Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

Win a Sarah Maclean book bundle! – CLOSED

To celebrate the publication of Sarah Maclean’s The Day of the Duchess, we’re giving one lucky person the chance to win all three of Sarah’s Scandal & Scoundrel books, including The Rogue Not Taken and A Scot in the Dark!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The one woman he will never forget . . .

Marcus Bevingstoke, Duke of Haven, has lived the last three years in self-imposed solitude, paying the price for a mistake he can never reverse and a love he lost forever. The dukedom does not wait, however, and Haven requires an heir, which means he must find himself a wife by summer’s end. There is only one problem – he already has one.

The one man she will never forgive . . .

After years in exile, Seraphina, Duchess of Haven, returns to London with a single goal – to reclaim the life she left and find happiness, unencumbered by the man who broke her heart. Haven offers her a deal; Sera can have her freedom, just as soon as she finds her replacement… which requires her to spend the summer in close quarters with the husband she does not want, but somehow cannot resist.

A love that neither can deny

The duke has a single summer to woo his wife and convince her that, despite their broken past, he can give her forever, making every day . . . the day of the Duchess!

Five forbidden love stories

Inspired by the heartrending forbidden love story at the heart of J.R. Ward’s The Chosen, we’ve chosen (ho ho) five of our film favourites . . .


Shakespeare in Love
: Will Shakespeare is suffering from a bad case of writer’s block, and it seems like inspiration will never come – that is, until he meets Viola. Arresting, brilliant and one of his greatest admirers, their love quickly blossoms but is challenged by mistaken identity, backstage drama and the dastardly Lord Wessex . . . A funny, fresh and contemporary take on Shakespeare and his writing, we’ve seen this film countless times and still love it.


Moonlight:
arguably the best film of 2016, Moonlight sheds new light on the forbidden love trope as we follow a young boy, Chiron, coming to terms with his sexuality and racial identity against a backdrop of poverty and violence in contemporary Miami. When he forges a friendship with the charismatic Kevin, Chiron begins to realise just who he is – even if circumstances conspire against their burgeoning relationship. Quietly profound and gorgeously realised, this is a film for the ages.


The English Patient:
When amnesiac WW2 pilot Lazlo de Almásy is pulled from a plane wreckage in North Africa, he finds himself under the care of the beautiful but troubled nurse Hana, who helps him to remember his love affair with the married Katharine Clifton before the war. One of the most sumptuous romantic epics of recent times, and as heartbreaking today as it was on initial release.


All That Heaven Allows: a 50s melodrama that has inspired many other tales of forbidden love (including Fear Eats the Soul and Far From Heaven), the film focuses on the plight of a middle-class widow Cary Scott who falls in love with her much younger gardener (played by Rock Hudson), to the consternation of her snobbish friends and family. Tissues at the ready . . .

 

Harold and Maude: forbidden love is all about breaking down taboos, and this offbeat cult comedy does so with aplomb. When death-obsessed 20-something Harold meets the free-spirited septuagenarian Maude, an unexpected romance blossoms – and though society seems unwilling to accept them, this eccentric couple couldn’t care less.

Free excerpt from Sherrilyn Kenyon’s Dragonmark . . .

Tomorrow Sherrilyn Kenyon‘s amazing Dragonmark comes out in paperback! Read an excerpt below… 

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Samothraki, Greece 9501 BCE
“The bastards cut his throat. Severed his vocal cords entirely.” Materializing from the frigid depths of his lair, Falcyn cursed as he saw his brother, Maxis, dragging Illarion into his dark den behind
him. For years they’d been searching for their youngest dragon-brother, who’d been captured by humans for who knew what nightmarish horrors. But no trace had ever been found of the young dragonet.

Until now.

So large that he barely fit through the cave opening, Maxis released his hold on their baby brother and allowed Illarion to sprawl across the floor. Blood seeped over his yellowish-orange
scales. Both of his wings lay broken and useless against the cold earthen floor. His breathing shallow as he struggled desperately to stay conscious, Illarion blinked his serpentine yellow eyes slowly. Painfully.
So much needless misery—it radiated from the child to the core of Falcyn’s being. And it made his own eyes turn vibrant red as bloodlust rose
within him. Knowing he couldn’t tend his brother in his native dragon body, Falcyn shifted into the hated form of a human. The moment he did so, Illarion let out a gurgling hiss and rolled into an attack position even though it had to be agony for him to move.

“Easy, little brother.”

Falcyn spoke in their native drakyn—the true language all dragons spoke. One that sounded feral and unintelligible to humans. He held his hand out toward Illarion as a peace offering. While he might temporarily wear the skin of a man, Falcyn was and would always be a dragon in his heart and soul. “You know me. I need this form to heal you. Now calm yourself before you do more harm.”

A single crystalline tear fell from the corner of Illarion’s serpentine eye.

In that moment, Falcyn hated humanity more than he ever had—something he wouldn’t have thought possible. He reached to stroke Illarion’s gray-scaled snout. “Shh . . .”
Illarion backed up, then collapsed. Maxis gasped as he gently nuzzled the much smaller dragon and tucked his own wings against his body. Ignoring the fact that Max was a giant beast of a dragon who
could swallow him whole in his current incarnation, Falcyn shoved Max’s head away. “He’s passed out from the pain, Yaya. Now move your hulking arse so I can help him.”

Max shuffled back to make more room. “Will he live?”
“I don’t know. Where did you find him?”
“I didn’t. He found me.” Guilt and agony haunted Max’s eyes. “He can no longer Bane-Cry. The bastards took his ability to call us when they slit his throat.”
Falcyn ground his teeth as even more unmitigated rage tore through him. “Then we will teach him a new way to call for us. One they won’t be able to stop.”

Max nodded and looked away. “This is my fault.”
“Don’t!”
“It is and you know it. My mother gave him to the humans to get back at me for what I said to her. Had I cooperated . . . given her what she—”
“She would have screwed over the world, and he still would have paid for her cruelty. The lilitu are without the ability to care for their young. You know this. My own mother watched as they sacrificed me on my birth. All it did was teach me that we’re in this life alone, cradle to grave, and make me bitter and disgusted.”

Max swallowed before he spoke again. “Is that why you can take human form when no other dragon can?”

Falcyn didn’t answer his question. It was the one thing he would never speak of. To anyone. No one needed to know anything about him. Not even those he considered his brothers. Nor was he the only dragon who could shift . . . But there were many things his brothers and sisters didn’t need to know about this world.

“His physical injuries are not so bad,” he said, changing the subject. “We should be able to heal him.”
“But?”
“He’s only a child. I fear for the mental damage they’ve wrought.”
“As do I. They were using him to fight in their wars. Riding him like he was a thoughtless beast.”
Falcyn winced. Too bad Illarion hadn’t been a full-grown drakomas. That was the fury the humans deserved. Not the small child who lay helpless at his feet. One who’d been unable to fully fight them and give them the fyrebreath and dragon’s fury they deserved. In that moment, he felt the demon within him rising. It wanted to set fire to the world and watch it burn to cinders. If mankind had any idea how often they tempted him toward destruction they’d never sleep again. Times like this, it took everything he had not to give in to that darkness that burned inside him, calling for the hearts and souls of all sentient beings. Even the gods.

That was what made it so hard to relate to Maxis. Part Arel, he was the direct opposite. He saw only good inside even the most corrupt. It was sickening, really. The way his brother wanted to help others. That innate need Max had to protect and to serve. It was ever revolting. Now Illarion had been given his first taste of humanity. And like Falcyn’s, it had been a most bitter meal. If the dragonet did survive this, he wouldn’t have Max’s blood in him that would want to protect the human vermin who’d tortured him. Illarion’s father was the Greek god Ares. A war god. The humans had no idea what they’d been toying with. With the blood Illarion carried, he would become one of the strongest of their kind once he reached his majority. A dragon of fierce, unmatched powers.

Falcyn’s hand lingered at the brand on his brother’s back where the humans had marked Illarion like cattle. It festered and bled. Sadly, it would leave as bad a scar on his body as this entire ordeal had left on his brother’s psyche. May the gods have mercy on them all. . . .

For Illarion would not.

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Need to read more? We feel your pain! Order the PB below, and keep watching Piatkus Fiction for upcoming Kenyon competitions….

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The War Bride, Pamela Hart Excerpt

To celebrate Pamela Hart‘s gorgeously romantic novel The War Bride being shortlisted in the Epic Romantic Novel category for the 2017 RoNAs, we’ve got an excerpt from it for you! Enjoy!

Prologue
13 January 1920

There didn’t seem to be a band playing. And only a few people on the wharf at Dawes Point. A handful of Army types, a man in a suit waiting with a taxi, and the normal number of stevedores lounging around, grabbing a smoko while they waited for their cargo to arrive.

Frank was surprised. The last time a war-bride ship had docked – when his mate Smitty’s girl came out – there had been crowds, an Army brass band, streamers and shouting and crying – even a man with a placard saying, ‘Welcome to your new home, Mavis’. He’d thought about making one of those for Margaret, but now he was glad he hadn’t. He felt silly enough, clutching a bunch of roses in a sweaty hand.

He hoped he’d still recognise her. Two years and four months was a long time, and women did things with their hairstyles. Clothes were different. But surely Margaret’s tall, slender form would stand out the way it had at Reading train station, when they’d said goodbye. Surely he couldn’t mistake that lovely, soft smile of hers for anyone else?

It was hot already, and humid, as Sydney summers always were, but he was ruefully aware that the sweat running down his back wasn’t only from the heat.

Wound tighter than a watch spring, he was. Two years and four months and no giving in to temptation, no matter what. A married man, and he’d stuck to it, and God hadn’t it been hard! But today . . . the house he’d found for them was all ready, the bed made with brand-new sheets. A thorn pricked his thumb and he loosened his grip; not long now.

The SS Waimana loomed closer; still painted in its camouflage colours, even now, fourteen months after the war had ended. Frank blinked, confused. There weren’t any passengers lining the rails – no, wait, there were a couple on the top deck, holding up some kiddies to see. Where were the women? This was supposed to be a war-bride ship. It should have been packed to the gunnels.

The ship was tied up and the gangplank put across the gap. A trickle of passengers came down, but the only young woman who emerged was a redhead. She winked at him as she went past, her hand tucked into a corporal’s arm. That was all – the others were a family group and a couple of men in suits.

Where was Margaret? He checked the letter from the Repatriation Committee again, for the tenth time; yes, the Waimana, arriving January 1920, check shipping news for arrival date. Which he had. Surely she hadn’t got off at Fremantle or Melbourne? Maybe most of the women had been going to Melbourne, and that was why the ship was nearly empty. That would be it. But where was Margaret?

Who could he ask? An Army sergeant was checking off the corporal and his redhead from a list. With the enlisted man’s instinctive avoidance of authority, Frank went instead to a sailor who was securing the mooring ropes at the bow of the ship.

‘My wife was supposed to be on this ship,’ he began.

The sailor hawked and spat into the greasy Harbour water. ‘Soddin’ women.’

Frank ignored his comment.

‘Margaret Dalton?’ he asked.

The sailor looked at the sky and sucked his teeth, thinking. ‘Brown hair? Good looker? About so high?’ He measured against himself. Frank nodded.

‘Yerse, I remember her. There were only a couple without their blokes. She came on board, but she took herself off again. Women – always changing their bluidy minds.’

He’d felt cold like this when he’d been shot, at Passchendaele, in the streaming mud, trying to crawl under barbed wire. The shock had gone through him the same way, exactly.

‘Took herself off . . .’ he managed.

The sailor shrugged and made fast, then circled him to get back on board.

‘Life’s a shit, eh?’ he said as he climbed the gangplank.

Frank threw the roses into the gutter as he walked away. Walked and walked, hot in his good suit (his only suit) and his shiny shoes.

Part of him wasn’t surprised. He’d always known that Margaret was too good for him. Too beautiful, too kind, too loving. He wasn’t worth that kind of girl; a nameless orphan with nothing more than what his two hands could make. But she hadn’t seemed to realise that. Had seemed to think they were on a par, that she was making a good bargain. Had seemed to look forward to a life in Australia.

When she’d walked with him to the station to see him off to the front, she’d cried silently, surreptitiously rubbing the tears away from her face, not wanting to make him feel any worse. They’d only been married a month, then, and parting had been so hard. When they’d kissed goodbye, her soft mouth had been salty with tears.

She’d loved him then, he was certain.

Two years and four months was a long time. Long enough, it seemed, for her to change her mind, even if it was at the last moment.

He’d had letters; but not for a while, now he thought about it. A few months. Maybe that should have made him realise. Made him prepare himself, instead of being side-swiped like this.

She should have warned him. Told him she’d had doubts. He could have reassured her. Hell, he would have gone to England to fetch her if he’d had to.

Unless someone else had changed her mind for her.

The thought of Margaret with another man hit him low and hard, and left him gasping.

He needed a drink. There was a pub on the corner. Not one he’d been in before, but it was open. He went in and hesitated, then ordered a whisky. Beer wouldn’t chase away this shaking feeling inside him; wouldn’t put him solidly on his feet again.

One whisky didn’t, either. He had another, and another. A vague sense that he was spending too much money sent him out the door, jingling the coins in his pocket, along with the key to the house he’d prepared so carefully for Margaret.

It made him sick to think of living there alone. Made him walk faster, as if to outdistance the thought.

He stopped for breath and realised that he’d walked a long way; had taken a familiar path, to Stanmore, and Gladys.

Well, why not? Hell, he’d been faithful the whole time, and what did he have to show for it? Anger rose up in him, finally chasing away the cold, sick dread. If Margaret didn’t want him, there was one who did. Who always had. And there was no reason now that his daughter couldn’t have a proper father.

That thought was the first good one he’d had. It would be wonderful to see more of Violet.

He turned into Cavendish Street and walked up to number 64, Mrs Leydin’s boarding house, where Glad had a room for her and Violet. For a moment, before he knocked, he was afraid that she wouldn’t want him, either. That she’d throw him off because he hadn’t chosen her over Margaret, despite the fact that Margaret was his lawful wedded wife. He was frozen with that fear, for a moment; that he’d be back to being alone in the world, as he always had been until that miraculous day that Margaret had said she would marry him. Alone and forsaken. But he wasn’t alone. Violet would always be his.

His knock would have woken the dead.

It was still early; Glad was on second shift at the biscuit factory, and she hadn’t left for work yet. She answered the door and put her hand to her heart as she saw him; did he look that bad?

‘She didn’t come,’ he said.

Her pale little face flushed and she took his hand almost shyly. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. That was Gladys. She was sorry, always, at anything that caused him pain. She really loved him. Tears came to his eyes but he didn’t want her to see, so he pulled her into his arms and hugged her. Violet came running out of their room and crowed with delight to see him.

‘Papa!’ she yelled. She barrelled into his legs and he swept her up with one arm, still holding Gladys tightly with the other. He kissed Vi’s cheek and she threw her little arms around his neck. There was nothing like that feeling.

Gladys leaned her head against his shoulder; her love and acceptance soothed the raw wound of Margaret’s rejection.

‘You and Vi should move in with me,’ he said. ‘We’ll be a proper family.’

‘Yes,’ Glad said. She smoothed his hair back and smiled at him. There was a hint of sadness at the back of her eyes, but he concentrated on the smile, mirroring it until the sadness disappeared. ‘A proper family.’

The War Bride is available to buy now! Get it here:

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Amazon

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And Pamela’s newest book, A Letter From Italy is published in ebook tomorrow!! Pre-order here!

Five Tips for a Lovely Regency Christmas

Holiday celebrations have changed significantly over the past 200 years, but our Regency ancestors knew how to have a fine time at Yuletide. The custom of putting up a Christmas tree (or hanging one from the ceiling) had yet to catch on. Rum had already been invented, however, and this more than compensated for the lack of Christmas trees. Santa Claus was Father Christmas, and he wore flattering full-length green robes rather than that silly red get-up. No flying livestock, either. No Grinch, not even a Tiny Tim.
However did they manage days of yore? (Other than the rum?) It took planning, diligence, and a big bowl of wassail, but manage they did, as follows:

1) They hung mistletoe EVERYWHERE. Mistletoe was suspended from the rafters, from bonnets, from hat brims, and from awnings. We know this because every historical romance author who ever wrote a Christmas story tells us so (including present company).

 

 

 

2) About that wassail. Recipes lovingly preserved through the ages inform us that wassail was concocted of hard cider, nutmeg, ginger, flirtation (some recipes call for a lot of this), mischief, cinnamon, and laughter. Once the wassail had been properly appreciated, the next joy to be experienced during the Regency holiday was…

 

 

 

3) Sleighriding. Thanks to an obliging volcano, some of the Regency winters were truly impressive. Much glee was to be derived hitching up Olde Thunderbolte to the sleigh and taking off across the arctic countryside at a brisk canter. Windchill factors hadn’t been invented yet (fortunately), but no matter. Enterprising Regency folk coped with the pleasure of a winter headwind by snuggling VERY closely under those lap robes. As a consequence, most children in the rural parishes of Regency England were born in September. (I am making that up, though three of my four brothers were born in September, and my mom’s birthday was December 30. Go fig.) If sleighriding paled, there was always the…

4) Frost Fair on the Thames! The Victorians dredged and narrowed the Thames river channel, an inspired gesture in the direction of flushing the figurative London potty. The downside (well) of their engineering genius is that the river, having a faster current, hasn’t frozen solid since the Regency. No more Frost Fairs for us, though we do have the food hall at Harrod’s. I still think ice skating from booth to booth would have been a cool way to Christmas shop. And finally…

5) Mustn’t forget the plum pudding. No plums, of course, but that sucker was probably 180 proof by the time Mama brought it flaming to the table. One serving of plum pudding and even after a day of sleighriding or shopping the frost fair, your toes would thaw instantly.

All of which is to say, that with enough love and laughter, no matter the century, the holidays are still the holidays—but I do think we could use a little more respect for the traditional use of mistletoe!

NOW CLOSED Win All In by Simona Ahrnstedt

All In

To celebrate the publication of All In by Simona Ahrnstedt, we’re offering you the chance to win 1 of the 3 paperback copies through Piatkus Entice.

This  sensationally sexy new series by bestselling Swedish romance author Simona Ahrnstedt – perfect for fans of E.L. James, Sylvia Day and Laurelin Paige. If that’s not enough to excite you, look at these fantastic reviews . . .

‘This writer definitely knows how to tell a compelling story that has heat and heart.’ New York Times bestselling author Sandra Brown

All In is sexy, smart, and completely unputdownable. Breathtaking, from start to finish. I loved this book, and I can’t wait to go whatever Simona Ahrnstedt takes her readers next.’ New York Times bestselling author Tessa Dare

‘Everything a reader could want!’  New York Times bestselling author Eloisa James

‘I’ve been searching for this feeling all year: this book left me absolutely breathless.’ New York Times bestselling author Christina Lauren

Fast paced, sexy and smart!’ New York Times bestselling author Lori Foster

‘Trailblazing Swedish author Ahrnstedt offers readers a satisfying game of high-stakes corporate intrigue and scandalously illicit passion.’ RT Book Reviews

The giveaway is open until midnight on 4th August to UK residents only. Full terms and conditions can be found here. To enter, simply fill in your name and email address below and hit enter. Good Luck!




The Black Dagger Brotherhood in 60 Seconds

excited awesome screaming happy dance jonah hill

Rhage is back! Or, he will be in just a few short days.

With J. R. Ward’s The Beast about to hit shelves we thought we’d better get in some prep work. So we’ve called in Black Dagger Brotherhood expert Gemma Harding of  Book Mood Reviews to give you the lowdown on J. R. Ward’s fabulous series in 60 seconds*. Here are her answers to our pressing questions . . .

  1. What’s the single most important thing we need to know about the Black Dagger Brotherhood series?

That this 13, nearly 14, book series is seriously addictive and with each book you are drawn further into the world.

 

  1. In five sentences tell us what the series is about. Go:

The Black Dagger Brotherhood series started off as a paranormal romance series about a band of warrior vampires who not only protect humanity, but also their own race from a group of demon like beings called Lessers. It has evolved from each book being a standalone paranormal romance, where a particular male character ended up getting his happy ever after with the love of a good woman (whether vampire, mortal or other), to that of a very complex and heavily plotted urban fantasy series, with romantic elements. The world has widened, with other supernatural species such as sympaths and shadows now a big part of the universe. The series is still about The Black Dagger Brotherhood fighting against their enemies, but it is not just the Lessers and also has politically motivated coups against The King, Wrath,  to keep the characters on their toes. This is all against a backdrop of a group of male vampires trying to protect the women they love and the family they have built.

 

  1. What’s your favourite book in the series?

My favourite book in the series is still Lover Mine, which is centred around John Matthews (or JM), a half vampire/ half human relation to Wrath’s wife Beth, and Xhex a half sympath/ half vampire warrior working for the sympath King Rhevenge. This is the book, for me at least, I saw a change in the direction of the series. It wasn’t as heavily centred on the two leads and Ward seemed to be starting to go down the Urban Fantasy route. Plus, it was the start of my love for a certain pairing.

 

  1. Who’s your favourite character?

My favourite character changes all the time, but the character who always returns to the top of the list has to be Vishous, or V as he is known in the books. He is the Son of the Scribe Virgin (sort of the goddess of the race) and a mean S.O.B called The Bloodletter. V has the right balance of being a sarcastic, mean kick-ass fighter and a really deep and sensitive guy. This is especially true when he meets his other half, Jane, and the continual bromance he has with Butch, an ex-cop turned vampire. (Told you that it was complex).

 

  1. Why do you love J. R. Ward’s books?

For me, I think it is because Ward is trying to continually evolve and change the series with each book. Ward can really write great alpha males and is able to make each of them different and stand out. Each character has their own fears and vulnerabilities, and although that they do prevail, it isn’t without sacrifice. Ward isn’t scared to take risks with her plots and although there have been a few books in the series that I haven’t loved, I still keep reading because she knows how to dangle a carrot under the readers’ nose to make them need to read the next book in the series.

 

  1. Complete the following sentence: If you like x, y and z, you’ll love J. R. Ward

If you like Hot Vampire Warriors, some steamy Romance and kick-ass action, you’ll love J. R. Ward.

 

Many thanks to Gemma for kicking off our celebrations for The Beast and sharing her love for The Black Dagger Brotherhood!

We can’t wait to see what everyone thinks of the book . . . so this week and next we’ll be reminiscing about Rhage, the brothers and our love of all things Ward over on Facebook. Come join us.

 *so, maybe more than 60 seconds, but you can never have too much J. R. Ward.

The best things about being a romantic

The season of romance is upon us as the 14th February looms ever closer. Hearts, flowers, chocolates and cherubs. What’s not to love?!being a romantic

Over the years I’ve realised a few things about being a romantic and why it can be so great! Here’s my top 5 favourite things.

Optimism – never giving up on love

I forever believe that love is out there for me! The idea that love will be a constant in life is the best feeling. After a bad date I pick myself up and tell myself there is something better out there for not only me but everyone! My optimism can sometimes splay into OVERLY optimistic, which, truth be told can be a rather large downside, with friends thinking I’m absurd. But hey, life is too brilliant to not find someone to share it with, right?

Treating others

When you’re a romantic you love planning special things for those you care most about. Whether it be making their favourite meal or planning a surprise trip, we romantics LOVE this stuff. The best part though is how happy it makes others too. Knowing someone’s done something special for you is a great feeling and everyone deserves to feel like this. So romantics out there, continue to spread that pink, glitter coated love.

Feeling like you’re in a Disney film

Now this one may not be universal, but for me when romance is swirling around my head, I like to think of myself in a Disney film, birds singing and mice helping me design a dress for a ball (ok that last one might be a step too far). However, what I do love in Disney is that it all works out and everyone lives happily ever after, which is a lovely turn out for the books. Really, this is idealistic view is at the core of every romantic and that is AWESOME!

Always having great stories to tell

Whether your romantic ideas play out well or not, you’ll always have a great story to tell. Like that time I cooked a lovely meal for an old boyfriend and as I went to serve it, dropped it all over the floor and his lap. Embarrassment levels were high at the time, but the story went down very well with friends. He wasn’t so impressed with a scorching lap of pasta though.

Being the one people come to for romantic advice

I love sharing my romantic advice with friends and even strangers (if I can make them listen!) But what I love most is when friends come to me for advice and I can help them create an amazing surprise for someone. It’s great to turn non-romantics to the side of love and help someone make the best surprise.

 

All in all, I think we can agree being a romantic is pretty great. We’d love to hear about your favourite romantic stories, so share away on our Piatkus Entice Twitter and Facebook pages!

Love, Aimee

 

Our favourite Christmas movie romances

It’s a week to go until Christmas Eve, and we couldn’t be more excited to slob around in our pyjamas for a fortnight, eating everything in sight and trying not to argue with our siblings. Obviously we’re hoping for some gorgeous books under our tree, but this is also the time for re-watching favourite holiday movies, and we’ve picked out a selection box of some of the most romantic ones just for you . . .

When Harry Met Sally

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This technically isn’t a Christmas film, but it always reminds us of this time of year – lots of festive knitwear, stolen NYE kisses and a scene that captures the horror/joy of getting the tree.

Love Actually

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Depending on your opinion on Keira Knightley, this is either a crime against cinema or a modern Christmas classic – we’re very much in the latter camp. Too many swoon-worthy/heartbreaking moments to count, but our fave is Laura Linney finally going home with the stud from her office.

The Nightmare Before Christmas

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Maybe more appropriate for Halloween (we like to watch it then and a couple more times before Christmas), this is the timeless love story of Jack and Sally, with some absolutely killer songs.

The Holiday

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Whether this is a good film remains debatable, but it’s made its way onto our holiday viewing roster through ITV2’s sheer persistence showing it ALL THE TIME over Christmas.

Bridget Jones’s Diary

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Colin Firth in a reindeer jumper. Need we say more?

It’s a Wonderful Life

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Yes, it’s shamelessly sentimental and you’ve probably seen it more times than you care to admit, but we honestly can’t think of a more romantic film that embodies the spirit of Christmas. If this isn’t a part of your holiday traditions, now is the time to make it so.

Eyes Wide Shut

eyes wide shut

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Maybe a slightly rogue choice, but this is a serious Christmas film, with (then) real-life couple Nicole Kidman and Tom Cruise baring their souls and a whole lot more besides . . . Come for the star-gazing, stay for the erotic masked ball.

Fire up your Netflix and get viewing! What are your favourite Christmas movies?