguardando o pr\u00f3ximo livro. Sentir raiva, felicidade, tristeza , sentir.
\nEmma escreve de uma forma linda e \u00fanica, em uma forma que voc\u00ea vai amar suas hist\u00f3rias, suas palavras, sua mente e seus personagens.
\nO que dizer sobre Wes, Connor e Autumn? Eu queria ser amiga deles! Eles s\u00e3o pessoas fascinantes e com tantas camadas para desvendar! Ao contr\u00e1rio da maioria dos tri\u00e2ngulos amorosos, \u00e9 imposs\u00edvel escolher um lado, uma pessoa. Eu s\u00f3 posso torcer pela felicidade, amor e amizade deles.
\nLeia esse livro, voc\u00ea n\u00e3o vai se arrepender!<\/td>\n | What to say when you know that you have read a masterpiece? A unique book that will stay with you forever? A story of love in all forms? You don’t say anything, you only feel.
\nFeels. So many feels. It’s impossible to not feel everything since the first page of this book, until the last, and keep feeling waiting for the next one. To feel angry, happy, sad, to just feel.
\nEmma writes in such a unique and beautiful way that I’m not only in love with her story, her characters, I’m in love with her words, her work and her mind.
\nWhat to say about Wes, Connor and Autumn? I wish I could be friends with them. Such complex people with layers and more layers to discovery. Unlike a lot of love triangle books, I can’t choose a side, I can’t choose one person. I can only hope for their happiness, their love and friendship.
\nRead this book, you’ll not regret it.<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n![\"\"](\"http:\/\/www.inkslingerpr.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/08\/BDTS-teaser9-1-1024x796.jpg\") <\/p>\n
<\/p>\n Excerpt<\/strong><\/h3>\nI took the cement stairs into the library and entered the cool, hushed confines of the main reading room. None of the long mahogany desks with green-shaded lamps were empty. One of the university clubs had taken over two-thirds of the space. The rest of the tables were filled with students like me, trying to get a head start their course load.<\/p>\n I finally found an empty seat at the end of a table, opposite a blond guy engrossed in reading. His open backpack spilled books and papers into what I hoped could be my table territory.<\/p>\n \u201cExcuse me,\u201d I whispered. \u201cCan I\u2026?\u201d<\/p>\n He looked up, his expression vaguely hostile. Piercing blue-green eyes set in a stunningly handsome, if angular, face met mine. High cheekbones, sharp chin and long straight nose. He looked chiseled out of smooth stone at first glance, then his features softened for a moment as his gaze swept over me. Something like recognition lit up his eyes, and I could see the gears of his brain turning as he studied, analyzed, and then came to a conclusion. Not a good one, I guessed, because his expression hardened again.<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, sure,\u201d he muttered. He stood up, leaning his tall, slender frame over the table to corral the books back into his pack.<\/p>\n \u201cThanks,\u201d I said, thinking if he wasn\u2019t a basketball player or a runner, he was a model.<\/p>\n All right, girl, get a grip.<\/em><\/p>\nI sat, cracked my textbook and settled in to read. I wasn\u2019t through two pages when the words blurred to nonsensical gibberish and my skin prickled with the sensation of being watched.<\/p>\n I glanced up, straight into the ocean eyes of the guy across from me. A million thoughts swirled in their soft depths before they quickly glanced down. He slouched lower in his chair, disappearing behind his book\u2014the collected poems of Walt Whitman. Part of me wanted to melt. Good lord, a hot guy reading poetry? I was only human.<\/p>\n And this is how you wound up with a broken heart in the first place.<\/em><\/p>\nI must\u2019ve been frowning at the book because the guy held it up and said, \u201cNot a fan?\u201d<\/p>\n I blinked back to reality. \u201cNo,\u201d I said. \u201cI mean, yes. I love Whitman. And poetry in general. I just… Never mind.\u201d<\/p>\n He regarded me a long moment, then slowly closed Whitman and picked up Atlas Shrugged <\/em>from his short stack of books.<\/p>\n\u201cUgh, that\u2019s even worse,\u201d I muttered without thinking, and then shook my head. \u201cGod, sorry, I left my filter at home. Don\u2019t listen to me.\u201d<\/p>\n His lip curled. \u201cIs there anything in my collection you approve of?\u201d<\/p>\n A hot, smart asshole, <\/em>I thought. Game on. <\/em><\/p>\n\u201cSorry,\u201d I said. \u201cI\u2019m not in a good mood today and it\u2019s making me forget my manners. I\u2019ll leave you to read your capitalist propaganda in peace.\u201d<\/p>\n The guy\u2019s eyebrows shot up, disappearing under the blond hair that fell across his brow. \u201cNot a fan of Rand either?\u201d He smirked knowingly. \u201cNo, of course you aren\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n My blood heated at his flippant tone. \u201cWhat\u2019s that supposed to mean?\u201d<\/p>\n The guy nodded at my textbook\u2014Global Responsibility and the Third-World Hunger Epidemic\u2014<\/em>and shrugged, as if that answered everything.<\/p>\n\u201cOh.\u201d I frowned. \u201cWell\u2026 yes. I mean, Rand\u2019s point of view is purely capitalist and mine isn\u2019t. Not by a long shot.\u201d<\/p>\n The student sitting to my right exchanged glances with the girl sitting across from him. Then both packed up their books and left.<\/p>\n \u201cWe\u2019re being disruptive,\u201d I said to my across-table neighbor. \u201cWe need to stop talking now.\u201d<\/p>\n He leaned back in his chair, his eyes intent on me. \u201cSo what\u2019s your point of view?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMy what?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou said your point of view isn\u2019t capitalist.\u201d He raised a brow. \u201cSo what is it?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHumanist, I suppose. Since you asked. I think everyone, regardless of race, creed, income-level, or sex should be granted the same shot as anyone else.\u201d I raised a brow at him. \u201cBut you don\u2019t?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAre you asking me or telling me?\u201d he said with a slight chuckle. \u201cSince we\u2019re tossing labels around, I\u2019m a realist.\u201d He held up his book. \u201cAnd not a fan of Rand either.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re not?\u201d I leaned back too, crossing my arms. \u201cAre you just messing with me or what?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMaybe,\u201d he said. \u201cWhat do you care what I think anyway?\u201d<\/p>\n My mouth fell slack. \u201cI don\u2019t. Thanks for reminding me.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo problem.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWow, you\u2019re rude.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s the word on the street.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI can see why.\u201d I lifted my own book up to signal conversation over,<\/em> but my eyes wouldn\u2019t focus. I could feel the hum of his presence like a field of electrical wires, getting under my skin and infiltrating my thoughts. The buzz went beyond distraction. It felt like a challenge had been laid down.<\/p>\nAnd I never walked away from a challenge.<\/p>\n I lowered my book to see the guy\u2019s glance hide behind his book again.<\/p>\n \u201cWell?\u201d I demanded.<\/p>\n \u201cWell what?\u201d<\/p>\n Why are you watching me? <\/em><\/p>\n\u201cWhy are you reading Ayn Rand if you don\u2019t like her either?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cRequired reading for an English Lit minor.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAnd your major? Let me guess, pre-law.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cGod, no,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n I raised my eyebrows but he offered nothing more. \u201cAre you going to make me run through Amherst\u2019s list of majors until I guess which one is yours?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes,\u201d he said. \u201cAlphabetically, please.\u201d<\/p>\n A laugh burst out of me against my will, and the guy almost smiled. Every one of his hard angles softened.<\/p>\n \u201cEconomics,\u201d he said. \u201cBut I don\u2019t know what I\u2019m doing with it.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat feels like the most honest thing you\u2019ve said to me so far,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n \u201cAnd that\u2019s important to you?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes,\u201d I said, my laughter dying away as I remembered Mark and that girl, naked in the bed I\u2019d slept in just the night before. \u201cHonesty is very <\/em>important.\u201d<\/p>\nHe lifted one shoulder.<\/p>\n \u201cYou don\u2019t agree?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n \u201cBeing honest is sometimes mistaken for being rude.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou must be really<\/em> honest,\u201d I said.<\/p>\nAgain, he almost smiled. \u201cMust be.\u201d<\/p>\n Satisfied that I\u2019d held my own against this beautiful but hostile member of the opposite sex, I went back to my book\u2026for eight entire seconds before my skin started prickling again. The electric hum of his attention was impossible to ignore.<\/p>\n When I looked up this time, he didn\u2019t look away but cleared his throat.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m Weston Turner.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n ![\"\"](\"http:\/\/www.inkslingerpr.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/08\/BDTS-teaser7-1-1024x589.jpg\") <\/p>\n
<\/p>\n ![\"\"](\"http:\/\/www.inkslingerpr.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/06\/headshot-217x300.jpg\") Emma Scott is a bestselling author of emotional, character-driven romances in which art and love intertwine to heal, and in which love always wins. If you enjoy thoughtful, realistic stories with diverse characters and kind-hearted heroes, you will enjoy my novels.<\/p>\n
NEWSLETTER<\/a> | FACEBOOK<\/a> | WEBSITE<\/a> | TWITTER<\/a> | INSTAGRAM<\/a> | FACEBOOK READER GROUP<\/a> | AMAZON PAGE<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"A resenha de hoje \u00e9 desse maravilhoso livro da autora Emma Scott, imperd\u00edvel!! Veja aqui a sinopse e boa leitura! Today’s review is from a masterpiece by Emma Scott! Enjoy! You can read the synopsis here. Resenha Review O que dizer depois de ler uma obra prima? Um livro \u00fanico que ficar\u00e1 com voc\u00ea para…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-366","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.twobooksinashelf.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/366","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.twobooksinashelf.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.twobooksinashelf.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.twobooksinashelf.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.twobooksinashelf.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=366"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.twobooksinashelf.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/366\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":369,"href":"https:\/\/www.twobooksinashelf.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/366\/revisions\/369"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.twobooksinashelf.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=366"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.twobooksinashelf.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=366"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.twobooksinashelf.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=366"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}} |
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