Thursday, June 30, 2016

Excerpt for A Fine Mess by Kelly Siskind


Sawyer steps close and waits for me to make eye contact. Slowly, I lift my gaze to his gold-flecked brown eyes, but I can’t find my voice. It’s like I don’t know how to talk to him anymore.

He grins. “Hi.”

From my angle it’s easy to see the scar running down his neck, the remnant of a fall he took through a coffee table while wrestling with his brother. I’ve always wanted to touch it, feel the puckered skin under my fingers. I drop my gaze, but it doesn’t help. The cuffs of his gray button-down are rolled to his elbows, roped muscle exposed below. Something else I’d like to touch.

I blink hard. “Hi,” I say to my feet.

“Look at me, Lil.” I rock on my heels, then do as asked. He raises an eyebrow. “How fucking weird is this?”

My giggle surprises me, and I loosen my grip on my wineglass. “Totally weird.”

Thank God for Sawyer’s candid nature.

He sips his drink, probably Scotch, and a sheen of liquid clings to his bottom lip.

Touch that arm. Kiss that scar. Taste those lips. None of these urges are new, but they’re heightened. Magnified. He watches me watching him, his gaze as probing as mine. What is he thinking?

Then the music changes.

A remix of Madonna’s “Holiday” plays, and Sawyer does Sawyer. He tips his head to the right, his shoulders following, then he pushes out his hip and rolls his torso through. The guy does body waves, alternating from side to side, like he’s in an eighties music video.

People stop. People look. People laugh.

I snort, an unattractive sound I make when my laughter takes over. Sawyer says it sounds like a hyena with sleep apnea. When I snort a second time, he dances harder, and I crack up. My belly aches as he gets into it, the entire room watching now.

I suck in a breath, place my empty glass on the table behind me, then clasp his shoulders.

“What are you doing?”

He stops dancing. “Making things less weird.”

“Less? What about you channeling Paula Abdul is less weird?”

“Did you laugh?”

I grin.

Then he says, “I’m sorry.”

The music vibrates in my chest, or maybe it’s his proximity. “Sorry about what?”

“Last week, when you called, I was a dick. You caught me by surprise, and I didn’t handle it well. So, I’m sorry.”

His admission pumps through my core like helium, my body nearly weightless. The confession shouldn’t be surprising, not with how he speaks his mind, but it’s been a week of silence. I was losing hope things could return to the way they were, or progress past it. I step closer, so he can hear me over the noise. “Apology accepted, but do I get an explanation?”

He drags his gaze down my body. It’s a thorough perusal—intimate, penetrating—flames sparking along my skin. His eyes linger on me, but he doesn’t speak. He rolls the pinky ring on his left hand the way he does when he’s puzzling something out. An ache travels up my thighs, heat expanding below my ribs. The longer he stays quiet, the more my skin tingles.

Finally, he releases his ring and slides his hand over my lower back. He leans forward and whispers, “I’ve wanted to do very dirty things to you and with you since Aspen, but I care about you too much to act on it. Hence my dickishness and the weirdness.”

Some guys should come with a warning label . . .

Sawyer West is Mr. One-Night Stand. He doesn't do relationships or promises or feelings. He's never cared enough to get involved. Until Lily Roberts. She's sweet and shy and sexy as sin, and resisting her is testing his self-control. She believes Sawyer can be a better man, and for the first time in his life, he wants to be. But change isn't easy, and Sawyer would do anything to protect Lily from his past self. Even break his own heart . . .

A small-town girl at heart, Kelly moved from the city to open a cheese shop with her husband in northern Ontario. When she’s not neck deep in cheese or out hiking, you can find her, notepad in hand, scribbling down one of the many plot bunnies bouncing around in her head. She laughs at her own jokes and has been known to eat her feelings—Gummy bears heal all. She’s also an incurable romantic, devouring romance novels into the wee hours of the morning.

She is represented by Stacey Donaghy of the Donaghy Literary Group.



Wednesday, June 29, 2016

Book Review for Jackson by Eve Jagger

I thought I knew what I wanted.

The perfect life, the perfect wife.

And then I met Skylar.

Turns out what I wanted wasn't what I needed.

She's spontaneous, beautifully chaotic. She's an irresistible storm about to let loose. She dances like a firecracker and finds the sexiest ways to get in trouble. She breaks into buildings and knows all of Atlanta's best taco trucks. She doesn't check the boxes on my list--she blows my list out of the water.

I thought I knew what I wanted, but now all I want is her.

But our lives are so different. She's chasing adventure and determined to never settle down. I'm climbing the ladder to success, setting the groundwork for my ambition and the family that I hope to build. When our worlds come together, will they fit together or will they clash?

◆   ◆   ◆   ◆   ◆   ◆
"You value thrill rides. And I value reality."

I. Am. So. In. Love.

I loved Knox (see my REVIEW), but I have to find some space to put Jackson too! Jackson was so sexy!! OMG, he had me drooling. I loved the way he talked. I loved the way he carried himself. I love the way he thought. He was a very structured man with some smoothness to him. Not nerdy structured, just structured. He probably had his closet color coordinated,  his sock drawer lined up by colors and his underwear folded up in nice piles. Structured but super ridiculously sexy. But, still, I loved Jackson. And I *MUST* point out his mouth.....the way he talked to her melted my heart. There was some deepness to his words, as well as some dirty. Mmm Mmm good!

Sklyar was so young, so naive and so HAPPY. So happy to the point that her bounciness and naïveté made me smile as I was reading the book. She was almost....immature? But not in a bad way!! That's probably not the right word, but she lived for the moment she was IN and never let anything bother her. She didn't carry any weight with her and lived day to day, not worrying about where she was going to end up eventually. She went with the flow of things. Her character was pretty fun to read; obnoxious at points, but fun nonetheless.

Having said that, soooome people who shall remain nameless couldn't mix chaos with serenity. These two were polar opposites in every way, but had this raw, unbridled attraction to each other and they were combustible when they got together. You could feel the need and lust between them, and they were HOT together. Hot.  Their sexy times were so seductive and dreamy!

But inevitably, with intense emotions come strong feelings of right and wrong, as well as personal needs versus wants in a relationship. The drama between these two, while I didn't necessarily like, made them both grow. They had to stop and think about how they were feeling and what was causing these emotions. I think some situations were glossed over and some things weren't explored as much as they could have been, but overall, this was a good book and I am definitely enjoying EJ's writing. I'm so glad I found her one night by chance!

I haven't read all the books in this series and started with KNOX, but I sure want to now. This entire series is full of HOT men!! I keep reading snippets of each guy in the books I've read and I love it. Jackson can be read as a complete standalone as Eve Jagger makes sure the story at hand focuses on the couple in the book, even though we learn a little about the other guys. Nothing is given away that would spoil the other books for you. Jump in....I am loving these Sexy Bastards. I need to read Hard and Cash soon!!  

"I could spend the rest of my life touching you and never get bored."
◆     ◆     ◆     ◆     ◆     ◆     

Eve Jagger is a native of Georgia and is a true southern girl at heart. A stay at home mom to two kids, she's married to a sexy man who doesn’t mind being used as research for those naughty scenes.

Eve cut her teeth writing in high school and college, but it wasn’t until recently that she got the itch to write a full length novel. She loves complex, emotionally-charged characters and wild, sexy leading men. Hard: A Sexy Bastard Book releases at the end of April 2015 and she can’t wait for you to meet her characters that occupy her mind 24/7!

Eve loves to talk and meet people on social media, so be sure and touch base with her.



Excerpt for Stealing Home by Nicole Williams



Working for a professional baseball team was going to be the end of my love life. The past two years confirmed that theory, as had the last text I’d received from my latest ex-boyfriend.

Half of the year on the road added to another half of the year working grueling hours that rivaled a doctor’s first year of residency equaled a whole lot of no free time to fill with a social agenda. Since being hired on by the San Diego Shock this season and the San Francisco Kings the year before that, the longest relationship I’d maintained spanned eight weeks.

This last one had barely cleared the four-week mark.

My lifestyle was costly, but it was worth it. Baseball was in my blood, and sports medicine was in my heart.

I’d grown up in a small Midwest town where people still got together for potlucks and everyone from the town hermit to the mayor attended a funeral. Where the only place you were expected to be after church on a Sunday was stretched out on the bleachers around the baseball field. It didn’t matter if it was a T-ball game or the high school championships—the bleachers were always packed.

Baseball was a religion where I grew up—it was stitched into the fibers of my life—so it was no surprise when I ended up with a baseball player. No, the surprise came after I’d followed him to college and found him in bed with someone else.

It had taken the wind right out of me, along with my tendency to trust first and doubt after. Ben had been sleeping around for a while by the time I found out—friends had known and said nothing—and that was the day I made a promise to myself to never let another guy hurt me as he had, to never be made a fool of like that.

After changing schools mid-year, I started studying sports medicine and never looked back. Or at least not often. I only looked back when I found myself feeling something similar to what I’d felt for Ben. The relationship never lasted long after that.

As evidenced by my newest failed relationship.

“Whose ass do I need to kick, Doc?”

Dropping my phone into my lap, I looked across the aisle to see who was sliding into the row across from me.

Luke Archer.

Known to fans as the best hitter on the Shock, if not in all of pro baseball. Known to women for his good looks and up-to-no-good smile. Known to Cosmo magazine as being voted the Finest Ass in professional baseball. And known by the athletic training staff as a well-rounded pain in our asses.

Not because he thought he knew better or was yet another prima donna—which the sport had no shortage of—but because he held to the old-school code of taking care of an injury by “walking it off.” If that didn’t work, then we could usually convince him to pop one or two pain relievers after the game, and sometimes, if he was feeling especially accommodating, he’d accept a bag of ice.

Luke Archer was the real man of steel, and no one to date had managed to convince him he was also made of those injury-prone materials known as flesh and blood.

“Doc?” Archer’s voice broke through my haze of thoughts. “Just give me his name and I’ll take care of it.”

The rest of the team and staff were shuffling down the aisle between us to find their seats on the team jet, but his stare aimed my way felt unyielding.

“What makes you think anyone’s ass deserves a kicking?” I asked.

I returned a high-five as Reynolds passed by. He’d twisted his ankle in the game earlier today, and I’d been the first on the field to get him taken care of. I’d been the last one out of the locker room to finish getting him taken care of too. As a noob, I had to work twice as hard. As a woman, I had to work ten times as hard.

“I have three younger sisters. I have more experience than most with guys deserving ass kickings.”

The last of the guys wandered by us. Without the break of their bodies coming between us, Archer’s stare became too intense. His eyes seemed capable of pinning me to the back of the seat.

The head athletic trainer, Dax Shepherd, attended to the “money” players—the ones like Archer, who brought fans to the stadium and were a large part of the Shock’s impressive win-to-loss ratio. Up until this very moment, I didn’t know Luke Archer was aware of my existence on this team or the planet.

“You really have three younger sisters?” I asked.

Unlike most of the female populace, I didn’t know every last fact about Luke Archer. The news about his parents had made headlines a few years back, and that was all I knew about his personal life.

“I really do. And I talk to or text all of them every day.”

“Plus you kick asses for them.”

Archer’s hazel eyes lightened. “Plus that.” He twisted in his seat so he was almost facing me, his eyes dropping to the phone in my lap. “So? No one messes with my sisters. And no one messes with my team.”

My forehead creased. “I’m not one of your teammates.”

“You’re a part of my team. Just because you don’t play the field or swing a bat doesn’t mean you’re not. You keep us healthy and strong out there.” When I cocked an eyebrow, he added, “And when we get injured, you make sure we get fixed up quickly so we can get back to doing what we love. You’re every bit as vital to this team as . . .” He glanced up and down the aisle like he was looking for someone to fill in the blank with.

“As Luke Archer?” I completed for him.

His answer to that was a lifting of his eyes. “I’m one man who can swing one bat.”

“One bat really, really hard. And very, very exactly,” I interjected.

He continued, “You make sure twenty-five men can keep swinging their own bats.”

“Well, there’s me, the two other athletic trainers, the physical therapist, the personal trainers, and the actual doctor who help out with that too. I can’t take all of the credit.”

“Come on. You work twice as hard as any of them, so you should at least take most of the credit.” When his phone started chiming in his slacks’ pocket, he pulled it out, turned it off, and hid it back in his pocket.

“And since the closest Shepherd and Coach Beckett have let me get to you is handing out a water bottle, how would you know that?”

He pointed at his eyes. “I’ve got two of these and use them for observation on occasion.”

“When they’re not searching for your next conquest?” I gave an internal groan the moment after I’d voiced something that should have stayed unsaid.

My relationships with the players had always been professional and rarely, if ever, delved into the realm of personal information. If it didn’t have to do with preventing or tending to injuries, I didn’t bring it up.

Until now. When I’d just suggested that Luke Archer had a reputation in every city the Shock had visited, every hotel they’d stayed in. Perfect way for my first real conversation with the star player of the team, and the whole of professional baseball, to go.

Archer stayed quiet, studying me with that tipped smile he was famous for.

“You know my opinion on rumors?” he said a minute later.

I was capable of nothing more than shaking my head.

“That they’re started by haters. Spread by fools. And accepted by idiots.”

My head tipped. “Are you calling me an idiot?”

His eyes flashed. “Are you calling me a manwhore?”

I studied him lounging in his seat with his legs kicked out in front of him, his wide chest stretching beneath his suit jacket, his long arms resting on the armrests.. His body was enough to weaken the resolve of someone as jaded to player players as I was, but his face didn’t play second-string.

Brown hair lightened by the sun, smooth skin darkened by it, a strong jaw, and hazel eyes that trended more toward the green end of the spectrum; Luke Archer was quite possibly the most attractive man I’d ever laid eyes on. According to Sports Anonymous’s random poll of five thousand women, he was the best-looking guy in professional sports today. The other few billion women on the planet would have agreed with that title, I assumed.

“Do you always take so long to answer a question?” Archer motioned at me, waiting.

“No,” I said, recalling the last question he’d asked me. Snap out of it. “I don’t think that you’re a . . . manwhore,” I whispered the last part.

I’d had enough experience with the rumor mill to be a sympathetic party to the target of so many. Being one of the first and only female athletic trainers in professional sports had opened me up to a hundred rumors when I’d been hired. All versions of them had to do with me fucking my way into the position.

“Good.” Archer nodded, seeming satisfied. “Because you certainly don’t seem like an idiot.”


He nodded again. “Welcome.”

That was when the pilot’s voice echoed through the team jet, running through his usual spiel. We were leaving Tampa and heading up to Chicago. Now that the season was in full swing, I lost track of the cities we were leaving and the ones we were heading toward. All of my attention was focused on the players and getting them through the season as injury-free as possible.

“I’m still waiting for that name, Doc.” Archer clicked his seat belt into place when one of the attendants stopped beside him, looking ready to strap it into place for him.

When she saw mine unfastened, all I got was a lifted brow and a pointed finger before she moved on to the next aisle.

“Oh, it’s okay. He’s not worth it.” I lifted my phone toward him before dropping it in the duffel bag I kept on hand at all times. Bandages, tape, painkillers, and a small cooler of ice packs were always at the ready whenever I was with the team. “Any guy who breaks up with someone via text message isn’t worth much.”

“Really? Over text?” Archer’s eyes narrowed. “That’s the reason the ass-kicking was invented. For those types of guys.”

I shrugged as the plane started to taxi down the runway, the interior lights dimming. “We haven’t even been together a month. Truthfully, it lasted longer than I thought it would. This kind of lifestyle”—I twirled my finger around the airplane—“makes it difficult to sustain a long-term relationship.”

“That’s why I’m not a fan of them.”

“Long-term relationships?”

“Any kind of relationship,” he said.

I nodded my understanding. The players had it worse than the team staff. At least in terms of having to question if a person was into them for who they were or because of their job, and the fame and money that came with it. 

“I’m either practicing for a game, playing a game, recovering from a game, or fueling up and resting for a game. There’s not time for much else,” he said.

Leaning into my armrest, I realized how strange it was to be having such an easy conversation with Luke Archer. It felt natural, not forced. Most of the players would take a moment to chat with me about something game-related, but I was still the new kid on the block. I felt like I had to pass some test before they’d accept me as a member of the team.

Archer didn’t seem to be of the same mind though.

“Yeah, I know. It’s like you need to find someone who can just travel with you wherever you go, right?” I said, thinking how much easier it would to be in a relationship with someone I got to see on a daily basis without two computer screens.

“Exactly. Someone who understands the lifestyle. Appreciates the sacrifices you have to make.”

My head fell back into the headrest from the inertia of takeoff, but I could still feel Archer’s eyes on me. “Someone who understands that the job comes first. Someone who doesn’t get insecure or jealous or bent out of shape that they get the few precious minutes in between the job.”

When my head turned toward him again, I found Luke Archer staring at me with a kind of intensity I hadn’t seen aimed my way in a long time. My breath caught, and even though the strength of his stare threatened to overwhelm me, I held his gaze.

“Someone who understands the game. The commitment. The time. The sacrifice. Someone who’s as committed to it as you are.” One corner of his mouth twitched, carving a dimple into his cheek. “It’s not like you could ever expect to find a person like that sitting in the row across the aisle from you, right?”

Exclusive Preorder on iTUNES


Being the only woman working for a professional baseball team isn’t easy. As the San Diego Shock’s newest athletic trainer, Allie knows all about long hours, endless travel, and warding off players’ advances. Given she’s already the subject of a handful of rumors about how “lucky” she was to have earned such a coveted position, she can’t so much as flutter an eyelash a player’s way if she wants to be taken seriously.

But number eleven is doing more than fluttering eyelashes Allie’s way. Far more. Luke Archer is at the top of his game and doesn’t let the fear of striking out keep him from swinging. This is a motto he applies both on and off the field, but Allie appears immune, seeming to view Luke as nothing more than caution tape on legs.

He’s a player, and in Allie’s experience, they’re all the same. She won’t risk her job or her heart to another one, no matter how different this one claims to be. But as Allie gets to know him, she discovers the number eleven the public thinks they know is very different from the real Luke Archer. He seems too good to be true.

And maybe he is.

Allie will have to confront the stories attached to a player of Luke Archer’s stature and decide who she’ll put her faith in—The man she’s falling for? Or the rumors?

◆     ◆     ◆     ◆     ◆     

Nicole Williams is the New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author of contemporary and young adult romance, including the Crash and Lost & Found series. Her books have been published by HarperTeen and Simon & Schuster in both domestic and foreign markets, while she continues to self-publish additional titles. She is working on a new YA series with Crown Books (a division of Random House) as well. She loves romance, from the sweet to the steamy, and writes stories about characters in search of their happily even after. She grew up surrounded by books and plans on writing until the day she dies, even if it’s just for her own personal enjoyment. She still buys paperbacks because she’s all nostalgic like that, but her kindle never goes neglected for too long. When not writing, she spends her time with her husband and daughter, and whatever time’s left over she’s forced to fit too many hobbies into too little time.

Nicole is represented by Jane Dystel, of Dystel and Goderich Literary Agency.



Friday, June 24, 2016

Tour Review for Dark Sexy Knight by Katy Regnery

From New York Times bestseller Katy Regnery comes another timeless tale of love everlasting!

Loosely inspired by the legend of Camelot, Dark Sexy Knight tells the story of dinner theater knight Colt Lane, who meets down-on- her-luck Verity Gwynn on the worst day of her life. Evicted from their home, Verity and her special-needs brother, Ryan, must find jobs or risk being separated. Colt, who is the furthest-possible thing from a white knight in real life, comes to their unlikely rescue, quickly cementing his place in Verity’s heart.

Colt has dark, deeply buried secrets that keep his smile hidden and his eyes down, which has kept people away . . . until he meets Verity, who seems immune to his gruff manners and taciturn ways. The more time Colt spends with her, the more he longs for her sweetness in his life and yearns to be the knight in shining armor she so desperately needs. Certain he will lose her if she learns the truth about his past, he must decide if he can trust her with his yesterday in order to build a beautiful tomorrow.

**Contemporary Romance. Due to profanity, mild violence and very strong sexual content, this book is not intended for readers under the age of 18.**

All novels in the ~a modern fairytale~ collection are written as fundraisers.

"Open your eyes and see. This is love. We are a fucking fairytale."

It's not often that you can get an honest story that allows you to fall in love with the characters equally and without abandon. Katy is one of those authors for me that I know I can count on for just that. Katy has a way of bringing the innocent fairytale to life with a little bit of angst, sexiness and a whole lot of love. 

Verity is an honorable girl who handles business and takes care of things....I loved her tenacity. She was a very emotional girl that got handed a tough hand, so she has a skewed outlook on some things. I liked being able to see things through her eyes. She finally gets her fairytale and she gets to know the true power of love. 

Colt is a man with strong convictions, but also has some issues that he has to work through. He was moody. He was protective. He was strong. But I'd like think his passion for things is what helped him get through some tough times. I really liked how he tried to fight the very obvious....and the fact that he was so passionate and emotional with Verity made me fall even more in love with him. He really had a good demeanor, even if people sometimes only saw the tough exterior to him. 

Verity saw it all and she wouldn't back down from him. They had one of those relationships that you know fate intervened and stepped in. I'm a HUGE believer in fate and he was where he wasn't supposed to be at just the right time. The love that blossomed from this was beautiful. It taught them both so much and allowed them to grow with each other. 

Katy's words undo me. I love her words. This was a beautiful book and I am just in love. It's completely sigh-worthy. 

The only reason I couldn't give this one a full 5 stars was because I wasn't able to initially connect (which is odd for me with her books) and the story started out slow, but once you get into the meat of the story, and the love that is so prevalent between Colt and Verity, you can't help but smile while you read their story. I love her fairytales series and can't wait to add this one to my signed collection!!!

“Give me your doubts and disquiet. I will silence them.”

Katy Regnery, award-winning and Amazon bestselling author, started her writing career by enrolling in a short story class in January 2012. One year later, she signed her first contract for a winter romance entitled By Proxy. 

Now exclusively self-published, Katy claims authorship of the multi-titled Blueberry Lane Series which follows the English, Winslow, Rousseau, Story and Ambler families of Philadelphia, the four-book, bestselling a modern fairytale series, the standalone novel, Playing for Love at Deep Haven and a standalone novella, Frosted. 

Katy’s first modern fairytale romance, The Vixen and the Vet, was nominated for a RITA® in 2015, and four of her books: The Vixen and the Vet (a modern fairytale), Never Let You Go (a modern fairytale), Falling for Fitz(The English Brothers #2) and By Proxy (Heart of Montana #1) have been #1 genre bestsellers on Amazon. 

Katy lives in the relative wilds of northern Fairfield County, Connecticut, where her writing room looks out at the woods, and her husband, two young children, and two dogs create just enough cheerful chaos to remind her that the very best love stories begin at home.



Wednesday, June 22, 2016

Book Review for Zeke's Eden by K Webster

Following Daddy’s rules has always been easy.
Smile. Nod. Repeat.

Until I met Zeke.
Dark. Dirty. Sinner.
A hungry beast, released from his cage.
And I’m on the menu.

Tonight, I’m Zeke’s Eden.
His sugar.
His whore.

Daddy’s little girl is all grown up…

***Warning: This is an erotic novella.***

"This is reckless. And sinful. So bad. Yet, I'm dying for more of his touch. I'm a needy addict who's had her first hit of a drug that gives her a high she's never experienced."

There is just something about K Webster's over the top dramatics to round out the hotter than sin sexiness in her books!!! Geez....I swear. I was instantly hooked while reading about Zeke and Eden and the crazy instant connection they both felt. I felt it between them too.

I will say this; for someone that says they don't read novellas, I sure have read quite a few this last week. My gosh, this was my third and I have been enjoying them all. 

Naughty. Ok? Naw-teee!! And holy hell, it's HOT!!!! I seriously giggled at the fact that Zeke pushed Eden SO far beyond her comfort zone, and it made me all squirmy!! Holy cow. HOT. Going against daddy's wishes has never been more fun!!! <insert evil grin> 

This was most definitely a case of insta-love, but also skirted along the lines of being in the right place at the right time. Meeting that person that instantly catches your eye and makes you feel things you've never felt before. Eden was turnt OUT!!  It was HOT. Everything Eden is running from is something Zeke is willing to rescue her from. And he wants the world to know that she is HIS. He was so possessive of her. Crazy? Maybe....but it worked. It really worked.

Did I mention it was hot? Because I'd like to lick Zeke all over.....just saying. Allllll over. 

"Tonight I'm not Daddy's little girl. I'm not Parker's perfect girlfriend. Tonight, I'm Zeke's Eden. His sugar. His whore."


K Webster is the author of dozens romance books in many different genres including contemporary romance, historical romance, paranormal romance, and erotic romance. When not spending time with her husband of twelve years and two adorable children, she's active on social media connecting with her readers.
Her other passions besides writing include reading and graphic design. K can always be found in front of her computer chasing her next idea and taking action. She looks forward to the day when she will see one of her titles on the big screen.




Excerpt Reveal for Filthy English by Ilsa Madden-Mills


Plain and simple, this night sucked. Sadly, it was my honeymoon. I sighed heavily and gazed around Masquerade, an intimately lit London nightclub where everyone wore black domino masks, some elaborate and some plain, to hide their identity. A few die­hards even sported dark clothing with long, loose cloaks. Not me though. I’d gone modern with a slinky little number and three­inch heels, putting my height at nearly six feet. Yep, I’m the giant in the blue dress, towering over every girl and some guys at the bar. My top teeth dug into my bottom lip as I gazed around the smoky club, my eyes bouncing off random faces. Even in a room full of party people, music, and strobe lights, I was lonely. My groom was missing. That’s right. Hartford Wilcox, Jr., aka Mr. Nice Guy at Whitman University in North Carolina, had jilted me two weeks before the big wedding day as we had dinner at our favorite Italian restaurant, Mario’s. And now here I was—on my honeymoon and getting trashed with my best friend Lulu who’d decided to skip her beach vacation and come with me at the last minute.

She poked me with her finger as we sat in front of the heavy wooden bar of the club. “Hey, Earth to Remi, get that glazed look out of your eyes and order a drink already. I’m thirsty.” She fluffed her pixie­cut pink hair and straightened her black tutu, eyes scoping out the club. “Dang, the men in here are hotter than a billy goat with a blow torch,” she said in her honeyed southern drawl. I half­heartedly agreed, not really caring, more intent on scanning the bottles behind the bar. “I want tequila,” I murmured. “A whole bottle.” Her face snapped back to me and her green eyes widened. “Uh­uh. No way. I know what happens when you drink that crap. You either eat a ton of tacos and puke, or you wrap yourself around some cocky bastard with a well­developed tush.” True. I did love a tight muscular ass. But I wouldn’t get one tonight. A short laugh burst out of me, one of those I’m­miserable­but­pretending­to­ be­ okay­laughs that I’d been doing a lot of lately. For the past two weeks, I’d vacillated between a sobbing mess and an angry woman who became so incensed that “fuck” was the only word that seemed appropriate in any given situation. Going to the post office to mail he dumped me, but thank you anyway cards. Fuck.

Going to the wedding venue and not getting the ten thousand dollar deposit back. Fuck. Realizing I was homeless fall semester—which was in two weeks—fuck. Listening to my mother tell me it was my fault. Fuck, fuck, fuck. The bartender delivered my bottle and poured me a shot. I sucked the tequila down while Lulu watched me warily. It tasted like bad decisions and gasoline, but tonight was about forgetting. The sooner the better. A few minutes later, Lulu went out to dance with a British guy she’d been making eyes at. I sat glumly at the bar, fiddling with my diamond tennis bracelet, rubbing it like rosary beads. I needed to forget Hartford, and according to Lulu, that meant hooking up with someone. Was she right? Fate answered in the form of a beautiful man—and by beautiful I mean drop­ dead sexy with a backside so delectable and muscular my mouth plopped open. I snapped my lips shut and adjusted my velvet half­-mask—the annoying feathery plumes on the sides kept sticking to my red lipstick—and turned ever so slightly to check him out, not wanting to appear obvious. He slid into the seat next to me, tall and broad with rippling shoulders and a massive frame. I checked my appearance in a mirror behind the bar, mentally analyzing the odds of a girl like me snagging a hottie like him. Although no one had ever called me beautiful, I did have two—okay, maybe three—things going for me in the looks department. My shiny, golden­ brown hair

that hung down in waves to my shoulders, my fluffy “pillow lips” as Lulu described them, and lastly, I had an itsy bitsy space between my two front teeth which were otherwise white and perfect. Lulu claimed the gap lent me an exotic look, like Madonna or Sookie Stackhouse. Whatever. I was a True Blood fan. I went with it.

He shifted on the stool, leaning closer to me. His cologne swirled in the air, the smell of expensive Scotch and musk mingling together to create a heady, slightly dangerous scent. I paused, goosebumps rising on my bare arms. The spicy whiff triggered a distant memory just out of reach. As slyly as I could, I studied his profile from top to bottom. Like me he wore a black mask, although his was more masculine, not hiding his chiseled, movie star jawline. His lips were carnal and luscious, the bottom more plump than the top with a slight indentation in the middle. As I watched, his tongue swept out and caressed it, his top teeth biting it as if he were deep in thought. He raked a hand through his dark, longish messy hair, held it suspended above his head for a few seconds and then released it, letting it swish back into its tousled yet perfect place. I tore my eyes away. Something about him sent loud warning bells ringing in every atom of my body. Danger, danger. Don’t touch that. But my gaze would not be denied as I took in the tight black shirt and sculpted chest that was obviously used to the inside of a gym, right down to an arm that looked like it could snap a board in half—or me. Nice biceps, Mr. Beautiful. The pièce de résistance was the vivid blue and orange dragonfly tattoo displayed on his left arm. It was larger than my hand and took up most of his bicep. My eyes traced the contours of the design from the papery wings to the multi­faceted eyes. A bold black color outlined the insect, giving it a masculine feel. Gorgeous. True Religion jeans stretched down long legs and ended in a pair of black Converse without socks, giving him a boyish quality that was in direct contrast to the crazy­sexy­bad­boy vibe he had going on. Him tonight? Maybe. He was the polar opposite of Hartford who was blond, lean, and tattoo-free.

I nibbled on my fingernail. How do I get him to notice little ol' me?

Just then a redhead with fluffy Farrah Fawcett hair strode up to his stool, bold as brass, wearing a tight, white mini­skirt that barely covered her booty. She brought with her the smell of sweet, cloying perfume, the kind I always got spritzed with at the mall.

She flicked her hair over her shoulder, casually rubbed her finger down his arm and struck up a conversation. Her fake, black lashes—which she’d somehow managed to get outside the eyeholes of her mask—batted. She puffed out her well­ developed chest. He smiled back at her with a wicked grin, his relaxed body language telling me he was confident when it came to women. She whispered in his ear, boobs right in his face, but whatever he said back wasn’t what she wanted to hear because a few ticks later, she crossed her arms, glared at me, and stalked away. I blinked. What had I done?

Then he turned and pointed his devastating smile at me. Shit, he’d made eye contact—as much as you could with a claustrophobic mask on. But wait...

Was he crazy? Because if he’d turned down her flirtation, I didn’t have a shot. I didn’t know how to do the fingers­tip­toeing­up­his­arm­thing and sexy hair flicking. I didn’t know a thing about applying fake eyelashes. I didn’t know how to make my breasts sit up that high. I looked away from him and took another shot, feeling anxious and strangely off­kilter. Mr. Beautiful ordered a drink from the bartender, his British accent smooth as silk as it washed over me. I froze. I almost knew that voice—deep with soft rounded vowels that made you tingle in your lady parts. What was it about this guy that had me all jacked up and hot for him? Hello, tequila, my inner voice said. But it was more than that.

Getting brave, I pivoted on my barstool, and found Mr. Beautiful’s eyes on me once more, searching my face. As if he too recognized the pull between us.

My heart played hopscotch, jumping against my chest. My skin prickled. I shivered.

Did I know him?

It clicked.

Dax Blay?

It was his voice, the same deep quality, the kind of voice that made you want to hop into his bed and ride him like a cowgirl. My breath hitched, and I swallowed down the emotion that zipped up my spine whenever I thought of him. He was my one mistake, the time I’d tossed inhibitions and carefully laid plans aside and went with my instincts, only to have them tossed back in my face. But the man next to me wasn’t Dax. Thank God.

Last spring at the campus­-wide end of the year fraternity party with Hartford, I’d seen Dax, and he’d had shorter hair, like always, and zero tattoos. Yeah. No way. Plus, last I heard, he was in Raleigh where his father lived. Yet...

Dax was British. He could have family here. Maybe he got a tattoo? Nah. I mean, what were the odds of us both being at the same club on the same night in a country where neither of us lived?

I tore my eyes off Mr. Beautiful and waved at a bartender for more limes, but somehow my tennis bracelet snagged on the bodice of my dress, leaving my wrist dangling like a wet dishrag in a most inappropriate place. I wiggled my arm. Jiggled it. Even went so far as to jerk, but it wouldn’t separate. Sweat popped out on my forehead. Holding my breath, I twisted and tugged the bracelet, forcing the delicate material in my bodice to stretch beyond normal limits. “Well, hell,” I breathed, pausing to assess. Skin­tight with a plunging neckline, the dress was mostly a stretchy fabric held together by sequined straps and a zipper on the side. Slated as part of my honeymoon wardrobe, it was a Tory Burch and had cost four hundred dollars, the most I’d ever paid for a fun outfit, and no way did I want to damage it. I might have to return it to rent an apartment at Whitman. Lulu. I needed Lulu. She was a whiz with wardrobe malfunctions.

I spun around on the barstool and used my free hand to wave at her, but she was slinging herself around dancing, having a great time and completely oblivious. I resorted to flapping both hands at her, one high and one low. Several people waved back with baffled expressions, but Lulu didn’t notice. Dammit.

I groaned and slumped down in my seat, ready to scream. Now what? Go to the bathroom and repair it there? Good plan. But the club tilted when I stood, the strobe lights making me squint as they flashed in my face. I wobbled in my leopard print heels—that Lulu had insisted I wear—and grabbed the stool to keep my balance.

I sucked in a breath to gather myself, but I couldn’t think straight. The room spun, and I was suddenly queasy, and why did I slam all that tequila, and oh my god, my wrist is currently attached to my tit like a T. rex arm. I had to get out of here before someone noticed what an idiot I was. Trying to be stealth like, I reached across the bar to get my beaded clutch, but because it was my left hand and not my right that I used most of the time, I got off balance and stumbled—and my ankle folded in on itself. I yelped as my shoe catapulted off my foot and vaulted off toward the dance floor, while I fell forward, straight into Mr. Beautiful’s lap.

Filthy English (unedited excerpt) Copyright Ilsa Madden­Mills

A smokin’ hot British player…
A jilted girl…
One night of mistaken identity…
Two weeks before her wedding, Remi Montague’s fiancé drops her faster than a drunken sorority girl in stilettos. Armed with her best friend and a bottle of tequila, she hops a plane to London to drown her sorrows before fall semester begins at Whitman University.

She didn't plan on attending a masquerade party.

She sure didn’t plan on waking up next to the British bad boy who broke her heart three years ago—the devastatingly handsome and naked Dax Blay. Furthermore, she has no clue how they acquired matching tattoos.

Once back at Whitman together, they endeavor to pretend they never had their night of unbridled passion in London.

But that’s damn hard to do when you live in the same house…

One night. Two damaged hearts. The passion of a lifetime.

*A modern love story inspired by Romeo and Juliet*

**no one dies in the writing of this novel**

New York Times and USA Today best‐selling author Ilsa Madden‐Mills writes about strong heroines and sexy alpha males that sometimes you just want to slap.

She's addicted to all things fantasy, including unicorns and sword‐wielding heroes in books. Other fascinations include frothy coffee beverages, dark chocolate, Instagram, Ian Somerhalder (seriously hot), astronomy (she's a Gemini), Sephora make‐up, and tattoos.

She has a degree in English and a Master's in Education.

When she's not pecking away on her computer, she shops for cool magnets, paints old furniture, and eats her weight in sushi.



Friday, June 17, 2016

Book Review: Cherry Popper by Jade Sinner


The Reckless Series Book 1

My best friend’s little sister. That’s all Emma Briggs is to me.
I keep trying to convince myself that statement is true but it’s a lie.
It’s her face I see every time I close my eyes.
It’s her touch I yearn to feel.
It’s her lips I long to kiss.
It’s her cherry I want to pop.

We were separated by time and distance, but now she’s back in my life. And everything has changed.
Every. Thing.

She’s no longer that kid tagging along behind me. The special bond I’ve shared with her—for as long as I can remember—has become something so different. Something so forbidden.

Something so hot.
Desire is telling me to do it—to pop her cherry. It would be so easy to give in and take her because she'll feel so good.

My best friend’s little sister is all grown up. And I want her.
She. Will. Be. Mine.


OK!!! I am *NOT* generally a fan of novellas, or short smutty reads, but dayum!!! This book had everything I needed in a quickie! Seriously, this was a FUN, SEXY, HOT and super QUICK read. I like my reads long and filled in, but this was an easily picked up book that I will recommend to anyone that wants something to read that won't take much time.

To be honest: quality on fast forward.

This quick one had a pretty good start, beginning and end. Again, it was quick....but this one had some meat to sink your teeth into. I have always loved the "best friends younger sister" storyline, so this one fit right into my lineup.

If you're looking for substantive and a full length book, this won't quite do it. But if you need a quick, hot and easy read.....seriously, this one was fun. Again, an hour tops of a read, but it was great. I really can't wait to read more in this series.

Jade Sinner has now provided TWO escapes for me, between Duncan and Cherry Popper, and I have really enjoyed the escape with these two books. I'll be honest, these are NOT my normal recommendation because some of these types of books just don't cut it, but these have really been a nice break from reality and having to think through a book.


◆     ◆     ◆     ◆     ◆     ◆
Jade Sinner is two friends, two New York Times bestselling authors, and two chicks with a secret. We like to write sexy, dirty books—the kind of books that would make both of our mothers blush. Since we don't want to see that across the Thanksgiving dinner table, we came together and created Jade.

If you have a secret too—if you like to read books that make you not only blush but flush—if you like quick reads, hot guys, naughty love stories, super-steamy sex scenes, and the promise of always having an HEA (Happily Ever After) then we have the books for you. 

We won't tell your secret if you don't tell ours...
Then again, if you like our books and you don't mind telling the world about our dirty little secret, by all means, please, share!

We promise to keep writing until we have enough to keep you and your friends busy with bookgasms late into the night! 

You're welcome!



Thursday, June 16, 2016

Excerpt for Say You'll Stay by Corinne Michaels


A knock on my office door causes me to stop working. “Zach?” I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose and stand. I should’ve known avoiding him wasn’t really going to work when he can roll up any ol’ time he wants. It was only a matter of time.

“Sorry to stop by without callin’, but the other night wasn’t exactly the best place for us to talk.” He removes his hat and tosses it on the chair. “I saw you in town yesterday trying to be incognito. Figured we should try to be civil.”

Civil? He can’t just show his face when he wants. He doesn’t belong here. I don’t want to see him at all, much less in my home, the one place that’s my safe haven. Damn him for not taking the fucking hint.

“Your mother said you were out here. She didn’t throw something at me, so I took that as a good sign.”

“What are you doing here?” I stand, slamming my hand on the desk. “My mother may not have thrown anything because she’s a proper Southern woman, but I’m not anymore. I’ve spent enough time in the North to not give a shit if I pelt you in the head with a stapler!” I grab it off the desk and rear back.

“Whoa! Whoa!” he says with his hands raised. “I’m not coming to start anything. I just want to see how you are. I’ve missed you.”

“Asshole!” I throw the stapler at his head. “You don’t get to miss me!”

He ducks as it makes a loud bang against the wall. Zach’s eyes widen as his lips turn up. “Seems all those years watching me play ball taught you how to throw.”

I grab the next thing I see. “You apparently sucked at teaching!”

“Felicia and I wanted to invite you over for dinner.”

He has lost his damn mind.

Zach lets out a sigh and moves closer. “I know it could be awkward, but I figured if . . .”

“If what? That there’s a chance we could be friends? Hang out even? You need your head examined if you think that’ll happen.” I don’t know if maybe he forgot how we ended things.

“Pres,” he chides.

“Don’t ‘Pres’ me! You have some nerve showing up here.”

“It was a long time ago.” I want to sock him in the face.

“Leave,” I demand.

Zach walks closer and crosses his arms across his chest.

“I’m not leaving until we settle this. I want us to get things out in the air.”

“Fine.” I grab the paper clip holder and toss it. I miss again. “That was in the air.”


One word.

It was all he had to do. Instead, he got on that bus and took my heart with him.

That was seventeen years ago.

I moved on. Marriage. Kids. White picket fence. Everything I ever wanted, but my husband betrayed me and I was left once again.

Alone, penniless, and with two boys, I had no choice but to return to Tennessee. He wasn’t supposed to be there. I should’ve been safe. However, fate has a way of stepping in.

This time around, the tables are turned. It’s my decision. Second chances do exist, but I don’t know if we can repair what’s already been broken . . .

** This book is a STANDALONE **


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Corinne Michaels is the USA Today and Wall Street Journal Bestselling author of The Salvation Series (Beloved, Beholden, Consolation and Conviction). She’s an emotional, witty, sarcastic, and fun loving mom of two beautiful children. Corinne is happily married to the man of her dreams and is a former Navy wife. After spending months away from her husband while he was deployed, reading and writing was her escape from the loneliness.

Both her maternal and paternal grandmothers were librarians, which only intensified her love of reading. After years of writing short stories, she couldn’t ignore the call to finish her debut novel, Beloved. Her alpha Navy SEALs are broken, beautiful, and will steal your heart.



Wednesday, June 15, 2016

Excerpt Reveal for Broken Love by Jillian Dodd


The charter I use suggests changing our flight plan to land in Reno as opposed to the small Truckee airport I previously requested, due to high winds. We make the switch, take the flight, and I rent an SUV at the airport there.

I know the area is expecting some flurries today, but by the time I cross into Truckee, the snow is coming down hard and heavy. It’s getting dark, the roads are slippery, and I find myself slowing down and taking each turn very carefully.

As I round a corner, I spot a car that has slid off the road. A gorgeous woman is standing outside the car with a phone to her ear, her collar turned up, shivering against the cold.


Even though she tried to called me late Halloween night, I haven’t called her back. I wasn’t sure what to say, and I didn’t want to hear whatever dumb excuse she had for not showing up. My plan was to come up here and figure out what to do regarding her.

Part of me wishes I could drive right by and pretend I don’t see her.

But, I can’t.

When I saw the woman on the side of the road, my heart skipped a beat, recognizing her before I realized it was Palmer.

I put my flashers on, pull over, and roll down the passenger­ side window.


“Cade, is that you?” she asks, her eyes wide with astonishment.

“Yeah, you need a lift?”

She glances at her car, then at me, like she’s trying to decide which may be the lesser evil.

After a few seconds, she nods her head. “Yes, thank you. That would be great. The tow truck can’t be here for at least an hour. I guess it’s worse just west of here.”

“You know, you shouldn’t be out on roads like this all alone,” I say, chewing her out a little. “You should have put on chains.”

“I thought I could make it,” she replies, causing my mind to tumble back in time.

“I thought I could make it,” she says. She’s wearing a sundress, and the tip of her nose and her shoulders are a little pink from our day spent on the shores of Lake Tahoe. She’s just fifteen, and I’ll be turning twenty­-one in a few days. She’s going home with her family tomorrow, and then all our college buddies are coming up for a weekend party. To celebrate my finally being drinking­ age legal.

What’s not legal is the girl standing in front of me. But you’d never know it from looking at her. Palmer Montlake has been modeling. Already tall with the perfect body for hanging clothes from, she’s just back from a European modeling trip.

And, boy, has she ever grown up. In more ways than one. Most importantly, is the fact that I’m sure she’s flirting with me.

I know I need to make her stop.

But I’m a little drunk, and she’s way too pretty for her own good. Not to mention the fact that she was running around in a skimpy bikini all day long. But having her cover up doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten about how she looked.

I chastise myself.

She’s just a kid. She’s fifteen. Not only that, she’s my best friend’s kid sister—the holy grail of what you don’t mess with.

She runs her hand down my arm, laughs, and says, “Will you put a Band­Aid on it for me?”

When she was trying to jump from the boat to the dock like her brother and I did, she caught her flip­flop on the edge and crashed—cutting her knee.

“It’s not that bad,” I hesitate, knowing that under no circumstances can I can allow myself to touch her. I’m afraid if I do, I won’t be able to stop.

“Come on, Cade,” she pouts, puffing out her sexy bottom lip. “I’ve helped you before. Remember a couple years ago when you were bleeding after sliding into home plate? I fixed you all up.

I remember it, alright. But she didn’t look like this back then. She was gawky and awkward like a gelding, not the gorgeous gazelle she is today.

She jumps up onto the kitchen counter, immediately causing my mind to think about what naughty things I’d do to her on this counter if she were as old as she looks.

I take a deep breath, calm myself down, and put the Band­Aid gently across her knee.

She kisses me on the cheek in return. What should be a quick thank­ you peck is long and drawn out, and her scent lingers on me.

“Thank you, Cade,” she says, my name sounding like warm butter melting off her lips.

“The snow is coming down fast,” she says, bringing me back to the present.

“There’s no way we can make it to your cabin,” I say. “I assume that’s where you’re going?”

“Yeah, I was.”

“Are you supposed to meet anyone there?” I inquire. Please say no.

“No. I have some scripts to read, and Pike kind of wanted some time to himself.”

“My place is closer,” I say, thanking whatever divine intervention allowed her to go off the road. “You can stay there until the roads get better.”

“Okay,” she says with a shy smile. “Thanks for rescuing me, Cade.”

“You’re welcome, Palmer.”

She gets in the car and shakes the snow out of her hair. “I’m sorry about the other night. Why didn’t you call me back?”

“I don’t know. I just—”

“You were pissed I didn’t show up, right?”

“A little.”

“I sort of explained what happened in the text. Did you read it?”

“I did. Look, you know your brother hates me. He’s staying at your house. It would be awkward, so I decided not to put you in that position.”

“I see,” she says, putting her head down.

Which makes me feel bad.

We drive in silence for a few miles then she says, “Can you even believe how gorgeous this snow is? Don’t you just want to lay in it and make a bunch of snow angels?”

I grip my wheel tighter as the car fishtails on a patch of ice. “Let’s hope we make it there first.”

“Where are we going?” she asks. “I didn’t know you had a place up here.”

“I’ve been looking for the right place for a quite a while. Just closed a few weeks ago.”

“Is it furnished? Are we going to have any food?”

“I have some basic furnishings and linens. Not much yet. I wanted to get a feel for the place before I order any more. And groceries were delivered earlier today.”

I turn and give her a wink. “Along with a few cases of wine.”

“So we can get drunk, and we won’t starve. Sounds like the perfect weekend.”

I drum my fingers on the steering wheel, excited about how she mentioned the weekend. Does she want to spend the weekend with me?

Could I get so lucky?

I look over at her. Her cheeks and nose are red from the cold, but her eyes are bright with excitement about the falling snow. She’s bouncing in the seat a little, like she’s excited about something.

Probably just glad not to be standing on the side of the road anymore.

After winding up the mountain into the ski resort area of Truckee, I pull into the driveway of my new home.

“Cade! It’s so pretty!” Palmer screeches. “You literally bought the house of my dreams. Don’t you remember that time when I told you about it? That night when we laid under the stars in that hammock in Belize?”

I remember, alright. I remember everything about that trip. How soft her skin felt, the way her ass looked in a skimpy little bikini, the way she fit perfectly into my arms, and how amazing it felt when I was inside of her.

“We were happy then,” I say flatly, the memory both blissful and painful as I open the door and pull into the garage, knowing that’s why this house took years to find. When she passionately described it to me, it became my dream, too.

She jumps out of the car quickly, her face flush with excitement.

“Leave the bags, Cade. Give me a tour.”

Give me a tour. If I had my way, a tour would involve christening each room by making love in it.

Love. Not sex. That’s how it always was with Palmer. Even when the sex was completely dirty in nature, it always felt different.

I shake my head, take her outstretched hand, and follow her into the house.

After giving her the tour of the place, I unload our luggage, putting hers in one of the guest bedrooms and praying she’ll lock herself in and read her scripts, so I won’t have to keep looking at her.

Because if I have to keep looking at her, I’m going to end up fucking her.

My mother says love is based on strong emotions and that strong emotions polarize us. That’s why I can both love Palmer and hate her at the same time.

And right now, I hate that I still love her.

She’s standing next to one of the big picture windows, looking outside.

“The snow is really coming down now,” she says. “This is crazy beautiful.”

“You’re crazy beautiful,” I mutter.


“I said you’re crazy beautiful, Palmer.” I say it flatly, with no emotion. I’m afraid to say it any other way.

She blushes and self­-consciously pushes back a strand of hair. I love that about her. How she isn’t even aware of how truly stunning she is.

“I think we need some of that wine,” she says.

“Wine won’t help things between us.”

“No, it will probably make me want to sleep with you,” she says with a sigh.

Like she thinks it’s a really bad idea. She walks over to the cabinet under the television and starts rummaging through it. “Do you have any cards?” She laughs, pulling out a big box. “I should have known you’d have Scrabble.”

“It is a Crawford family tradition.”

“Not our kind of Scrabble.”

“You’re right. I don’t play dirty Scrabble with Mom and Dad. I’ve never played it with anyone but you, actually.”

“So,” she says, giving me a sexy grin, “shall we?”

I look out at the snow still falling heavily. “Sure, why not. You’re not going anywhere for a while. I thought you had a script to read or something?”

“Scrabble sounds more titillating.”

“I’ll be impressed if you can get that word on the board. Why don’t you set up the game and open some wine. I’ll go get some wood and get a fire going.”

Although the wood I had delivered is stacked neatly next to the house, I wish it wasn’t. Staying outside in the bristling cold wind for a few hours chopping wood might be the only thing that could keep me from kissing Palmer.

Hell, who am I kidding? I’d do way more than kiss her. Visions of carrying her to my new four­poster bed cause me to immediately harden. I slam my hand against the wall. Stop thinking about that. You can’t.

Why not? a voice inside my head wonders.

She hates you, for one. Only it doesn’t really seem like she hates me anymore.

Not like before when she wouldn’t even talk to me.

I put the wood in a carrier, take it in the house, and get a roaring fire going.

“The fire is so pretty,” she says from the kitchen.

“Thanks,” I reply.

“I have an idea,” she says, sashaying her way toward me with a big smile on her face. Palmer’s smile makes my knees weak. And I know that makes me sound like a fucking girl, but whatever, it’s true.

“What’s that?”

“Pick the coffee table up for me,” she instructs. I pick it up while she pulls the grey shag rug out from under it and moves it right up to the fireplace. “Perfect!” she exclaims, then strips all the pillows off the couch, tossing them to the ground.

She carefully places the Scrabble game on the center of the rug, bending over and giving me a great view of her incredible ass. Seriously, it’s the perfect shape. If I could just strip her naked, get behind her, and grab those hips, we’d have a lot more fun than playing a stupid board game.

“I thought you might be hungry,” she says, scooting the big wooden coffee table toward the rug then grabbing a tray from the kitchen and setting it down. “Cheese, crackers, smoked salmon, caviar, and caramel popcorn.”

“That’s quite the combination,” I tease.

“I had to work with what you had. At least there’s plenty of wine. Will you grab it?” she asks as she sits her ass on my rug and doles out little square letters.

I set the bottle and the glasses on the coffee table, pour the wine, and sit down across from her.

The lights flicker, then go out, enveloping the house in darkness.

She nervously twists her hair. It’s an old habit, something she’s done since she was a kid. I remember so clearly her lying in bed after the first time we made love, twisting her hair and wondering out loud if our sleeping together was the right thing to do.

I didn’t want her to second guess us then, and I don’t want her to now.

I reach out and take her hand, just like I did then. “We’ll figure something out,”

I say, repeating the words I told her that night. Her eyes flicker with surprise at my touch, but then she softens.

“You’ve always known how to make me feel better,” she says, gazing into my eyes and expressing more feelings than the words that came out of her mouth.

When she finally breaks eye contact, she smiles. “I don’t think the lights are coming back on. I saw candles in the pantry.”

“I’ll grab them,” I say, quickly getting up. I have to fucking do something besides stare into her eyes, or I’m going to—no. Get that out of your mind. It’s not going to happen. It can’t happen. Her brother hates you. You can’t do that to her.

Using my phone to light the way, I get candles and matches along with a couple flashlights.

“Here, let me help you,” she says, getting up and attempting to grab a couple candles from my full arms. But when her hands brush my chest, I stop and stiffen—everywhere.

“Um, that’s okay, I’ve got them,” I say, attempting to unload the candles onto the table only to have half of them topple to the ground. “Shit.”

“It’s okay, Cade,” she says, dropping to her knees in front of me—her head now at dick­sucking level.

Fuck my life.

Why did I stop to pick her up again?

Cade & Palmer’s story will be here on June 21st!
Pre­order Broken Love NOW for ONLY 99¢.
(Price will change on release day)


After years of crushing and many failed seduction attempts, Palmer Montlake had finally scored the sexy Cade Crawford. Both a little drunk when they got back to her place, they were frantic with need, their desire intense.
But as the night progressed, the hot-mess hookup morphed to sweet lovemaking.
The kind neither had ever experienced.

But they were destined for heartbreak.
She was his best friend's little sister.
He was her talent agent.
And they were dating in secret.
When they got into a wicked fight and broke up, all hell broke loose.
The kind neither have recovered from.

Six years later, they still hate each other.
But the universe seems to keep throwing them together.
When they catch the bouquet and garter at a mutual friend's wedding, sparks fly between them -- their chemistry undeniable.

Will they get a second chance? Or will they be left with a broken love?

BROKEN LOVE is a STANDALONE, CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE NOVEL following Cade and Palmer from the USA Today Bestseller, Vegas Love.

The Love Series is a series of STANDALONE novels featuring a different Crawford sibling. They can be read by themselves. However if you do with to read them all, they are best enjoyed in order.

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Jillian Dodd grew up on a farm in Nebraska, where she developed a love for Midwestern boys and Nebraska football. She has drank from a keg in a cornfield, attended the University of Nebraska, got to pass her candle, and did have a boy ask her to marry him in a bar. She met her own prince in college, and they have two amazing children, a Maltese named Sugar Bear, and two Labrador puppies named Camber Lacy and Cali Lucy. She is the author of the That Boy Trilogy and The Keatyn Chronicles Series.