CAUGHT LOOKING by Jody Holford #ReleaseBlast @TastyBookTours @1prncs

Sometimes loving enough means letting go…

CAUGHT LOOKING
Jody Holford
Releasing April 25, 2017

Sometimes loving enough means letting go…

Major league baseball player, Ryan Walker, takes a mandatory leave of absence to escape the paparazzi and the false drug charges against him. All he wants is a little peace of mind out in the middle of nowhere.

Eager to rid herself of the empty socialite life, Frankie Vaughn moves to a rundown home in Minnesota that she inherited from her aunt. But Frankie is shocked at what she discovers inside: three young boys. When Ryan discovers that Frankie, his new neighbor, has taken on the three homeless kids as her own, he has a new hope for humanity.

Despite how easily and lovingly Ryan takes to Frankie and the boys, his past just might be the reason Frankie can’t adopt the boys. Now, Ryan must choose between loving them or letting them go. Can he walk away from what he’s been looking for all along?

 

As he edged near the property line, he caught sight of toned, shapely legs swinging from the branch of a tree. His neighbor was doing pull-ups. On a tree.

“What the hell are you doing?” Ryan said the words to himself, his finger sliding off of the trigger. Frankie hadn’t heard him. Her earbuds’ cord was connected to the iPod strapped to her arm. He repeated his question, louder, and she startled, dropping from the limb she’d been holding. Pulling her earphones out, she smiled and gave a surprised laugh. Lust curled tight in his stomach at the sound. Which pissed him off since he didn’t need more complications in his life.

“Hey. Didn’t see you there, neighbor.”

She wiped the sweat off her brow with the back of her hand. Strands of hair were escaping the ponytail sitting high on her head. She put her hands on her hips, gulping in air, still smiling. His eyes roamed over the tone and definition of her arms. Arms weren’t supposed to be a turn on. They were just something to have wrapped around you. Along with legs. But legs were a turn on. Still, he couldn’t take his eyes off of her arms. They led up to sleek shoulders and a graceful collarbone. When his eyes met hers, she was grinning and he knew he’d been caught looking.

“You’re doing pull-ups on a goddamn tree?”

“Um, it’s my tree,” she said, looking back and forth between him and the tree. Small as she was, the tree didn’t look like it could hold its own branches, never mind a person’s weight.

“Actually, it’s smack in the middle of our property line. So stay the hell off it and get a pull-up bar.”

She rested a hand on the bark and smiled at him with something like fire flashing in those blue eyes. Her breath was a bit uneven, but firm. “I’ve never shared a tree with anyone. It feels like a big step.”

He bit back a smile. “Funny. This tree needs to be cut down. It’s rotted.” He kicked at the trunk to show her what he meant.

“Don’t kick our tree,” she said, not even trying to hide her smirk.

“It’s not safe.” Jesus. She was hard to be irritated with. Which, oddly, only irritated him more.

“And as much as I appreciate your neighborly concern, Ryan, I can take care of myself. And our tree. See, my home gym isn’t quite set up yet so I’m using what’s available. If you want, we can work out a schedule for tree use.”

There was as much sarcasm in her stance as in her tone. This time, the grin spread before he could stop it.

“You’re feisty.”

“You’re a jerk.”

“Yeah. But it’s still not safe. I have an extra pull-up bar in my garage. You put it in the frame of a doorway. I’ll grab it and bring it over,” he said, hoping the gesture served as an apology.

Which he was man enough to admit she deserved from him.

Frankie’s eyes widened and she took a step back, wariness overshadowing her amusement.

“No thanks. I’m not ready for visitors.”

He arched an eyebrow. “I wasn’t planning on coming for tea.”

She gave a rough laugh. “I don’t need anything from you, Ryan. I’ll pick another tree. Or do push-ups.”

She backed away, the unease in her eyes fascinating the hell out of him. She didn’t want him over. And not because he was a jerk. She waved one perfectly shaped arm over her head as she went back to her house.

He turned the weed trimmer back on, purposely turning his body in the other direction. He wasn’t going to stand around and watch her go, even across her yard. He’d never watch a woman leave again. Once was enough.

Jody Holford is a multi-published author who has a soft spot for happily ever after. So much so, she tattooed the words on her arm. She’s a mom and a wife, a friend, sister, daughter, teacher, and book-lover. Her stories have a little bit of heat and a lot of heart. And maybe, some swoon-worthy moments that will make you smile.

 

 

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I love this quote, Diana
“I’m wondering what to read next.” — Matilda, Roald Dahl

TRULY, MADLY, WHISKEY by Melissa Foster #ReleaseBlast @TastyBookTours @Melissa_Foster

Watch mysteriously sexy Bear Whiskey claw his way to 
his happily ever after with sassy, rebellious Crystal Moon.

 

TRULY, MADLY, WHISKEY
Melissa Foster
Releasing April 10, 2017
World Literary Press

 

 

A new sexy standalone romance by New York Times bestselling author Melissa Foster.

Eight months is a long damn time to have the hots for a woman who keeps a guy at arm’s length. But Crystal Moon is no ordinary woman. She’s a sinfully sexy, sass-mouthed badass, and the subject of Bear Whiskey’s midnight fantasies. She’s also one of his closest friends.

Just when Crystal thinks she has her life under control, scorching-hot, possessive, aggressive, and fiercely loyal Bear pushes all her sexual buttons, relentless in his pursuit to make her his.

The more Bear pushes, the hotter their passion burns, unearthing memories for Crystal that are best kept buried. But there’s no stopping the collision of her past and present, catapulting the two lovers down an emotional and sexually charged road that has them questioning all they thought they knew about themselves.

 

“Really, Bear. I can drop you at your place before I go to the fabric shop.” Crystal started the car, feeling more in control than she had inside the shop. She hated the way she’d frozen up when things had gotten hot between them. She wanted him. After putting herself through three years of therapy, dealing with not only the trauma of the attack, but the bullshit with her mother and the loss of her father, she was sure she could handle anything. She’d dated other guys since she’d left college without issue. Why did it have to be different with the only guy she wanted to be close to? It pissed her off that her past still owned a piece of her, and she needed to get over it before Bear got fed up and walked away for good.

“I have to go to the store anyway.” He flashed one of his smiles. “We might as well go together.”

“You need to go to the fabric store?” she said flatly, knowing he was bullshitting her. She realized her car smelled different, cleaner. The seats were shiny, the dashboard dust free. “Did you clean my car?”

“Detailed it,” he said casually, as if he did this type of thing every day. For all she knew, he did. “Changed your oil, topped off your fluids. You really need to do those things every three thousand miles.” He touched the doll hanging from her rearview mirror. “I dusted off this, too, even though I’m a little worried that it’s a voodoo doll.”

She wasn’t about to tell him it was a worry doll that she loved more than life itself.

“Bear.” She couldn’t suppress her smile about the voodoo doll as she drove toward the store. “You really need to stop acting like you have to take care of me. I appreciate you handling the inspection, which I’m paying you for, by the way. But you don’t have to do all these things for me. I already like who you are.” Even if I have a hard time showing it.

“I know you do,” he said, as cocky as ever.

Why is that such a turn-on?

“I didn’t do it to get your attention. Shit, six three, two thirty.” He flexed his biceps and winked. “You’re sitting next to Peaceful Harbor gold, baby. I’ve got your attention.”

She couldn’t suppress a laugh. “That you do, and probably half the women in this town.”

“Only half?”

He kept her laughing the whole way to the fabric store, and it was just what she needed. It really had been a long day. They’d hosted three parties, and one of the mothers was just about the most obnoxious woman on earth. She’d pushed her daughter toward pink frilly outfits for the first half hour, when all the little cutie had wanted was to dress up as a skateboard princess. Gemma realized Crystal was going to strangle the wench, and she’d calmly suggested the woman head down to Jazzy Joe’s for coffee. The rest of her day hadn’t been much better. Plus, she’d spent the morning overthinking everything about her relationship with Bear, which was probably why she’d freaked out when she’d really been dying to kiss him.

She parked in front of the fabric store. There were some things that just didn’t fit in the world as Crystal knew it, and Bear Whiskey clad in a tight black T-shirt that said Whiskey Bro’s across his massive chest, a pair of snug, low-slung black jeans, and leather boots strutting into Jennilyn’s Fabric was on the top of the list.

She pulled her list from her bag as his eyes coasted over the store. What was he thinking, coming with her? That was dedication she could not ignore. The epitome of commitment.

That is Bear.

My Bear?

She toyed with that as he draped his arm over her shoulder. She wondered what had taken him so long. She’d expected him to do it the second she’d stepped from the car, but he was probably in shock that they were actually going to a fabric store. She smiled to herself as he leaned closer and rubbed his nose along her cheek.

“Can I help you?” she asked with a laugh.

“You smell like jelly beans, and I happen to have a thing for sugary goodness.”

“You can’t seriously have that good a sense of smell.”

He pressed an unexpected, and deliciously warm, kiss to her cheek and reached into her purse, withdrawing a bag of jelly beans. “Hoarding? Or were we going to hide these later in your body and let me find them?” He moved his mouth beside her ear and whispered, “Blindfolded. With my hands tied behind my back.”

He nudged her deeper into the store. Holy crap. She’d stopped walking. Was she breathing? And was that a thing? Blindfolded? Hands tied behind his back? Oh, the control that would give her. She’d be at no risk of being overpowered. But would she want that much control? She imagined herself lying naked on her bed, watching as his greedy mouth moved over her breasts, down her belly, and she felt herself go damp.

No, no, no.

Ice cream. Ice baths. Cow poop!

Her body continued vibrating from the inside out. This was bad. Really, really bad. Like a virus she couldn’t shake. She needed an anti-Bear pill. Stat!

 

 

 

Melissa Foster is a New
York Times
 & USA Today bestselling and award-winning author. She writes
sexy and heartwarming contemporary romance and new adult romance with
emotionally compelling characters that stay with you long after you turn the last
page. Melissa’s emotional journeys are lovingly erotic and always family
oriented–perfect beach reads for contemporary romance lovers who enjoy reading
about wealthy heroes and smart, sassy heroines.
 

 

 

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I love this quote, Diana
“I’m wondering what to read next.” — Matilda, Roald Dahl

KISS, MARRY, KILL by Sidney Halston #ReleaseBlast @TastyBookTours @sidneyhalston

He’s been chasing a memory . . .

 

KISS, MARRY, KILL
Iron Clad Security #1
Sidney Halston
Releasing March 28th, 2017
Swerve

 

He’s been chasing a memory . . .
 
It was just
supposed to be a regular Thursday afternoon…and then he saw her. Sitting in
seat L214, one seat over from his at the baseball game, right next to her
douche of a soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend. An impromptu kiss for the kiss cam, and
Jax knew his life would never be the same. Five years and a tour in Afghanistan
later, Jax is back stateside running his own private security firm, Iron-Clad,
with his best friend. He isn’t the man he used to be… but Megan isn’t the
sexy and sweet, though sheltered, twenty-two-year-old he left behind, either.
And she’s in trouble.
 
…but now they’re on the run.
 

Megan Cruz has made something
of herself. She’s turned her dreams of pop stardom into a reality. But when a
deadly stalker breaks into her home claiming to be her number-one fan, the only
person she can turn to is the boy who got away. But Jax isn’t the same carefree
charmer who stole her heart, then broke it when he joined the military. This
man is seductive, hard, guarded. And he’ll do anything to protect what’s his.

“Promise me, you’ll be happy,” he sang from the other side of the door. “Promise me, you’ll always sing. Promise me you’ll never settle . . .” He jiggled the door handle. “Meggy? Where are you, my little mouse?” he said in a sing-song voice, sounding nice enough. Soft enough.

Safe enough. But Megan Cruz knew better.  The man trying to lure her out of her enormous walk-in closet was deranged. Megan huddled in a corner behind all of her cocktail dresses, her knees pushed up and a butcher knife in one of her trembling hands. Just waiting. Waiting for the cops to show up, or for Ryan to finally find her. If she could stop breathing, she would. Trying to stay perfectly still and utterly quiet was an impossible feat with her hands shaking so violently. Surely he could hear her fear from where he stood on the other side of the door. If he walked deep enough into the closet, the dresses that served as a barrier between them would not be sufficient to shield her. And the fact that he’d broken into her house in the middle of the night was a good indication that he did want to hurt her.

Twenty minutes earlier she had been sitting on her bed, completely immersed in writing some lyrics in her notebook, when she heard the sound of a window shattering downstairs. Her house may have been huge, but it wouldn’t take long for whoever had broken in to find her, especially since her room was the first one up the grand staircase, even more obvious because of its huge double doors. Not about to sit and wait to find out if it was her stalker or a robber who had broken in, she immediately sent a text to her parents who lived close by, praying they’d understand the message:  Break in. 911. Help! Then she silenced her phone and tucked it into her bra. She had also grabbed the enormous butcher knife she’d hid under mattress six months ago when Ryan had started sending her disturbing emails and letters.

At that time she’d thought he was just an overzealous fan and had worried she was being overly cautious, but now, as she cowered in fear, she realized how wrong she’d been. Megan actually held her breath when she heard the squeaky noise of the hinges of her closet door. He was inside now. Sweat dripped down her back and her heart pounded so loudly it seemed he had to have heard it. It felt as if it was going to physically come out of her chest, together with the sandwich she’d eaten a few hours ago. Peering under the hanging clothes she could see green

Converse sneakers moving closer to where she sat curled into a small ball, her arms around her knees.

“Oh Meggy, where are you? Sing for me, my naughty little mouse. Just one song. Just ‘Promise Me,’ that’s my favorite.”As he stepped closer, she tightened her grip on the knife.

“You’re supposed to make your fans happy.” His voice was louder and more agitated this time.

She could hear the fabric running through his fingers as he caressed her clothes, shifting the fragile curtain of dresses and shirts she was hiding behind.

“Oh, this is what you wore to the Grammys last month!” He pulled the dress out, and Megan tensed when a sliver of light cut through her hiding place. The small gap where the dress had hung made her more visible, and if he happened to look down he’d undoubtedly see her on the floor behind the rest of the clothes. She shut her eyes. “This is perfect. You can wear this when you sing for me at my house. Does anyone else know how much you love the chase, Meggy? Am I the only one that knows your secret? I have your new room all ready for you. We can play and sing all the time…It’ll be so fun, Meggy.”

His feet were moving slowly, as if he had all the time in the world. She could tell he was directly in front of her now by how close the sound of his heavy breathing was and by the way the rubber soles of his sneakers skidded against the wood floor. She shut her eyes harder and braced herself. She didn’t need her eyes open to see him—the memory was burned into her brain. His face was unassuming and his body unimposing. White skin, rounded cheeks, kind-looking face, maybe even cute, if he wasn’t a complete sociopath. He wasn’t too thin or too large, not too tall, not too short. Just an ordinary-looking guy. One you would smile at in line for coffee or at the grocery store. The non-threatening Good Samaritan who helped you with your flat tire. Completely harmless, completely average, except for his eyes, gray eyes that were a bit too large and had a slight tilt upward, reminding her of a cat. Gray eyes that could be considered attractive if it weren’t for the coldness behind them.

Megan didn’t want to die looking into that coldness. She didn’t want to die hiding in her closet, with the creepy man asking her to sing the song that was about the best four days of her entire life. The four days that also changed the course of her life. Ironic, she would potentially die thinking of those memories.

 

USA Today bestselling author, Sidney
Halston 
lives her life with one simple rule: “Just Do
It”–Nike. And that’s exactly what she did.
After working hard as an attorney, Sidney picked up a pen for the first
time at thirty years old to begin her dream of writing. Having never written
anything other than very exciting legal briefs, she found an outlet for her
imaginative, romantic side and wrote Seeing Red. That first pen stroke sealed
the deal, and she fell in love with writing. Sidney lives in South Florida with
her husband and children. She loves her family above all else, and reading
follows a close second. When she’s not writing, you can find her reading and
reading and reading. She’s a reader first and a writer second. When she’s not
writing or reading, her life is complete and utter chaos, trying to balance
family life with work and writing (and reading). But she wouldn’t have it any
other way.
 

 

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I love this quote, Diana
“I’m wondering what to read next.” — Matilda, Roald Dahl

HOT FOR THE FIREMAN by Gina L. Maxwell #ReleaseBlast @TastyBookTours @Gina_L_Maxwell @entangledpub

It’s
time to see how much heat this fireman can take…

 

HOT FOR THE FIREMAN
Boston Heat #1
Gina L. Maxwell
Releasing March 27th, 2017
Entangled Select

 

Ex-Army
Ranger Erik Grady lives for the job. So when his chief at the Boston Fire
Department offers him two choices—mandated therapy for supposed PTSD or a
permanent desk job at the station, he reluctantly agrees to see a shrink. Only
this doctor is unlike anything he expected. Female and curved in all the right
places? Check. Hotter than a four-alarm fire? Check. The kind of woman that can
heat his blood in and out of bed? Check, check. And oh, yeah, he just happens
to have firsthand experience…
 
Of all the
men to walk into psychologist Olivia Jones’ office, why did it have to be him?
Her one-night stand isn’t playing by the rules of just. One. Night. She’s had
her heart broken in the past, and no way is she going there again. And now he’s
blackmailing her into three dates? Well, if that’s what it takes to make him
see a different therapist, fine. She can handle it. So what if the chemistry
between them is combustible? She’s a professional, damn it. She’ll date Mr. I’m
Too Sexy For My Bunker Pants. But it won’t end in the fun he expects.
 

It’s time to see how much
heat this fireman can take…



“Sounds like a plan. Actually, it sounds like a date. Our second official one, to be exact.”

Olivia chuckled. “What are you talking about? We’ve had dozens of dates.”

“On the contrary, Dr. Jones, watching movies and hooking up at our respective apartments is not a proper date. Attending a party at your parents’ house, however, is definitely a date-type thing.”

“But my parents won’t even be there.”

“What about your godfather?”

A slow smile curved her lips. “Yes, I suppose Uncle Eddie and Aunt Tish will be in attendance.”

“There, you see? Anything that includes your family and my therapist is definitely an official date.” Erik gave her a sly grin and crowded her into the corner where the equipment lockers met the wall. “Come on, humor me. Calling it a date makes me feel like I’m not only a piece of meat being used for my body.”

“Fine,” she said with an exaggerated sigh and roll of those sexy hazel eyes. “It’ll officially be our second date. But just so we’re clear, I am only using you for your body.”

Peering up at him coyly through the dark fringe of her lashes, Olivia placed a single manicured nail at the hollow of his throat and dragged it down the center of his body. The muscles of his torso flexed and shuddered in its wake, shooting signals to his cock and balls that it was time to play. Thankfully, he still had a small supply of blood in his brain that prevented him from hauling her into his office and fucking her over his desk. Christ, that’s getting added to the fantasy bucket list. For now, though, he had to postpone the fun until later.

“Oddly enough, I’m very okay with being your boy toy, and I encourage you to get as much use out of me as you can. Now, I don’t know if you know this, but I also happen to be a firefighter. So if you’ve got any hot spots you need checked, I’d be more than happy to bring my hose by later and check them out thoroughly.”

“Mmm, that’s the best idea I’ve heard all day. You’re such a do-gooder, Lieutenant Grady.”

“Just doing my civic duty, ma’am. But you better get out of here before I decide you need to take the afternoon off so I can do some initial inspections.”

Laughing, she bussed him on the lips quickly and ducked under his arm, giving him a sexy wink before leaving him with the biggest hard-on that’d ever graced the firehouse gym. Fuck me. Time for a cold shower.

 

Gina L.
Maxwell
is a
full-time writer, wife, and mother living in the upper Midwest, despite her
scathing hatred of snow and cold weather. An avid romance novel addict, she
began writing as an alternate way of enjoying the romance stories she loves to
read. Her debut novel, Seducing Cinderella, hit both the USA Today and New York
Times bestseller lists in less than four weeks, and she’s been living her
newfound dream ever since.
When
she’s not reading or writing steamy romance novels, she spends her time losing
at Scrabble (and every other game) to her high school sweetheart, doing her
best to hang out with their teenagers before they fly the coop, and dreaming
about her move to sunny Florida once they do.
 

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I love this quote, Diana
“I’m wondering what to read next.” — Matilda, Roald Dahl

WALK OF SHAME by Lauren Layne #Excerpt #CoverReveal @TastyBookTours @_LaurenLayne

The City’s HOTTEST Cold War!
WALK OF SHAME
a Love Unexpectedly novel
Lauren Layne
Releasing April 18th, 2017
Loveswept

 

Sparks
fly between a misunderstood New York socialite and a cynical divorce lawyer in
this lively standalone rom-com from the USA Today bestselling
author of Blurred Lines and Love Story.
 
Pampered
heiress Georgianna Watkins has a party-girl image to maintain, but all the
shopping and clubbing is starting to feel a little bit hollow—and a whole lot
lonely. Though Georgie would never admit it, the highlights of her week are the
mornings when she comes home at the same time as her uptight, workaholic
neighbor is leaving to hit the gym and put in a long day at the office. Teasing
him is the most fun Georgie’s had in years—and the fuel for all her naughtiest
daydreams.
Celebrity
divorce attorney Andrew Mulroney doesn’t have much time for women, especially
spoiled tabloid princesses who spend more time on Page Six than at an actual
job. Although Georgie’s drop-dead gorgeous, she’s also everything Andrew
resents: the type of girl who inherited her penthouse instead of earning it.
But after Andrew caps one of their predawn sparring sessions with a surprise
kiss—a kiss that’s caught on camera—all of Manhattan is gossiping about whether
they’re a real couple. And nobody’s more surprised than Andrew to find that the
answer just might be yes.
 
Georgie

Tuesday morning

Let’s talk about five a.m. for a second.

Also known as the worst hour of the day, am I right?

Here’s why:

If you’re awake to see five in the freaking morning, it means one of a few things, all of them heinous.

Scenario one: You’re on your way to the airport for an early morning flight. Heinous.

Scenario two: You’ve been out all night, and now your vodka buzz is fading, and you’re just sober enough to realize that the rest of your day will likely involve Excedrin, carbs, and indoor voices. Heinous.

Scenario three: You’ve got a crap-ton on your mind, and you’re lying awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, hating your life. Maybe hating yourself a little bit, I dunno, who am I to judge? Heinous.

Now brace yourself, because scenario four is the most heinous of them all: You’re awake at five a.m. because you’re an uptight prick whose schedule is even more rigid than your posture, and your life is an endless string of working out, the corner office, repeat. You’re also likely the type of person who subsists on protein shakes and kale smoothies, and you have been known to utter the phrase the body is a temple, thus solidifying what we already knew about you.

You have no friends.

But wait, I’m getting ahead of myself.

See, it’s five a.m., and I, Georgie Watkins, am . . . kind of excited about it.

I know. I know. Four months ago I’d have bet my favorite vintage Chanel bag that there was exactly zero chance I’d actually look forward to the ghoulish hour of five in the morning.

And yet here we are.

I guess you could say there’s a scenario five on reasons to be up this early.

“Good morning, Ramon,” I sing, pushing through the revolving doors of the luxury high-rise on 56th and Park, the place I call home.

The concierge/security guard/all-around good guy glances up and gives me a friendly smile. “Ms. Watkins. Good morning.”

Usually the massive front desk is a bustling, busy affair. Starting at around seven, an army of well-dressed concierges will be smoothly facilitating the needs of impatient residents, as tiny dogs let out sharp, high-pitched barks of greeting from their Louis Vuitton carriers.

But that’s later.

Right now, the luxurious lobby is mostly silent, with just the lone overnight guy working the front desk, holding down the fort until the day guys arrive to handle the morning crush.

My new Tory Burch clutch tucked into my armpit, I hold up the box in my hands and waggle my eyebrows. “Brought you something.”

Ramon’s smile grows wider, brown eyes lighting. “My wife says you’re going to make me fat.”

“Tell Marta that the dad bod is totally in style right now,” I say, setting the box of donuts on the counter and lifting the lid. “Unless, of course, you don’t want a maple bacon donut?”

Ramon is already reaching inside the box, shaking his head in reverence as he lifts the sugary treat. “Still warm.”

“Well, technically the shop doesn’t open until five, but I’m such a loyal customer, they let me in a bit early,” I say, surveying the array of donuts and trying to decide if I’m in a chocolate kind of mood or if I want to risk the powdered sugar one.

Since my Alexander McQueen minidress is black (the archnemesis of powdered sugar), I reach for the chocolate as I set my clutch on the counter and fish out my phone: 4:58 a.m.

Two more minutes.

“How’s Marta dealing with the pregnancy of baby number three?” I ask, taking a bite of the donut and shifting attention back to Ramon, who’s already polished off his donut and is contemplating a second. I nudge the box toward him.

“She’s good,” he says. “Excited that we’re finally having a girl.”

“A girl!” I say, reaching across the counter and squeezing his massive forearm. “Congratulations, I hadn’t heard!”

“Just found out yesterday,” he says with a happy smile, apparently deciding that the occasion calls for another donut.

“Oh my gosh, I have the perfect baby gift,” I say, nibbling at a piece of my donut. “I saw this adorable Burberry onesie in Bergdorf’s the other day, with this precious little red bow—”

“Yes, because that’s what every infant needs,” a low voice interrupts. “A four-hundred-dollar piece of fabric that needs to be dry-cleaned. Don’t be ridiculous, Georgiana.”

I don’t have to look at my clock to know what time it is.

Five o’clock.

On the dot.

Not even bothering to turn around, I roll my eyes as my red nails tear off another piece of donut and pop it into my mouth. “Ramon, do you think you could talk to maintenance about adjusting the temp? It just got a little cold in here.”

Ramon’s been working here long enough to know my request isn’t for real. He’s not even paying attention to me. He’s already set his donut aside and has straightened up, practically saluting the newcomer.

“Mr. Mulroney. Good morning, sir.”

“Mr. Ramirez.” The voice is low and serious, a touch impatient, although not quite rude.

You know that adage that you catch more flies with honey? I’m not so sure it’s true. I bring donuts to the front desk guys just about every morning, and they adore me. I know they do.

But they respect him.

Giving in to the inevitable, I finally let my eyes flick to the side, my gaze colliding with a stern brown scowl.

I put on my widest, sparkliest smile, only because I know it drives him crazy.

As always, I see a muscle in his jaw twitch as I flutter my eyelashes.

“Good morning, Andrew,” I say sweetly.

“Georgiana.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Only my late grandmother has ever called me that, and I’m pretty sure that’s because I was her namesake. Everyone else calls me Georgie. Well, okay, not everyone. Ramon and the other guys still insist on calling me Ms. Watkins, but I’m working on it. See: daily donuts.

I smile wider and push the box in Andrew’s direction. “Donut?”

His lip curls. In case you haven’t already gotten a read on this guy, he’s the type that sneers at donuts.

He lifts a boring black travel mug. “Already have my breakfast.”

“Blended-up quinoa sprinkled with a few bits of spinach and pretension?” I ask.

“Whey powder protein shake.”

“Sounds immensely satisfying.”

He takes a sip of the nastiness and watches me with cold brown eyes. “The body is a temple, Georgiana.”

There it is.

Full circle to my above commentary about what sort of people are up and about at five a.m.

 

Lauren
Layne is the New York Times bestselling author of over a dozen
romantic comedies.
 
A former
e-commerce and web marketing manager from Seattle, Lauren relocated to New York
City in 2011 to pursue a full-time writing career.
 
She lives
in midtown Manhattan with her high-school sweetheart, where she writes smart
romantic comedies with just enough sexy-times to make your mother blush. In
LL’s ideal world, every stiletto-wearing, Kate Spade wielding woman would carry
a Kindle stocked with Lauren Layne books. 
 

 

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I love this quote, Diana
“I’m wondering what to read next.” — Matilda, Roald Dahl

PLAYING HOUSE by Laura Chapman #ReleaseBlast @TastyBookTours @lchapmanwrites

She’s a work in progress . . . He’s a fixer upper . . .

 

PLAYING HOUSE
Laura Chapman
Releasing March 21st, 2017

 

She’s a work in progress . . .
 
Bailey
Meredith has had it. As an assistant at a prestigious interior design firm,
she’s tired of making coffee and filing invoices. She’ll do just about anything
to get out from under the paperwork and into the field for real experience.
Then she sees an ad for a job that seems too good to be true.
 
He’s a fixer upper . . .
 
Wilder
Aldrich knew she would be perfect for the crew the moment he saw her. His hit
home improvement show only hired the best, and Bailey had potential written all
over her. It isn’t just her imaginative creativity and unmatched work ethic
that grabs his attention. There’s just something about her.
 

 

With
chemistry on screen, it’s only a matter of time before sparks fly behind the
scenes as well. But with Bailey’s jaded views on romance and a big secret that
could destroy Wilder and everyone he cares about, are either of them willing to
risk it all for love?
 
Laura
Chapman
 is
the author of First & GoalGoing for TwoThree
& Out
, and The Marrying Type. A native Nebraskan, she loves
football, Netflix marathons, and her cats, Jane and Bingley. Connect with her
online on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and her website.
 

I love this quote, Diana
“I’m wondering what to read next.” — Matilda, Roald Dahl