Daily Archives: 21/05/2021
BLOG TOUR – Fake (a West Hollywood novel) by Kylie Scott
“Such an easy, sexy read! You’ll fall for Patrick Walsh, just like I did. I guarantee it.”
— Monica Murphy, New York Times bestselling author
Fake, an all new witty and sexy fake relationship, grumpy hero standalone from New York Times bestselling author Kylie Scott, is available now!
He walks the red carpet. She’s more familiar with vacuuming one.
When a scandal tarnishes the reputation of hot as hell A-lister, Patrick Walsh, he needs a reputation rescue, pronto.
Enter waitress Norah Peers–a nobody who’s average with a capital A. She’s available, dependable, and has sworn off men for the rest of her natural born life. In other words: the perfect match for a no-strings fake romance.
For the right amount of money, she can avoid waitressing and play the part of his dependable down-to-earth girlfriend. What she can’t avoid–dammit–is the growing steam between them.
But being hounded by the paparazzi and having her life dissected on social media is a panic attack in the making. And while Patrick might be a charming rogue on screen, in real life he’s a six-foot-two confusing, gorgeous, brooding grump, who keeps her at a distance . . . but also makes her feel like this bond between them might be more than just an act.
Being dumped on cue should be no big deal. Except being fake with Patrick is the realist relationship Norah has ever had. What’s a girl to do, but flip the script, and ask for a re-match made in Hollywood?
Read today!
Amazon: https://amzn.to/2P2liAJ
Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/Fake
Kobo: https://bit.ly/2QfG54j
Nook: https://bit.ly/32pTdWT
Apple Books: https://apple.co/3v5gzh8
Add to Goodreads: https://bit.ly/3egt0j3
Excerpt
CHAPTER ONE
He slunk into the restaurant mid-afternoon wearing his usual scowl. Ignoring the closed sign, he took a booth near the back. No one else was allowed to do this. Just him. Today’s wardrobe consisted of black jeans, Converse, and a button-down shirt. Doubtless designer. And the way those sleeves hugged his biceps . . . why, they should have been ashamed of themselves. I was this close to yelling “get a room.”
Instead, I asked, “The usual?”
Slumped down in the corner of the booth, he tipped his chin in reply. For such a tall guy, he sure went out of his way to try to hide.
I said no more. Words were neither welcomed nor wanted. Which was fine since (A) I was tired and (B) he tipped well for the peace and quiet.
Out back, Vinnie the cook was busy prepping for tonight, his knife making quick work of an onion.
“He’s here,” I said.
A smile split Vinnie’s face. He was a huge fan of the man’s action films. The ones he’d made before hitting it big time and taking on more serious dramatic roles. Him choosing to visit the restaurant every month or so made Vinnie’s life complete. Especially since the restaurant, Little Italy, was the very definition of a hole in the wall. Not somewhere generally frequented by the Hollywood elite. Meanwhile, I was less of a fan, but still a fan. You know.
“Get him his beer,” Vinnie ordered.
Like I didn’t know my job. Sheesh.
He was busy with his cell by the time I placed the Peroni in front of him. No glass. He drank straight from the bottle like an animal. Just then, a woman in a red sweater dress and tan five-inch-heel booties strode in through the front door.
“I’m sorry, we’re closed,” I said.
“I’m with him.” She headed straight for his booth and slid into the other side, giving the man a dour look. “You can’t just walk out, Patrick. You’re going to have to choose one of them.”
“Nope.” He took a pull from his beer. “They all sucked.”
“There had to be at least one that would do.”
“Not even a little.”
She sighed. “Keep this up and you’ll be obsolete by next week. Beyond help. Forgotten.”
“Go away, Angie.”
“Just another talented but trash male in Hollywood. That’s what they’re saying on social media.”
“I don’t give a shit.”
“Liar,” she drawled.
I wasn’t quite sure what to do. Obviously they knew each other, but he did not seem to want her here. And she really wasn’t supposed to be here. Vinnie had okayed after-hours entry to only one person. On the other hand, if I asked her to leave, she’d probably sic her lawyers on me. She looked the type.
The woman spied me hovering. “Get me a glass of red.”
“She’s not staying,” countermanded Patrick.
Angie didn’t move an inch. “They were all viable options. Pliant. Young. Pretty. Discreet. Nothing weird or kinky in their backgrounds.”
“That might have made them more interesting.”
“Interesting women is what got you into this mess.” The woman frowned, taking me in. Still hovering. One perfectly shaped brow rose in question. “Yes? Is there a problem?”
Now it was Patrick’s turn to sigh and give me a nod. He was so dreamy with his jaw and cheekbones and his everything. Real classic Hollywood handsome. Especially with his short light brown hair in artful disarray and a hint of stubble. Sometimes it was hard not to stare. Which is probably why his personality tended to scream “leave me alone.”
I headed for the small bar area at the back of the restaurant to fetch the wine like a good little waitress.
“We shouldn’t be discussing this here,” said Angie, giving the room a disdainful sniff. Talk about judgy. I thought the raw brick walls and chunky wood tables were cool. Give or take Vinnie’s collection of old black-and-white photos of Los Angeles freeways. Who knew what that was about?
Patrick slumped down even further. “I’m not going back there. I’m done with it.”
“This isn’t safe.” Angie looked around nervously. “Let’s—”
“We’re fine. I’ve been coming here for years.”
“You just got dropped from a big-budget film, Patrick,” she said, exasperation in her tone. “The industry may not find you bankable right now, but I’m sure gossip about you is still selling just fine. This week at least.”
About Kylie Scott
Kylie is a New York Times and USA Today best-selling author. She was voted Australian Romance Writer of the year, 2013, 2014 & 2018, by the Australian Romance Writer’s Association and her books have been translated into eleven different languages. She is a long time fan of romance, rock music, and B-grade horror films. Based in Queensland, Australia with her two children and husband, she reads, writes and never dithers around on the internet.
Connect with Kylie
Amazon: https://amzn.to/2XujcZh
Bookbub: http://bit.ly/2GngiQq
Facebook: http://bit.ly/2OiXx3I
Twitter: http://bit.ly/391pjJM
Instagram: http://bit.ly/2EUrx11
Goodreads: http://bit.ly/2Imusk3
Pinterest: http://bit.ly/2S7cc32
Book+Main Bites: http://bit.ly/2ETz5RQ
Stay up to date with Kylie by joining her mailing list:
http://bit.ly/2TOOivT
Website: https://kyliescott.com/
Share this:
BLOG TOUR – Wild North (North Brothers #1) by JB Salsbury
Wild North, an all-new angsty romance with a bossy hero and a woman who was born to survive from New York Times bestselling author JB Salsbury is out now!
To me, he was Grizzly.
To the world, I would learn, he’s someone else completely.
I should have died on that mountain.
But he rescued me.
More animal than man, he’s cold, distant, and fiercely territorial. He seems to hate me for simply breathing, and yet, he brought me back to life.
After my return to the city, I can’t stop thinking about him. His rough hands, intense glare, and the way he cared for me as if I meant something to him.
He tells me he’s dangerous. That I’m not safe around him. I would eventually understand why he warned me away. But by then it’s too late. My heart is his.
Grab your copy now!
Amazon: https://amzn.to/3a4T53v
Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/WildNorth
Kobo: https://bit.ly/3s9EkCB
Nook: https://bit.ly/3eazOip
Add Wild North to Goodreads: https://bit.ly/3tu4Sjn
Excerpt
“Do you plan to kill me?”
I drop my spoon into the bowl and bite back a fierce response. Are you out of your mind, you stupid, stupid girl! “Why would I save you if I’d planned to kill you?” I’m unsuccessful at keeping the anger from my voice. When she doesn’t immediately respond, I slowly turn around to see that she hasn’t touched her food. Her gaze darts to the wall where I store my weapons—buck knives, machetes, multiple hatchets, and a hunting rifle.
“Those are for hunting.” I eye her untouched food. She must be hungry. Upon further inspection, I see that her face shines with perspiration, and her lips, which had regained their pink color last night, look pale once again. The abrasion on her head has scabbed over and doesn’t look puffy or red. “Are you sick?” I stand and cross to her.
“No, I’m in pain. What are you doing?”
Having dropped to a squat, I peel back the animal pelts to see if she has any other injuries. She tries to bend her knees, make herself into a protective ball, but she winces in pain, and her legs flop out in front of her. That’s when I notice the dark stain on her gray long johns. “Are you bleeding?”
“What?” She follows my line of sight to her midsection. “I don’t think so.”
I grasp the hem of her shirt and wrench the fabric up.
“Hey, don’t touch me!” She bats at my hands but stops when her gaze lands on the bloody scratches carved into her torso. “I didn’t—”
“Fuck,” I growl and drop her shirt. “Anything else?”
Her eyes turn to slits, and her pale lips thin. “Like I meant for this to happen?”
I leave her to grab my first aid kit and throw a shit ton more wood into the woodstove. “Take these.” I hand her an antibiotic and a pain reliever.
“What are they?”
“Do you want to die? Because I’d be happy to drag you back out where I found you. If you want to live, take the fucking pills.” I rip clean gauze from its packaging, and once she’s swallowed the pills, I direct her to lie down.
She keeps a cautious eye on me when I pull up her shirt. The wounds on her stomach and ribcage are mostly superficial. I pull her shirt higher, and she fights me without success. She moans in pain as she lifts her other hand to cover her exposed breast. Where the swell of that breast meets her ribs is an angry red and bloody wound.
“Lift your arm.”
Slowly she lifts her arm above her head. “My shoulder is sore. It might be broken.”
“Dislocated.” I go about cleaning away the old blood around the wound to get a better idea of what I’m dealing with.
Her gaze snaps to mine. “How do you… You fixed it?” She flinches, and air escapes her clenched teeth when I hit a sensitive area. “I think I remember. The pain, at least.”
I grab the flashlight in the first aid kit and click it on. “Take this. Hold it right here.”
She’s a horrible help, the beam of light shines just about everywhere except where I need it. I do my best to clean the area, and that’s when I see something dark protruding from the wound. It can’t be one of her broken ribs, it’s not the right size or color.
“You’ve been impaled.”
“Impaled? Are you serious?”
“I’m always serious.” I hop up and grab a wooden spoon and a pair of needle-nose pliers. I pour boiling water over the pliers and hold the wooden spoon handle to her mouth.
“What are you doi—”
I shove the wooden spoon between her molars, and her eyes grow wide and panicked. “Bite. This’ll hurt.”
She makes some unintelligible noise that is easy enough to translate. Something like, “Oh, God, no. Please, wait. Give me one more second—”
I rip a piece of wood the size of her pinkie from her body, and she screams behind the wooden spoon. Tears streak down her face, and her breathing is so quick I think she’s going to pass out. Good. She’s easier to work on when she’s out cold. She manages to stay conscious as I stuff the wound with sterile gauze and cover it with medical tape. Her cheeks are wet with tears and sweat, but she doesn’t make a sound when I remove the spoon from her teeth. “Now eat.”
I reclaim my breakfast seat with my back to her.
“Thank you,” she pants, probably fighting through residual pain.
My jaw locks down on lukewarm oatmeal. I nod and blow out a tense breath.
Stuck with a random woman in my space is bad enough.
Stuck with a dying woman in my space would be worse.
About the Author
JB Salsbury, New York Times Best Selling author of The Fighting Series, lives in Phoenix, Arizona, with her husband and two kids. She spends the majority of her day lost in a world of battling alphas, budding romance, and impossible obstacles as stories claw away at her subconscious, begging to be released to the page.
Her love of good storytelling led her to earn a degree in Media Communications. With her journalistic background, writing has always been at the forefront, and her love of romance prompted her to write her first novel.
Since 2013 she has published six bestselling novels in The Fighting Series and won a RONE Award.
Connect with JB
Facebook: https://bit.ly/3stLCRV
Amazon: https://amzn.to/3mZRQaR
Goodreads: https://bit.ly/3stsCms
Twitter: https://bit.ly/3dtpF0X
Instagram: https://bit.ly/3x7WCbh
Website: http://jbsalsbury.com/
Book Loving Pixies 