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

THE TROUBLE WITH BACHELORS by Caitlyn Blue #ReleaseBlast @TastyBookTours @authorcblue

The trouble with bachelors is you
never know.

 

THE TROUBLE WITH BACHELORS
Windy City Bachelors #1
Caitlyn Blue
Releasing March 21st, 2017
Sassy Muse, LLC

 

Falling for her sister’s first love,
how could that possibly go wrong…
 
Zach Thorne
is supposed to be off limits. He’s her sister’s high school boyfriend and his
love life is a revolving door of women. He’s also handsome, sexy and the one
guy Emma Callahan has never been able to forget.
 
Now they’ve
been thrown together as best man and maid of honor for her sister’s wedding and
some serious sparks are flying. Zach is perfect wedding fling material until he
starts to take their romance seriously. Now, Emma is left wondering: is he for
real or is she about to get her heart broken?
The trouble with bachelors is you
never know.

“This was fun,” I murmur as his fingers coast over my cheek.

He tucks a lock of hair behind my ears and traces my jaw. It’s been a year since a man has touched me. And no one has ever caressed me like this. It’s like he’s trying to memorize my features. I’m enthralled. It’s hard to know what to do next, so I clutch my hands in my lap and stare at him. His eyes lock on my lips and I realize I’ve seized the lower one between my teeth.

His breath hisses out on a soft sigh. “Do you have any idea how sexy you are?”

“No.” It’s not the default word anyone uses when describing me.

“You are.”

How many women has he used this line on? Hundreds surely. He’s a player. A guy you sleep with not someone you date.

At the moment I’m standing at the line that separates the woman I am and the woman guys like Zach sleep with a few times and never call again. I can listen to my body and have several amazing orgasms to relive over and over, or I can listen to my heart, stay true to who I am and keep looking for a guy who can make me happy long term.

His fingers curve around the back of my neck. As he draws me forward, I ask, “Are you going to kiss me again?”

“I’d very much like to.”

This time his kiss is more direct. Firm and determined, he claims my lips and as his tongue darts forward, I open for him. He tastes like the striped peppermint candy we snagged on our way out of the restaurant.

The kiss quickly goes nova. Heat explodes in my midsection and lances downward as Zach’s hand curves over my knee. I clutch his shoulder, trembling with longing. Phrases spill through my mind. Naughty things I’d want to say to him. Images of taking him into my mouth again and making him cry out my name as he comes. I’ve forgotten that I’m not the type who has sex in cars. Right now, all I’m thinking is: yes, please, let’s do this.

Our tongues are dueling, my legs are parting and Zach’s hand is riding up my inner thigh when the phone in my lap buzzes with an incoming text. It’s close enough to my happy place that the vibration only adds to my arousal. I moan. Zach drags his lips from mine.

“That’s it, baby. Let me hear it.”

As his other hand dips inside my coat, fingers gliding over my breast, it’s easy to moan again. Damn, he’s good at this. Trembling with need, I bite my lip as the urge to whimper builds. I shift my hips as my clit perks up and starts crying for attention. If he doesn’t touch me there I’ll go out of my mind.

A second text follows the first or maybe it’s just that reminder that I haven’t looked at the first one. Either way, it feels great. So does Zach’s mouth on my neck. And is that his teeth? I open my thighs, silently begging him to go higher. He’s so close. I’m so close.

Buzz.

I’m panting. He’s sucking on my earlobe. Shit. That’s amazing. His thumb grazes my nipple.

Buzz.

Buzz.

The hand beneath my skirt reaches the elastic on my panties and I shift my hips, pushing into his fingers. Can he feel how wet I am? A little higher, please.

Buzz.

Buzz.

The vibration is so constant it’s like a sex toy and I’m so close to getting off. Just a little bit more. His finger brushes over the soaked crotch my panties. The lightest of touch and my body is electrified.

“Fuck,” he mutters, tracing over my hot, aching core a second time. “These are soaked.”

A garbled noise emerges from my throat.

Buzz.

Buzz.

Buzz.

Buzz.

And then Zach’s fingers are retreating and I groan in protest. “Um, do you need to get that?”

Get what?

Buzz.

Buzz.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” I exclaim as Zach removes his lovely, clever hands from beneath my clothes.

He flops back against his seat with a hearty curse. Eyes closed, breathing hard, he shields his face as his shoulders move. Damn the man. He’s laughing.

Snarling, I pick up the phone and see at least a dozen texts from my cousins. Looking over at the house, I spy all three of them lined up at the living room windows. Well, what did I expect? I’m making out with Zach in front of our house. I might as well have set up a neon sign on the front lawn that says orgasms happening here. Almost happening…so close. A growl vibrates my chest.

“Your cousins?”

“Yes.”

 
Caitlyn
Blue is a voracious reader with an overactive imagination and a chocolate
addict. She loves fancy cocktails and tasty edibles, is a sucker for adventure
movies and any music with a beat. When not writing, Caitlyn loves to connect
with her readers for whom she’s extremely grateful. Join her VIP list to stay up to date
on giveaways and exclusive offers.  
 

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

FOREVER, ALABAMA by Susan Sands #ReleaseBlast @TastyBookTours @SusanNoelSands

Ben Laroux is a gorgeous and sexy complication she can’t afford, 
but also can’t resist.

FOREVER, ALABAMA
Alabama #3
Susan Sands
Releasing March 20th, 2017
Tule Publishing

 

Everybody loves local attorney and favorite son, Ben
Laroux.  Well, at least everybody of the female persuasion–until he meets
Sabine O’Connor. She loathes him and makes no secret of her feelings, even when
he pours on his famous charm hoping to thank her for helping his family. Ben
has never been told no, and if there’s one thing he’s never walked away from,
it’s a challenge.
Sabine hopes she’s finally found peace and safety in the small town of
Ministry. She’s changed her name to escape her painful past and her shameful
family secrets. Ben Laroux is a gorgeous and sexy complication she can’t
afford, but also can’t resist. However, when her past threatens to derail her
present and future, Ben might be the only man she can trust.



Start the Alabama Series for FREE

 

Susan
Sands
 began
writing on her fortieth birthday. Better than a hot young boyfriend or a red
convertible as mid-life crises go. Her first Southern women’s fiction
title, Again, Alabama, was published a mere eight years later, with
the second, Love, Alabama, and her latest, Forever, Alabama,
following closely behind. Growing up in a small town in Louisiana, Susan’s
passion for reading sparked her interest in writing. She now creates stories
about the quirky characters and fascinating relationships that are uniquely
Southern.
Susan
holds a degree in elementary education, and has lived in the Johns
Creek/Alpharetta suburb of Atlanta with her husband and three children for over
twenty years.
 

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