✍🏻 Blog Tour & Excerpt: Corinne Michaels’s The One for Me, book 3 from The Arrowhead Brothers series ✍🏻

An all new and endearing friends-to-lovers story…

The One for Me by New York Times bestselling author Corinne Michaels is now live!

Devney Maxwell has been my best friend since we were six years old, but she has no idea I’m in love with her.


Even when I’m on the road playing professional baseball, she’s my home–the only one I’ve ever known. But when I return to Sugarloaf to care for the family farm, I discover she’s trying to talk herself into a life with the wrong man … and I become desperate.

It only takes a single, perfect kiss to change everything.

I have six months to get it right with Devney–to convince her to leave this town and turn that kiss into forever.

I aim to do just that as I spend my days coaching her nephew’s baseball team, fixing up the farm, and loving her with all I have. Finally, it seems like our relationship is secure and we’ll find a way to make it work.

Then tragedy strikes … changing her life forever. She’s needed here more than ever, but as for me–there’s no way I can stay.

I know she’s the one for me, but I might have to let her go …

  Download today on Amazon, Books & Noble, Kobo, Apple, & Google Play!

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Excerpt:

“Don’t play that crap with me, Sean Arrowood. I know you better. You want the wife and kids. You always have. The issue that you have is that you’re stupid.”

“Stupid?”

She nods. “Yup. S-T-U-P-I-D. And dumb.”

“They mean the same thing.”

“It required the extra punctuation at the end.”

God, I love the side of her that is smart-mouthed, fearless, and relaxed. She’s only this way with me. Or at least, that’s what I’d like to think.

The last ten years have been hard on our friendship. We both went off to college, I had baseball and she was studying. We’d see each other on breaks, but after the accident that changed the trajectory of my life, I stayed in Maine, and we rarely saw each other.

However, when I had a series in New York, Devney came. If I was in Philly, she would find a way to meet me, and I flew her down to Tampa a few times.

Now, though, I’ll be around her so much more, and I know these feelings aren’t going to go away, they’ll get stronger.

Yeah, I guess I really am stupid.

“Well, I may be stupid, but at least I’m not settling.”

She sits up, slapping her hand on the couch cushion. “Settling?”

“Yeah. You may love Oliver, but he doesn’t make you crazy.”

Devney shifts back. “You’re making me crazy right now.”

“Good.”

“You’re infuriating!”

I shrug. “You love me.”

“It helps that you’re hot.” Devney quickly covers her hand over her mouth. “I did not mean it that like that.”

I grin and lean toward her. “You think I’m hot?”

“I think you’re mediocre. God knows your harem of . . . whatever you call them . . . think you are.”

For so long I’ve fought against telling her anything about how I feel. How those women are faceless and mean nothing to me. It’s always her. Always a brunette who I seek out, hoping to find just a piece of something like her that I can cling to, but I never say it.

Then I wonder, maybe this is the perfect time. Oliver is going to propose. Oliver will marry her, and I won’t have a god damn thing to say about it because I will have never told her.

Plus, she’s drunk.

Maybe she won’t remember it.

“Maybe so, but I’m not asking them. Plus, all the girls I’m attracted to look like you.”

Devney laughs while shaking her head. “Well, it has to be tough kissing your best friend, right?”

And in that moment, I know what I’m going to do. It doesn’t matter that it’s stupid or wrong. I no longer care about her boyfriend or how this moment will undoubtedly change everything between us because she will marry him when he asks. Devney won’t falter. She’ll cling to the safe, and I am not that, but I love her.

I lean closer and her eyes study my movement. With a trembling hand, I cup her face and brush my thumb against her soft skin. Everything freezes around us as I feel the warmth emanating from her. Our breaths mingle as the distance closes. “I don’t know, but I’d like to see if it’s tough to kiss you.”

I wait, giving her one last chance to push me away, but instead, her tongue moves against her pink lips, which is all the invitation I need.

I lean in, my lips touch hers, and I know my life hasn’t just changed, it’s been completely upended.

Meet Corinne

Corinne Michaels is a New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal bestselling author of romance novels. Her stories are chock full of emotion, humor, and unrelenting love, and she enjoys putting her characters through intense heartbreak before finding a way to heal them through their struggles.

Corinne is a former Navy wife and happily married to the man of her dreams. She began her writing career after spending months away from her husband while he was deployed–reading and writing were her escapes from the loneliness. Corinne now lives in Virginia with her husband and is the emotional, witty, sarcastic, and fun-loving mom of two beautiful children.

Connect with Corinne

Website: http://corinnemichaels.com

Goodreads: https://bit.ly/2N1H2Gb

Amazon: http://amzn.to/1NVZmhv

Facebook: https://bit.ly/1iwLh6y

Facebook Group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/corinnemichaelsbooks/

Instagram: https://bit.ly/2L1Vzo6

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Text CMBOOKS TO 77948

✍🏻 Blog Tour & Excerpt: Stacy Travis’s final book of the Summer Heat duet, Forever with Him – available now ✍🏻

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Opposites attract in the conclusion to the Summer Heat duet.
Forever with Him by Stacy Travis, available now!

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Will vacation love survive in the real world? Or will life be our undoing?

My French fling with Chris was only supposed to last two weeks…

I was bad at relationships, worse at love. So I was leaving it all behind—the French wine, the sunsets, the movie star romance. It was temporary. We were temporary. Happily ever afters didn’t happen in the real world.

At least not in mine. I had a responsible schedules and life rules to obey. I was that girl.

Then Chris hopped on a plane and moved across the country for me. He threw out all my rules. Behind his hot-sexy-handsome was a man who was serious about love. He saw through my excuses and called me on my crap. And he only wanted me.

But when he got an offer he couldn’t refuse, he was back to his Hollywood lifestyle, and I was left texting across time zones and waiting for the occasional jet-lagged rendezvous. Maybe his panoramic views, personal assistants and private planes were his real love.

I don’t always ask for what I want, and maybe that’s why I don’t get it. But this time I’m asking.

Even if it means risking it all.

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Download your copy today!

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Start this must-read duet today with The Summer of Him!
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Check out this excerpt from The Summer of Him:

I desperately didn’t want to be the kind of person who was afraid to eat dinner alone or who couldn’t make a mistake without crying. I also hadn’t slept very much and that could make a person tearful, I reminded myself, working hard to add sympathetic self to my independent self.

People walked by, oblivious to me, happily talking to one another in fast bursts of French that I wasn’t going to pick up just by sitting around cafés and listening. And definitely not in a matter of hours. No one expected that, so I needed to chill the heck out.

“Thank God you slowed down. I didn’t want to chase you all over the city to give you these,” I heard from a male voice to my left. The English was a salve to my aching Anglophile ears.

I looked up and saw the guy in the baseball hat, the one who’d seemed irritated in line behind me. He looked a little less irritated now, and I had the wherewithal to focus on his face, which was attractive. Really attractive, almost to the point of being too handsome, if that’s possible. I blinked a few times to be certain he was real.

He held out the three peaches I’d attempted to buy, only now they were in a plastic bag with a sticker on them, properly weighed and priced. “The cashier was going to wait and let you go back and weigh them, but I guess you didn’t understand what she was telling you… anyway, no one should be without peaches.”

I felt so overwhelmed by this act of kindness that a new wave of tears formed, ready to spring forth. I fought them back, trying to maintain my composure, because crying over peaches wasn’t something I was prepared to explain to a stranger. After a couple seconds of hard swallowing and blinking, I croaked out my gratitude.

“Oh. Wow. That’s so nice. Thank you.” I took the peaches and awkwardly stuffed them into my bag. He handed me the cookies and water too. “You bought all my stuff?” I was shocked that a stranger could be so nice to me. And, once I took a closer look at him, an exceptionally great-looking stranger. My heart started beating a little faster and I felt a blush creep over my cheeks.

“Well… yeah. A person’s gotta stay hydrated. And you seemed like you were having a rough day.”

“Yeah, that’s an understatement.” I stopped myself before I unloaded my tale of two warring selves, because I doubted he was super interested. “Anyway, thank you. I don’t usually fall apart at the checkout counter… but I panicked in the face of angry shoppers.”

He nodded, his lips tugging to the side and relaxing into a smile. Yes, he was definitely attractive.

Meet Stacy

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It’s a rough world out there, and we all sometimes need a good, romantic beach read, even if we can’t make it to the beach. I’ve spent many lazy days walking the streets of Paris and other gorgeous European cities, and if I’m doing it right, I’m bringing you a dash of romance and a vacay fantasy.

I can’t sit still, so when I’m not hiking, biking or running, I’m playing a very average game of tennis. Background music for writing undoubtedly features some U2, Lizzo, Billy Joel, Pink, Taylor Swift, and Led Zeppelin. Not necessarily in that order. And if I could only eat one food group, it would be cheese. Or wine. Or bread. Are those food groups? Whatever.

Connect with Stacy

Facebook: https://bit.ly/2UbPlWv
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Website: https://stacytravis.com

✍🏻 Blog Tour & Excerpt: Helena Hunting’s Kiss My Cupcake ✍🏻

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Is it possible to have her cupcake and eat it too?

Kiss My Cupcake, an all-new laugh-out-loud standalone romance filled with witty banter and white-hot sexual chemistry from New York Times bestselling author Helena Hunting is available now!

Read my 5 ⭐️ review here: ✍🏻 Professor Romance’s 5 ⭐️ Review: Helena Hunting’s Kiss My Cupcake – releasing TOMORROW ✍🏻

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Blaire Calloway has planned every Instagram-worthy moment of her cupcake and cocktails shop launch down to the tiniest detail. What she didn’t plan on? Ronan Knight and his old-school sports bar next door opening on the very same day. He may be super swoony, but Blaire hasn’t spent years obsessing over buttercream and bourbon to have him ruin her chance at success.

From ax throwing (his place) to frosting contests (hers), Blaire and Ronan are constantly trying to one-up each other in a battle to win new customers. But with every clash, there’s also an undeniable chemistry. When an even bigger threat to their business comes to town, they’re forced to call a temporary time-out on their own war and work together. And the more time Blaire spends getting to know the real Ronan, the more she wonders if it’s possible to have her cupcake and eat it too.

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Excerpt


I take a bite, not as big as I originally intended, because that’s probably what she expects and I want to prolong the agony of her anticipation as much as I humanly can. I intend to tell her it’s just okay, except the moment the flavors hit my tongue I groan. Loudly. “Oh my God,”I mumble, crumbs tumbling out of my mouth and sprinkling all over the counter. Which I realize is disgusting.

But Blaire doesn’t seem to care. She grins widely, satis- faction and triumph making her face even more stunning. I consider asking what this is, but decide I don’t care enough to stop eating it. There’s coffee in the icing, but it’s not overly sweet, it’s light and buttery and decadently creamy. The cake practically melts in my mouth, hints of . . . whiskey, cocoa and vanilla and with the next bite I get a hit of creamy custard with a gentle hint of . . . almond.

Blaire doesn’t seem to notice the mess I’m making. At all. She’s sucking on her bottom lip and bouncing on the balls of her feet. Her lip pops free, teeth marks still evident. “Enjoying yourself.”It’s not a question, more of an accusation.

I want to shove the rest of it in my face instead of answering, but I lift my hand to cover my mouth so I can ask a question instead of affirm what she clearly already knows. “What is it?”

A slow smirk spreads across her lips.

She doesn’t say anything right away, so I jam the rest of it in my mouth. Half of me wants to beg her for more, but I know if I do, then somehow I’ve managed to give her the upper hand. Which is ridiculous. It’s just a cupcake, and regardless of what she thinks, we’re not really competing with each other. For the YouTube thing sure, but I don’t see how she can win against me and my kickass cool bar and the axe throwing. And now the whole live bands idea and karaoke.

The cupcakes-and-cocktails theme is cute. But that’s about all it is.

I try to keep my groan in this time, but a sound of contentment slips out.

“So you like my screaming orgasms?” she asks.

Which is when I start coughing. I also try to inhale with food in my mouth and choke. And cough some more. Blaire takes a step back since I’m spraying the counter with half- chewed cupcake. It’s a travesty because I want that all in my belly and not on the counter.

“Are you okay?” she asks when I continue to cough for another solid fifteen seconds.

“Yeah.” Cough. “I just”—cough—“didn’t expect that.”

“It’s the name of the cupcake,” she informs me.

“I figured, since you didn’t scream even once.”

“I’m not a screamer.” Her eyes flare, as if she didn’t mean for that to slip out.

Now it’s my turn to smirk. “Is that right?”

She spins around, but I can see her face in the mirrored wall in front of her. Her ears have gone red and she mutters something to herself, nabbing the box from the bar behind her. She rolls her shoulders back and turns to face me again. Her cheeks are the same color as her ears. She drops the box unceremoniously on the counter. “I figured you’d want more than one.”

“Yes. Definitely.” I nod.

“Multiples really are the best.” Her cheek tics, and the tips of her ears look as if they’re going to light on fire and take all her hair with it. I wonder how much product she uses to keep it looking so perfect and if it’s soft to the touch or not.

“I love multiples.” Both the giving and the receiving. I leave that part out, because I would prefer to eat the cupcakes, not wear them, and I feel like we’re suddenly treading a very fine line. Either that or we’ve already jumped right over it. I shake my head to clear it. “Uh, what do I owe you?”

“Those are on the house. Enjoy your night.”

Blaire usually happily charges me full price for my cupcake addiction. Although she does tend to toss in an extra one for good measure. I’m tempted to ask if I’m going to end up hogtied in the trunk of a car if I eat the rest of these, but I figure that might be pushing it. “I can’t imagine anyone has ever said no to free multiple screaming orgasms.”

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Download your copy today!

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About Helena Hunting

HelenaHunting


New York Times
and USA Today bestselling author of PUCKED, Helena Hunting lives on the outskirts of Toronto with her incredibly tolerant family and two moderately intolerant cats. She writes contemporary romance ranging from new adult angst to romantic sports comedy.

Connect with Helena

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Website: http://www.helenahunting.com/
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✍🏻 Blog Tour & Excerpt: Nikki Sloane’s The Pool Boy ✍🏻

You’re going to get wet…

The Pool Boy by Nikki Sloane is now live!

Nothing says happy birthday like catching your husband in a compromising position with his boss.

His male boss.

Why, hello, midlife crisis. I’m starting over, but this time I’m doing it right. Or at least I’m doing what I want.

Taking the day off from work to hang out poolside? Yup. Do I leave the swimsuit in my house? Sure.

Does my very hot, twenty-something pool boy happen to catch me naked? Oh, yeah, he does. And he likes what he sees… a lot.

My best friend keeps telling me to have a fling and get back out there. But I’m not so sure she meant for me to do it with her son.

  Download today!

Amazon:  https://amzn.to/2vXMQNI

Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/ThePoolBoyNS

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Goodreads: https://bit.ly/36gp7pS

Excerpt

Troy Osbourne came once a week to service both my pool and the freestanding spa. I’d hired him last year to handle closing and covering the pool for the winter, then reopening it for me last month, and his weekly visits that followed had kept the water crystal clear and the pH perfectly balanced.

My pool had never looked so good.

But Troy always came when I was at work and let himself in through the gate at the side of my fence, so I had completely forgotten his schedule. He must have gone behind the pool house and inside to fetch his supplies, and when he’d rounded the corner and discovered me topless, he’d dropped everything in his arms.

Including the long pole with the net on the end.

It was as if someone had put their foot down on the sustain pedal of a piano, only this piano played the music of time, and the moment suspended with my long, drawn out gasp.

I was topless, and he was frozen, and holy shit, he was my best friend’s twenty-four-year-old son.

It burst from my lips in horror. “Oh, fuck!”

 In my panic, I grasped at my towel to cover myself, only to struggle, hopelessly, since it was pinned beneath my body. I leapt to my feet and yanked the terrycloth up, pressing it over my naked chest.

Troy still hadn’t moved. His lips were open, as if he’d planned to say something, but now he was frozen and unable to do anything. I couldn’t see his eyes behind his mirrored Aviator sunglasses, but he didn’t seem to be breathing.

So, I did what any reasonable woman would when a gorgeous, almost-stranger caught her naked.

I ran.

Meet Nikki

USA Today bestselling author Nikki Sloane landed in graphic design after her careers as a waitress, a screenwriter, and a ballroom dance instructor fell through. For eight years she worked for a design firm in that extremely tall, black, and tiered building in Chicago that went through an unfortunate name change during her time there.

Now she lives in Kentucky, is married and has two sons. She is a three-time Romance Writers of America RITA© Finalist, a Passionate Plume winner, a two-time HOLT Medallion finalist, and couldn’t be any happier that people enjoy reading her sexy words.


Connect with Nikki


Amazon:   http://amzn.to/1SbBUyM

Facebook: http://bit.ly/NikkiSloaneFB

Twitter: https://twitter.com/AuthorNSloane

Instagram: http://bit.ly/NikkiSloaneIG

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Joining her mailing list: https://www.nikkisloane.com/newsletter

✍🏻 Blog Tour & Excerpt: Willow Winters’s You Are My Reason, book 1 of the You Are Mine duet ✍🏻

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You Are My Reason, the first in the epic You Are Mine duet that will evoke all the emotions by Wall Street Journal bestselling author Willow Winters is available now!

REASON

It’s been a long time since I’ve looked at a man and wanted something more.
Even longer since one has looked at me with a gaze that I couldn’t tear my eyes from.

No one is perfect, but that’s how it felt to be in his arms.
I started to think everything was going to be alright. That life had finally put the pieces of my broken heart back together.

Fate may have brought us together, it’s a pretty little thought my poetic mind had.
But there’s no doubt that the sins of his past would tear us apart.

This story was previously published as Imperfect in 2017. It has been revised and elevated.

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Download your copy today!
Amazon: https://amzn.to/2XOXOjF
Apple Books: https://apple.co/2CjpfKR
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Excerpt

It figures it would stop downpouring the second I get in here. The bar is jam-packed as it always is, and the melody of guest chatting and glasses clinking welcome me. I can get lost in the crowds of people. I know they see me, but they don’t know me.

This bar in particular is one of my favorites. It’s always full. It’s tufted leather seats are constantly filled, and the warm rich tones of the wooden ceiling and brick walls make it feel like home somehow.

My suit looks like every other suit in this place. Well most of them. I run my fingers through my hair and shake off the rain as I shrug off my Armani jacket and toss it over the bar top at the very end.

It’s been a long day, and the last thing I need is to go home alone. As soon as my eyes lift, the bartender is on me. Patricia’s her name, I think. She’s in here every weekend.

“Whiskey?” she asks me. She never stops moving, shoveling ice into short glasses and pouring liquor like a pro. Unlike the other women in here, she’s not looking for a man with deep pockets. She doesn’t do chitchat either, which is one reason why I like sitting in this section. The other reason is that it’s out of the way where I can simply blend in and watch.

“Double,” I answer her with a nod and slip my cell phone out from my jacket pocket. I’ve only been gone from the office for two hours, but I’ve got a dozen emails waiting for my attention. A huff of a grunt leaves me as another text from Liam pops up.

You coming out tonight?

Already out, I answer him as the glass hits the polished bar top and Patricia slides it over to me.

My phone pings as I lift the glass to my lips and let the cool liquor burn all the way down and warm my chest.

Where at?

I contemplate telling him. I like Liam. A lot. If I had any friends, he’d be one of them. But I don’t trust anyone and after talking to my father today, I don’t want to be around a damn soul.

A sarcastic laugh makes me grin as I realize I’ve come to a crowded bar to be alone. It’s the truth though. In this city, you’re always surrounded; there’s never a place to hide unless it’s in plain sight.

I down the rest of the liquor and tap the heavy glass against the bartop as I consider what to tell him. And that’s when I hear it. Almost as if daring me to stay alone any longer. It’s the gentle sound of a feminine laugh. It’s genuine and it rings clear in the bar even though it’s soft.

It’s a soothing sound, a calming force in the chaos that surrounds us. As if everything is moving around me but the woman who uttered that sweet sound.

The smooth glass stays still as I look down the bar in search of her.

The rest of the crowd doesn’t seem to notice, they continue with whatever the hell they’re saying and doing, but my eyes are drawn to my left. Through the throng of people, I just barely get a glimpse of her.

Blonde hair that’s pulled back, showing off her pale skin covered in black lace.

A man at the very end leans away from the bar, digging into his back pocket for his wallet and giving me a clear view of her.

Those dark red lips attract my gaze first. She licks her bottom lip before picking up a large glass of deep red wine. The color, from this distance at least, matches her lips perfectly. She smiles at something someone must have said and her shoulders shake, making the dark liquid swirl in her glass and bringing a blush to her high cheek bones.

She tosses her hair to the side, it’s damp from the rain and her fingers tease the ends as she brings her tendrils over her shoulder, wrapping them around her finger while she sips her wine.

It’s when she looks away from whoever she’s been giving her attention to that my heart stops and my curiosity is piqued.

Without their eyes on her, her expression morphs into something else. I finally see her eyes, the lightest of blues with flecks of silver speckled throughout, and that’s when I really see her. Not just the image of what she’s portraying.

Pain is clear as day.

It’s the lie though, how fucking good she was at hiding it, that’s what really gets me. Even I was fooled.

People can hide behind a smile or a laugh, every soul in here can pretend to be something and someone they’re not.

The truth is always there though and I’m damn good at recognizing it. Your eyes can never hide two things: age and emotion. Hers speak to me in a way nothing else can.

But had I never looked just then when she thought no one was watching, she never would have shown me willingly.

She straightens her shoulders and I see her profile, her expression and the corners of my lips turn down. Not only do I know her pain; I know her name. I know everything about her.

Julia Summers.

My blood chills as she turns back to the table and the smile slips back into place on her face just as the man at the end of the bar takes a step forward, obscuring her from my vision. As if the moment of clarity and recognition was just for me in that moment. Like fate wanted me to know how close I was to her.

I keep my eyes on the bar, doing my best to listen, but her voice is silent or lost in the mix of chatter throughout the crowded place.

“Another?” Patricia’s voice sounds close, closer than she usually is. I lift my head to see her standing right in front of me, both hands on the bar and waiting.

I nod my head with my brows pinched, shaking off the mix of emotions. This city is a small place with worlds always colliding, but I’ve never seen her in person. Only in a photograph. Only that once. I’m sure it’s her though. I’ve never been this sure of anything.

The ice clinks in the glass and I watch as the liquid slips over each cube, cracking them and filling the crevices.

“You okay?” Patricia asks me. It’s odd. In the year or so since I’ve been coming here, she’s never bothered to make small talk. It’s why I don’t mind her.

I give her a tight smile as I reply, “I’m fine.” I reach her eyes and widen my smile, relaxing my posture and leaning back slightly.

She eyes me warily as she mutters, “You don’t look fine.”

It takes me a moment before I shrug it off and say, “I’m alright, just tired.”

She nods once and goes back to minding her own business, sliding me the whiskey and moving back to the other customers.

I tap my pointer finger against the glass, looking casually down the bar.

She’s hidden from view, but I know she’s there.

Meet Willow Winters

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Willow Winters is so happy to be a USA Today, Wall Street Journal and #1 Contemporary Best Selling Author!

Willow started writing after having her little girl, Evie, December 2015. All during her pregnancy with Evie she continued to read and she only wanted to read romance. She was reading a book a day — sometimes two.

In January 2016 Willow was staying up late with Evie and just thinking of all these stories. They came to her constantly so she finally sat down and just started writing. She always wanted to do it so she figured, why not? Today Willow cannot be happier for making that decision!

Connect with Willow

W Winters:

Amazon: https://amzn.to/2kBla8e
Goodreads: http://bit.ly/2WWGReads
Bookbub: http://bit.ly/2L6c8va

Willow Winters:
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✍🏻 Blog Tour & Excerpt: Penny Reid’s Engagement and Espionage – Have you jumped into Cletus and Jenn’s story? ✍🏻

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Engagement and Espionage, an all-new quirky and swoon-worthy romantic comedy featuring fan favorites Jenn and Cletus Winston from New York Times bestselling author Penny Reid is available now!

Read my 5 ⭐️ review HERE!

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Jennifer Sylvester made her deal with the devil . . . and now they’re engaged!

But all is not well in Green Valley. A chicken choker is on the loose, 61 dead birds most “fowl” need plucking, and no time remains for Jennifer and her devilish fiancé. Desperate to find a spare moment together, Jenn and Cletus’s attempts to reconnect are thwarted by one seemingly coincidental disaster after another. It’s not long before Cletus and Jenn see a pattern emerge and the truth becomes clear.

Sabotage!

Will an undercover mission unmask the culprit? Or are these love-birds totally plucked?

‘Engagement and Espionage’ is the first book in the Solving for Pie: Cletus and Jenn Mysteries series, is a full-length cozy mystery, and is a spin-off of Penny Reid’s Winston Brothers series. This novel is best read after ‘Beard Science,’ Winston Brothers #3.

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Download your copy today!

Amazon: https://amzn.to/3auZzqI
Apple Books: https://apple.co/33ONMAK
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Add ENGAGEMENT AND ESPIONAGE to Goodreads: https://bit.ly/2UoVpea

Excerpt:

“Don’t stop.” She reached for my belt again, this time completely undoing it, the button of my pants, and my zipper at world-record speed.

Her phone buzzed. Then it chimed. Then it buzzed and chimed two more times. Then it rang again. Reba.

Cursing, Jenn pulled the phone from her pocket, once again her face illuminated, murderous rage in her eyes. Her finger moved to the power off button. She blinked, hesitating. Her eyes widened, her body stiffened, and she gasped.

“Cletus!”

Something about her tone, like she was horrified, and maybe a little afraid, cut through the heavy haze of lust inertia, and my hands stilled. Shaking myself, it took me a few moments to realize she was showing me the phone screen, and another few to bring the content of the text messages into focus.

Momma: Jennifer Anne Sylvester, pick up your phone. If you’re with Cletus, I need his help. Please.

Momma: ALL THE CHICKENS AND ROOSTERS ARE DEAD! PICK UP YOUR DAMN PHONE!

Momma: I’m calling you in a second, pick up the phone. Mr. Badcock’s chickens are dead. All of them. I got here and he’s running around, deranged, yelling about his dead chickens! I called the police and they’re on their way. Please, please, please pick up the phone!

At some point, I must’ve taken the phone from Jenn and stepped away, because I glanced up upon reading the messages for the third time, finding the phone in my hand and Jenn fixing her skirt.

“This is nuts.” Her big eyes searched mine imploringly. “Who could have done this?”

I shook my head, having not yet managed to fully shift head gears—you know, from that head to the one on my neck—and my gaze dropped to the wet patch on the front of her dress just visible in the swath of light. My erection throbbed.

So we’re . . . not having sex?

“Why? Why would they do it? And WHO?” She snatched her phone back, her tone bewildered, distracted, and distraught. She was distraught because of the dead chickens, like any normal person would be.

I was distraught also, but my distress had nothing to do with farm animals.

“We have to go.” Jenn grabbed my hand and began walking toward the direction of the hall. Meanwhile, it took me until her hand found the door handle to realize my zipper and belt were still undone.

“This is crazy.” She paused as I zipped up, her tone halting and distracted. “Poor Mr. Badcock. And those poor chickens.” A sound of distress escaped her throat. “This is terrible.”

It was terrible.

And I was going to hell.

Because all I could think was, Talk about a cock block.

Meet Penny Reid:
PennyReid
Penny Reid is the New York Times, Wall Street Journal and USA Today Best Selling Author of the Winston Brothers, Knitting in the City, Rugby, and Hypothesis series. She used to spend her days writing federal grant proposals as a biomedical researcher, but now she just writes books. She’s also a full time mom to three diminutive adults, wife, daughter, knitter, crocheter, sewer, general crafter, and thought ninja.

Connect with Penny:

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/PennyReidWriter/
Amazon: http://amzn.to/2lakzsD
Twitter: @ReidRomance
Mailing List: http://pennyreid.ninja/newsletter/
www.pennyreid.ninja

✍🏻 Blog Tour and Excerpt: Kandi Steiner’s Ritual, Palm South Book 5 – Have you read it yet? If not, grab it quick. ✍🏻

“If Gossip Girl and Riverdale had a love child, it would be PSU.” — #1NYT Bestselling Author Rachel Van Dyken

Ritual by bestselling author Kandi Steiner is now live! 

Read my review HERE.

Written like your favorite drama television show, the Palm South University series has been called “a mix of Greek meets Gossip Girl with a dash of Friends.” Follow seven college students as they maneuver unrequited love, teacher/student romance, the tangles of “no strings” relationships, love triangles and more. Each “season” has six “episodes,” and just like when your favorite show hits Netflix, you can read just one episode at a time or binge the entire thing. With the perfect mix of angst, emotional romance, and romantic comedy, the Palm South University series is your next guilty addiction.

Drama. Lies. Sex.

Welcome to Palm South University.

The weather isn’t the only thing heating up in South Florida. At a school where fraternities and sororities don’t exactly play by the rules, relationships are bound to be tested. Parties and sex are definitely key ingredients in the Palm South recipe, but what happens when family issues, secret lives, and unrequited love get tossed in the mix?

Follow Cassie, Bear, Jess, Skyler, Erin, Ashlei, and Adam as they tackle college at a small, private beach town university. Written in television drama form, each episode of this serial will pull you deeper and deeper into the world of PSU.

Where the sun is hot and the clothes are scarce, anything can happen.

  Download today or read for FREE with Kindle Unlimited

Amazon:  https://amzn.to/2P8y9xX

Amazon Worldwide: mybook.to/RitualPSU5KS

Goodreads: http://bit.ly/2vLkJBm

Also Available in the Palm South University series:

Rush

Amazon: https://amzn.to/2CVlAmJ

Anchor

Amazon: https://amzn.to/30SV0CF

Pledge

Amazon: https://amzn.to/30UvzAC

Legacy

Amazon: https://amzn.to/3hBtRuI

Excerpt:

“Do you have pole tomorrow?” he asks, checking his side mirror before he pulls onto the road.

“No, I need a rest day.”

“And it’s Sunday, so you wouldn’t have class, right?”

My suspicion rises. “No… but I do have Chapter at six.”

“Chapter…” he muses, side-eyeing me with a grin. “Damn sorority.”

I smack his arm playfully.

“Do you think you could skip it, just this once?”

“Probably not without a death threat from Ex,” I say seriously. “But… what are you proposing?”

We pull up to a red light, and Brandon bites his lip before turning to me. “The Bahamas.”

“The Bahamas?!”

“The Exumas, technically.”

“The Exumas,” I repeat, sounding like a freaking parrot at this point. “You’re proposing we go to the Exumas tonight,” I clarify. “As in… the place where you swim with pigs.”

“I was thinking more like the place where I fuck you on my yacht and drink fruity cocktails out of coconuts with you on the beach,” he says on a smirk, and the light turns green, making him turn back to the road with a shrug. “But if you’d rather swim with pigs…”

I laugh, shaking my head at the ridiculousness of it. I’m tempted to say We can’t just go to the fucking Bahamas, Brandon, but I know that’s a lie.

He has a yacht.

And more money than he knows how to spend.

Technically, we can go to the Bahamas.

I’m quiet for a long while, and Brandon glances at me from the corner of his eye before pulling into a random restaurant parking lot. It’s a Mexican diner, not even open yet, since it’s only ten in the morning. When he’s parked, he turns to me, grabbing my hands and pulling them into his lap.

“Look, we’ve both been busy this summer — you with your exec position in the sorority, and pole… me with this national client we’re in the bidding war for… both of us working hard at Okay, Cool after everything that went down in the spring with Kim… and now, school is back in session, it’s the last semester before you graduate, we’re both hard at work, and I just…”

He smooths his dark thumbs over my wrists, his eyes that are usually so intense, soft and vulnerable now.

“This might be our last chance to spend some real, quality time together before life gets even crazier than it already is.”

My heart melts into a puddle right there on the floorboard of his expensive ass car, and I lean over the console, kissing him long and hard.

“Let’s go to the Bahamas,” I whisper between kisses. “You’re right. Everything else can wait.”

He sighs, wrapping his arms around me until he’s pulling me into his lap. I squeal and laugh, but then my next breath is stolen by the erection growing in his slacks.

“This would be a lot easier on the yacht,” I say, rubbing the seam of my leggings against his hard-on.

“Maybe,” he says, sucking on my bottom lip and releasing it with a pop. His lips trail down my neck as my head rolls back. “But these windows are tinted, and you’re sexy when you say I’m right.”

Meet Kandi

Kandi Steiner is a bestselling author and whiskey connoisseur living in Tampa, FL. Best known for writing “emotional rollercoaster” stories, she loves bringing flawed characters to life and writing about real, raw romance — in all its forms. No two Kandi Steiner books are the same, and if you’re a lover of angsty, emotional, and inspirational reads, she’s your gal.

An alumna of the University of Central Florida, Kandi graduated with a double major in Creative Writing and Advertising/PR with a minor in Women’s Studies. She started writing back in the 4th grade after reading the first Harry Potter installment. In 6th grade, she wrote and edited her own newspaper and distributed to her classmates. Eventually, the principal caught on and the newspaper was quickly halted, though Kandi tried fighting for her “freedom of press.” She took particular interest in writing romance after college, as she has always been a die hard hopeless romantic, and likes to highlight all the challenges of love as well as the triumphs.

When Kandi isn’t writing, you can find her reading books of all kinds, talking with her extremely vocal cat, and spending time with her friends and family. She enjoys live music, traveling, anything heavy in carbs, beach days, movie marathons, craft beer and sweet wine — not necessarily in that order.

Connect with Kandi

Website:  www.kandisteiner.com

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7319216.Kandi_Steiner

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Kandi-Steiner/e/B00JDJOINE 

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/KandiSteiner/

Facebook Group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/kandilandks/

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/kandisteiner/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/KandiSteiner

Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/kandi-steiner

Book+Main: https://bit.ly/39u1KLs

✍🏻 Blog Tour & Excerpt: Max Monroe’s Hate the Player – Have you grabbed this yet? ✍🏻

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I hate him.

I want him.

He’s a jerk.

A player.

Addicting.

Trouble.

Hate the Player, a slow burn and hilarious romantic comedy from New York Times bestselling author Max Monroe is available now!

Read my 5 ⭐️ review HERE!

Hate the Player (official 9x6)

“Roses are red, violets are blue, stay away from Andrew Watson’s *ahem* because no other women ever do.”

That’s quite the way to start a conversation at a casual lunch, huh? Grilled chicken, French fries, and pelvic-fatigue, oh my!

And that’s not even the worst of it.

My friend Raquel didn’t pull any punches when she warned me about my brand-new co-star and his notoriously player-esque ways. Apparently, my most important mission on my first role in a feature film is to stay immune to his charms.

Are you kidding me? Production costs on this movie are in the hundreds of thousands a day, and staying away from a panty-whispering, vajayjay-charmer is supposed to be at the top of my list? Pfft. Puh-lease.

It doesn’t matter that he’s annoyingly attractive, uber rich, crazy famous, and lusted after by ninety percent of the female population; Andrew Watson is trouble with a capital T—especially for a woman like me.

As a preventative measure, I’ve decided to go ahead and hate him.

Don’t worry, you guys, I’m completely in control. There’s absolutely no way I’m going to do something stupid like fall in love with him.

I can hate the player but still secretly love his addictive game.

I’m sure of it.

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Download your copy today or read for Free on Kindle Unlimited!

Amazon: https://amzn.to/2C7tklj

Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/HateThePlayer

Add Hate the Player to Goodreads: https://bit.ly/2ZLb2y4

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Excerpt

Birdie

True to my name, I’m about to take fucking flight. At least, I would if I could.

In this moment, it really would have been helpful if my trainer hadn’t successfully eliminated all the extra flappy meat on my upper arms. Surely, if I got them going fast enough, the wind beneath those bat wings could have carried me up and through the ceiling of this place.

C’mon, you big baby, I coach myself. You can do this.

One cavernous breath into my lungs and then another and another, and eventually, just before my vision turns tunneled, I will my feet to move away from the door.

Gleaming marble floors, golden statues, and a freaking fountain in the center, the lobby of Capo Brothers Studios is everything I should have expected and more.

If everything is bigger in Texas, then everything is most certainly richer in LA.

I check in with security quickly, my voice only a little croaky thanks to the frog in my throat, and head for the elevator bank at the far side of the lobby.

I’m to head to the fifteenth floor, I’m told, and then go straight down the hall to the glass doors on the left at the end. There, I’ll find William Capo’s office—the head honcho and only surviving brother of Capo Brothers.

My cowgirl boots are noisy on the marble floors when I do as instructed. The sound you make when you walk is such a small detail—one I don’t normally think about—but the echo of their clack today makes my heart feel like it’s knocking into my rib cage and each step across the ornate floor is merely a sound effect.

Fifteen floors eclipse quickly—clearly, they’ve spared no expense on their elevator—and the hallway that leads to William’s office seems strangely one-directional. Like once I go down it—once I take this step—there will be no going back. Which is probably why, after forcing myself to go the distance to the end, I pause at the open door, the points of my booted toes just shy of crossing the line.

“Good morning.” A pretty assistant dressed in a white power suit greets me before I’ve even cleared the threshold of the door, and all thoughts of escape are dashed. Like it or not, I’ve just been shoved over the line. I will my feet to do the same as she continues to speak. “Can I help you?”

“I’m Birdie Harris,” I answer and have to swallow hard against the dryness threatening to close my throat. “I have an audition.”

My nerves are so obvious, the assistant offers a sympathetic smile.

If she were from my childhood hometown in West Virginia, she’d most likely be thinking Bless her heart.

She taps something across the keyboard of her iMac and places her hand to the Bluetooth at her ear. “Mr. Capo, I have Birdie Harris here.” Immediately, she looks away from the computer and meets my eyes. “They’ll be ready for you shortly. You can take a seat over there.” She points behind me, back through the door and across the hall to what I’m assuming is a fancy-schmancy waiting room of some sort. I haven’t encountered a place in the building that doesn’t have some sort of gilded or marble inlay, so I highly doubt I’m going to step through that door and into a room styled by the set designer for Saw. Though, I can’t say some sort of torture device wouldn’t be completely misplaced right now. I’m already doing a pretty good job of mentally waterboarding myself with worry.

I offer a little nod, keeping my twisted, sicko thoughts to myself. I doubt they’re interested in hiring a woman on the brink of a hysterical episode.

The secretary quirks a brow, and I realize, though I’ve nodded my affirmation of understanding, I’ve yet to move.

Good God, Birdie! Go sit down.

Annoyed with myself, I turn on my boots and march across the hall so violently, it’s like there’s an invisible person helping me along with a heavy hand at the nape of my neck.

When I cross into the room, a man is sitting on a swanky leather sofa with his booted feet up on the coffee table. He glances up briefly before returning his eyes to the phone in his lap. Embarrassed, I smooth my clomps instantly.

You’re a gazelle, Birdie, not a herd of buffalo, I coach. Move like it.

With his attention occupied, I survey him more closely as I move to take a seat across from him. He’s wearing jeans and a plain white T-shirt, and his jawline would make steel beams look weak. Seriously. Confronted with an earthquake, I would seek shelter right under the eave of his jaw.

I’d love to get another peek at his eyes just to study the color, but fearing the eye contact that would require, I’m careful not to make any overt noises that might draw his attention again.

When he smirks, a devilish proposition-like smile at the screen of his phone, I don’t have to wonder anymore.

Oh no. I know exactly who this man is.

Andrew Watson.

The very man Rocky warned me about and I subsequently Instagram stalked. A laundry list of different women dotted through his timeline, it confirmed everything Rocky told me and then some.

All relaxed and cool, he sits on the white leather sofa with one arm outstretched across the back. Confidence and charm ooze from every freaking cell in his body. No doubt, Andrew Watson is more than capable of commanding the attention of everyone in the room, no matter the situation.

No wonder he’s one of Hollywood’s most famous actors.

The only time I have that kind of quiet confidence is when I’m onstage, singing my songs, lost in the music I created.

Just play it cool, Birdie.

On a deep breath, I force the uncertainty and unease out of my shoulders and settle my ass into the sofa across from him. He shifts again, crossing one ankle over the other and casually adjusting the denim at his crotch.

My eyes are immediately drawn to his bulge, and thanks to Rocky’s colorful descriptions of his favorite appendage, a little penis-shaped soldier is burned in my brain. After a few seconds of imagining the shape of his helmet and intensity of his salute, I jerk my gaze away in a panic.

Jesus. As if this audition wasn’t screwing with my head enough! Now I have Saving Ryan’s Privates, a military-themed porno my head just made up starring Staff Sergeant Dick Richardson, complicating things even more!

I must make a noise I don’t realize—the sound of my saliva gurgling in my throat while I choke on it, perhaps—because Andrew looks at me with curious eyes. I try like hell to keep my calm and act like I haven’t just gone to mental war with the soldier in his pants, but there’s only so much hysteria containment my mind is capable of.

“Uh…hi,” I say, trying so dang hard not to glance back down at his crotch that I start spewing diarrhea of the mouth about goddamn military-themed movies. “I never saw A Few Good Men, but I hear Tom Cruise was good in it.” When I realize what I’ve just said makes absolutely no sense to him—punctuated perfectly by his eyebrows drawing together noticeably—the gurgling saliva turns into a full-blown choke, and suddenly, the only way to breathe is through a hacking cough.

Holy shit, I’m too anxious to be around other humans right now! Also, I’m going to kill Rocky for putting this crap in my head about this guy’s penis.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and I hold up my hand in some kind of gesture. I’m not sure of its technical name, but its meaning is clear—please forget I exist right now.

He asks me once more, but I nod, and once the embarrassing coughing fit passes, I meet his piercingly gray-blue eyes—seeing their color is strikingly unavoidable now—and I offer a halfhearted smile.

“Sorry,” I apologize. I didn’t mean to drag him into an impromptu SNL sketch where I choke on spit and say ridiculously inappropriate, off-the-wall things. “I guess you could say I’m a little nervous.”

His responding smile gleams so bright, I have to wonder if he has an endorsement deal with Crest toothpaste. His mouth would make a dental hygienist get on their hands and knees and thank the Lord above.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. There’s no need to be nervous around me,” he responds, punctuating his words with a wink.

If my mind were a screenplay, the nerves would be exiting stage left.

Did he seriously just wink at me after assuming that I’m nervous to be in his presence?

Surely, I’m hearing this wrong. No one is that obsessed with themselves…right?

“Excuse me?” I ask, and his megawatt smile is still ever-present.

“If you’d like me to sign an autograph or take a selfie with you,” he enunciates slowly, as if my being able to understand him clearly was the problem. “I can probably sneak that in before I have to head in there.”

His autograph? You have got to be kidding me. He sure is a cocky bastard—and for the first time today, I’m not even talking about his dick.

Like the tip of a match being swiped across the edge of a matchbook, aggravation bursts into my veins.

“I’m here for an audition,” I assert.

Unfazed, he quirks a brow as if to say, my invitation for an autograph still stands.

Attractive or not, this guy is one of the biggest asses I’ve ever been around.

“I’m Birdie Harris. I’m auditioning for the role of Arizona Lee.”

And I’ll be damned if I’m not gonna land this acting gig just to spite this prick.

About Max Monroe

A duo of romance authors team up under the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling pseudonym Max Monroe to bring you sexy, laugh-out-loud reads.

Max Monroe is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of more than ten contemporary romance titles. Favorite writing partners and long time friends, Max and Monroe strive to live and write all the fun, sexy swoon so often missing from their Facebook newsfeed. Sarcastic by nature, their two writing souls feel like they’ve found their other half. This is their most favorite adventure thus far.

Connect with Max Monroe

BookBub: http://bit.ly/3bJFJJh

Amazon: https://amzn.to/2ReoxkK

Facebook: http://bit.ly/31XxggS

Instagram: http://bit.ly/39wuCkW

Stay up to date with Max Monroe by joining their mailing list today: http://bit.ly/2HzGmau

Website: https://www.authormaxmonroe.com/

✍🏻 Blog Tour & Excerpt for Dylan Allen’s The Jezebel. Grab this 5+ ⭐️ read if you haven’t grabbed it yet. ✍🏻

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“Just…wow. THE JEZEBEL by Dylan Allen is simply amazing.” —Naima Simone, USA

Today Bestselling Author

The Jezebel, an incredible forbidden, second chance romance by Wall Street Journal bestselling author, Dylan Allen is available now!

Read my 5+ ⭐️ review HERE.

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Stone Rivers is a sin I can’t commit.

After years of playing the trophy, puppet, perfectionist,
I’ve forgotten who I am.
Until the boy from my past walks back into my life.
Handsome as sin, charming beyond belief—Stone Rivers is temptation personified.

Our combustible chemistry shatters my resolve.
His blistering kisses remind me of everything I used to want.

But, our present is just as messy as our past.
And reckless as it may be, I can’t let him go.

My name is Regan Wilde.
I’m a mother, a sister, a daughter.

But Stone and I?
We’re a scandal in the making.

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Download your copy today or Read for Free in Kindle Unlimited!
Amazon: https://amzn.to/2Oqztvx
Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/thejezebel
Amazon Paperback: https://amzn.to/32lWLuB

Add The Jezebel to Goodreads: https://bit.ly/2Vu59Vd

tj teaser 2

Excerpt:

“I’m not that boy either, I don’t think I’ve got one foot in the grave, but relationships aren’t my thing. I used to think you’d be mine–.”
“You did?” She asks wide eyed with surprise.
“–when I was too young to know better.” I finish.
“And now?”
“Now…” I turn my gaze away, a caught off guard by the direct question. I run a hand through my hair while I pick my words carefully. “Now, there’s some nostalgia for the past. But 99.5% of this is just a man who is insanely attracted to a woman who speaks his language in more ways than one. Your pussy feels great, tastes great too. I want more of it. But I’m not going to fall in love or anything… so, you don’t have to worry that I’ll stab your husband.”
Her bark of laughter seems to surprise her as much as it surprises me. “I was thinking more like uncomfortable silences and dark glares.”
“Not my style.” I assure her.
Her lips twist. “Well, then let me speak for myself. I don’t want to end up with my feelings fucked. Clearly, I’m not in the best place emotionally. Maybe…we should just play it by ear. See how we feel once we’re all alone.”
I couldn’t disagree more, but I’m not going to pressure her about this.
“It’ll be great, either way, and I’ll take my cues from you.” I say and I mean it. Maybe when this is over, we’ll walk away friends again. At the very worst, she’ll be excellent company. And I know that we don’t need sex to connect.
From our time in the bakery and that shuttle ride, I also know that Regan will break all sorts of rules when she thinks no one is watching. And we’re going to have plenty of alone time in the next few days.
“I was going to leave at 9, is that too early?” I ask.
She looks at me, her dark eyes twinkling, her smile wider than I’ve seen it since we’ve been here. “Right now wouldn’t be too early.” She declares and then jumps up.
“Oh my God,” she screams suddenly and flops onto her back, clutching a pillow to her chest and kicking her legs wildly.
“Woah!” I lurch back in surprise when she pops back up in a flash of dark hair and gleaming white teeth.
“I’m so excited. I’ve never done anything like this. I can’t believe it.”
“It won’t be luxurious like this. I don’t even know where I’m staying in Balandra.”
“But it’ll be an adventure,” her enthusiasm in unflagging.
“Do you speak Spanish?”
“A little?” She says with a nervous grin.
“Okay. Just don’t buy anything without me haggling for you, okay?”
“Okay. So, we’re going? Really?” Her expression is hopeful but tinged with fear. Like she’s just been given the chance to have something she wants desperately and she’s afraid to believe it. It’s the most vulnerable I’ve ever seen her, and it takes my breath away.
In a flash of certainty, I know that I’d move heaven and earth before I let that hope on her face do anything but flourish.
“Yes, really. It’ll be fun at the very worst and at it’s very best, it will be life changing,” I say.
She laughs and rolls her eyes. “I’ll be happy if it’s not a total disaster and I come home with all of my limbs intact.”
“Oh, then you’re going to be ecstatic. Because you’re going to learn things about yourself you can’t know until you go to a place you’ve never been before.”
“Wow. You’re really good at selling the idea of travel.”
“I’m an evangelist for it.”
She starts to dance around
Maybe living in Houston won’t be so bad. Especially if we can find a way to keep this going.
No. I can’t let myself start thinking like that. When I move back to Houston, it won’t matter. There, she’s so off limits, it’s not even funny.
No, what happens here is going to stay here.
But as I watch Regan Wilde’s sexy ass twirl around her hotel room with that horizon at her back, I get a glimpse of another unknowable destination – one where my future and my past collide, and then click into place.

Dylan Allen

About Dylan Allen
Wall Street Journal and USA Today bestselling author, Dylan Allen is a Texas girl with a serious case of wanderlust.
A self-proclaimed happily ever junkie, she loves creating stories where her characters chase their own happy endings.
When she isn’t writing or reading, eating or cooking, she and her family are planning their next adventure.

Connect with Dylan
Facebook: http://bit.ly/2kAg2VP
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✍🏻 Blog Tour and Excerpt for Emma Renshaw’s Ignite – a 5 ⭐️ romance ✍🏻

From Emma Renshaw, author of the Vow series, comes a new small town romance about a woman who has lost everything and the man determined to heal her scars.

Ignite by Emma Renshaw is now live! 

Read my review here!

One night changed an entire town.

One girl changed my entire life.

After she left without saying goodbye, I never expected to see her again.

The fire that changed Hawk Valley was my first night on the job. She was my first save as a firefighter. But she wasn’t the first to walk out of my life without looking back.
She was just another number on that list.

I grew used to putting out sparks in my personal life, too. But when she came back, I couldn’t stop myself from chasing after her. Just a fling, we said. But where there’s smoke, there’s fire.

Of all people, I should have known that. It could never be casual with us. It was always going to become an inferno.

Until someone else put out the fire.

A portion of Emma Renshaw’s first week proceeds will be donated to the ALS Association in honor of George Gallegos, Emma’s uncle who died of ALS in February of 2019.

  Download today!

Amazon: https://amzn.to/3fJ30wP 

Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/IgniteER 

Apple: https://apple.co/3dxe1zg 

Nook: https://bit.ly/3duEldj 

Kobo: https://bit.ly/2SU8taq 

Goodreads:  https://bit.ly/2WLoosw

Excerpt

Coffee splashed over the edge of Ridge’s coffee mug as it clattered to the table. He pushed the chair back, stood, and was hovering over me in one stride. One hand gripped the arm of the chair, and the other wove into my messy hair. He tilted my head back, bringing my lips a sliver away from his own. 

“I was serious last night when I said I want you—and more nights like last night—until you leave. Were you? I haven’t even scratched the surface of the things I want to do to you.”

No one had ever spoken to me like that before. I’d never been with a man this bold. I’d thought one night would be enough, but it wasn’t. I wanted to see him again, see him until I left, but I knew it would be a challenge to make sure my heart didn’t get involved. I couldn’t allow it to. I couldn’t fall into Ridge’s arm and get lost in his smile. 

“Yes, I was serious,” I whispered. With each word my lips brushed against his. I arched my neck to get a sliver more contact between us. “It’s only a fling though. I’m leaving, Ridge. We can’t forget that.”

His jaw tightened and his nostrils flared as he broke eye contact for a second. Then he nodded once. “Only a fling. I won’t forget you’re leaving,” he promised. His lips sealed over mine, and I whimpered in the back of my throat as his tongue swept into my mouth. He broke the kiss, brushing his thumb over my cheek. “While you’re here, it’s just us. I don’t share, Zoe.”

I nodded. Ridge’s lips tipped up and he stood, releasing me. “And if you need another night of commiseration or celebration, I’ll bring you to The Watering Hole. Anything you need while you’re here, I’m your guy.”

Meet Emma


Emma loves to write, just don’t ask her to write about herself. If she isn’t writing, you can find her lost in a book or trying to get her doggo to take a selfie with her. He usually refuses. At the end of the day, you can find Emma at the closest Mexican restaurant eating queso and sipping on a margarita. She lives in Texas with her husband and dog.

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