Category Archives: Excerpt
BLOG TOUR – Grumpy Cowboy by Max Monroe
Grumpy Cowboy, an all new steam and laugh-out-loud romantic comedy from New York Times bestselling author Max Monroe is available now!
ATTENTION: If you have been a victim of false advertising, you may be entitled to compensation. If you were ever hired to take care of a fourteen-year-old boy’s knee injury on a luxury ranch in the Middle of Nowhere, Utah, but that fourteen-year-old boy ended up being a tall, rough-and-tumble, muscular, one-hundred-percent all-man cowboy by the name of Rhett Jameson, you may have been put at risk for falling in love. Please seek counsel immediately.
Dear Counselor,
It was supposed to be simple favor for my very important boss, Frank Kaminsky of the Salt Lake Slammers professional basketball team—go to his good friend Tex Jameson’s luxury ranch and provide personal medical care for his recently injured teenage son.
I thought it’d be a working vacation of sorts—a chance for my city-girl self to experience something I would never otherwise do—but everything is upside down, and absolutely nothing is as I thought it would be.
For one, this patient is not a teenage boy.
He’s a real-life, blue-eyed, tough-as-nails, thirtysomething cowboy who is so darn strong he looks like he could lift a car just for the heck of it.
He’s also stubborn, rude, and we don’t get along…at all.
Add in the heart-melting vision of him as a single father to the cutest little girl on the planet, and I’ve found myself in a whole different dimension of trouble.
Lust. Feelings. A whole lot of enemies-to-lovers-style complication.
Please help me. My name is Dr. Leah Levee, I am a victim of false advertising, and if I’m not careful, this Grumpy Cowboy might just be the death of me.
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Excerpt
Leah
Gently, I rap my knuckles against the wood, and moments later, an adorable little blond-haired girl comes running down the hall and right toward me.
She pushes the screen door open with one of her cowgirl boots and steps out until she can keep it open with just her hip. With pigtails and dimples and big blue eyes, she just might be the cutest kid I’ve ever see in my life.
Is this Rhett Jameson’s little sister?
“Who are you?” she asks, ignoring any sort of greeting and getting straight to the point.
I grin. “My name is Leah. What’s your name?”
“Joey,” she answers, her small hands moving with her words. “Well, Josephine, but everyone calls me Joey.”
“That’s a very pretty name.”
“And you’re a very pretty lady,” she says, and her eyes move up and down my body, taking in my hair and my face and my dress and my shoes. “Maybe the prettiest lady I’ve ever seen. Are you in movies?”
“No, I’m not in movies,” I answer on a soft laugh. “But you know what’s funny?”
“What?”
“You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen in my whole life.”
She giggles, and then her eyes get big. “Wait…oh my goodness! Are you here to teach me how to braid my hair?” Her button nose crinkles up in the most adorable way. “My granny told me she’d teach me how to do it, but I think she can’t remember, and is that why you’re here? Because you know how to do it?” she asks, and her short legs bounce up and down ever so slightly.
“Uh…” I pause, completely entranced by this sweet little human, but also utterly confused. “Actually, sweetie, I’m not here to teach you how to braid your hair. I’m here—”
“Aw, shucks.” She swishes one fist from her right hip to her left hip, and her tiny mouth points down at the corners.
Immediately, I feel like the worst human being alive, and it takes everything inside me not to step inside the house and ask her to get me a hairbrush.
But I rein in the emotion and offer up something I hope will soften her disappointment.
“How about this? Since I’m going to be here for the summer, I’ll make sure someday very soon, I teach you how to braid your hair.”
“Yeah?” Her big blue eyes light up like the sun. “Ya promise?”
“I promise.”
Truthfully, I’m just assuming this young girl lives here on this ranch, but I have no idea.
I don’t know if she’s Tex’s daughter or someone else’s daughter. I don’t really know much of anything. Haven’t known much of anything since I told Frank Kaminsky I’d take this job.
But so far, feeling out of the loop appears to be par for the course.
The girl steps out of the house on her tiny cowgirl boots and wraps her arms around my waist. “I’m so excited, Leah!”
I’m shocked at first by her instant affection, but it doesn’t take long before I’m putty in her teeny hands.
“Me too, Joey.” A tickled laugh emerges from my lungs, and I pat her head tenderly.
Eventually, she steps back and puts one hand to her hip. “So, if you’s supposed to be here all summer but it’s not just for my hair, why are you here?”
“I was just about to ask the same thing, Joey.” A deep, raspy voice fills my ears, and that’s when I realize someone else has joined our conversation at the door.
My eyes move up, up, up past Joey and land on a pair of perfectly worn-in jeans, over a shirtless and firm set of abs and an even firmer chest, and they don’t stop until they meet aqua-blue eyes that are pointed directly at me.
Holy shit.
This rugged, fine-as-hell specimen standing right behind Joey isn’t just any man; he’s the manliest man I’ve ever laid eyes on. His body is stretched tight with the kinds of firm muscles that do not come from protein shakes and a gym membership to LA Fitness. No. These are real muscles, made from hard, sweaty work on a big-ass ranch like this.
If you typed the words “hot cowboy” into Google, I’m pretty sure this guy would be the number one search result.
And he looks so damn strong, so physically capable of anything, I honestly think he could lift a car just for the fun of it.
With brownish-red hair that looks almost gold in the sunlight, a sharp jaw that’s peppered with some scruff, and full lips that are set in a firm line, I can’t help but wonder who is this guy?
Rhett Jameson’s…older brother? His uncle?
Some kind of familial male figure?
He clears his throat, and that’s when I realize just how long I’ve been standing here staring at this slightly irritated, but also handsome-looking, cowboy like a moron.
Uh…hello? Earth to Leah? Now would be a really great time to remember how to speak…
About Max Monroe
A duo of romance authors team up under the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling pseudonym Max Monroe to bring you sexy, laugh-out-loud reads.
Max Monroe is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of more than ten contemporary romance titles. Favorite writing partners and long time friends, Max and Monroe strive to live and write all the fun, sexy swoon so often missing from their Facebook newsfeed. Sarcastic by nature, their two writing souls feel like they’ve found their other half. This is their most favorite adventure thus far.
Connect with Max Monroe
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Website: https://www.authormaxmonroe.com/
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BLOG TOUR – Falling For You by Stacy Travis
Is it a mistake? Yes.
Do I regret it? Maybe.
Falling for You, an all-new friends-to-lovers romance that delivers all-the-feels from Stacy Travis is available now!
When brilliant, logical Owen Miller walks into my bakery and witnesses the worst break-up in the history of public, mortifying break-ups, I can only think of one thing to do… so I kiss him.
Is it a mistake? Yes.
Do I regret it? Maybe.
Friends aren’t supposed to kiss—or have red-hot moments next to the bread oven. And respected bakers with designs on a San Francisco bread empire aren’t supposed to manhandle their customers.
It’s a rebound, pure and simple. We both admit it. I don’t have time for anything more, especially when I’m on the cusp of achieving my dream—expanding my business into hand-picked, perfect locations.
But Owen is a savvy hotel owner who knows a thing or two about business. So when location scouting leads to wine tasting, long leisurely drives, and a hands-on meeting in a wine cave, I decide mixing business and pleasure with the smoking-hot charmer might be the best of both worlds.
Until an anonymous competitor seems determined to sink everything I’ve put my heart and soul into. Maybe it’s time to end our friends with benefits arrangement before I lose everything.
But what if losing Owen is losing everything? What if I’m falling for my rebound guy?
Fall in Love Today!
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Excerpt
“So . . . I’m going to hope the third ask is the charm here. Can I buy you some dinner? Or even a snack? There’s a CVS down the block. How about a Twix bar? Lays chips?”
It was like he was speaking a foreign language. After getting used to Tom’s big fancy dinner invitations to private tastings at Michelin-starred restaurants, I’d forgotten what it felt like when someone suggested grabbing food because it was dinnertime and I might be hungry.
“Yes,” I said, nodding at him, still a bit dazed. “Yes, okay. Except for Lays. I don’t like them. I need a thicker chip, like kettle baked or Ruffles.”
He nodded slowly. “Noted.”
“And I like sour gummy worms, not that you asked.”
I knew I sounded like a loon, but it felt important that he knew I wasn’t going to be satisfied with any old snack.
There were standards.
Plus, he’d thrown me off and I was having trouble recovering.
The one thing I knew for sure was I wanted to get out of the bakery and have dinner with him. It didn’t matter if he wanted to go to KFC or make me a peanut butter sandwich on the hood of his car. I was hungry.
We were standing in the middle of the bakery floor with the only light coming from the Edison bulbs hanging from two industrial chandeliers overhead. The night beyond him outside the door to the shop was dusky and I could hear the occasional voices of people walking past on the sidewalk.
Watching me with his placid blue eyes, he waited for me to work out the questions that were still coursing through my brain. He seemed unhurried and I wasn’t used to people like that in my life. My sisters were all crazy and my best hires tended to sprint around like caffeinated bunnies.
I had so many questions, namely why he, of all people, had chosen to show up here.
“I’m just…” I didn’t know what.
He waited patiently to find out.
My bakers had watched my meltdown after seeing the pictures of Tom and none of them had asked me to dinner. They’d taken off as soon as their shifts were over, mostly without saying goodbye as though they didn’t want to disturb the crazy person who might bite their heads off or cry. For the record, I was planning to do neither.
I’d called my middle sister, Becca, and the next-youngest sister, Cherry, and vented at them for twenty minutes apiece, but they hadn’t shown up to make sure I remained well-fed.
So what’s with this guy?
Maybe it was gratitude mixed with curiosity or maybe it was that I’d just noticed his lips looked particularly pink and plush, but I reached for his face and ran my fingertips over his cheek and over to his lips, which were just as soft as they looked.
His eyes clouded a little when I touched him and he stood frozen, as if waiting to see what else the crazy baker lady planned to do.
What I planned to do was kiss him.
About Stacy Travis
It’s a rough world out there, and we all sometimes need a good, romantic beach read, even if we can’t make it to the beach. I’ve spent many lazy days walking the streets of Paris and other gorgeous European cities, and if I’m doing it right, I’m bringing you a dash of romance and a vacay fantasy.
I can’t sit still, so when I’m not hiking, biking or running, I’m playing a very average game of tennis. Background music for writing undoubtedly features some U2, Lizzo, Billy Joel, Pink, Taylor Swift, and Led Zeppelin. Not necessarily in that order. And if I could only eat one food group, it would be cheese. Or wine. Or bread. Are those food groups? Whatever.
Connect with Stacy
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Website: https://stacytravis.com
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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!
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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
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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!
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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
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Website: http://jbsalsbury.com/
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BLOG TOUR – While You Were Texting by Delancey Stewart and Marika Ray
While You Were Texting, an all-new laugh out loud rom com from USA Today bestselling authors Delancey Stewart and Marika Ray, is available now!
Lincoln Cunningham doesn’t do relationships. Mostly because he learned in college that he doesn’t do them well. Translation: book smart guys focused on learning the art and science of vineyard tending aren’t always girl smart, and the humiliation that comes from being the only one invested in the relationship, well, that’s enough for him.
Lincoln’s mother, however, isn’t so sure. Her oldest son found his match, and now her sights are set on Linc. Why she insists on setting him up at the Paint it Pal pottery shop is beyond anyone’s grasp.
Hannah Delacourt never dreamed of a life spent handing customers ceramic monkeys and pots of paint and explaining the inner workings of a kiln. But she also never intended to spend a year trying to figure out whether the vineyard she inherited should be sold or might actually produce wine.
When the same cute guy comes in to paint on date after miserable date, she figures out what’s going on pretty quickly. He slips her an SOS and she texts him to help him out of the latest painful date. When he texts later to thank her, they hatch the perfect scheme.
She’ll pretend to be his girlfriend while he helps her figure out if her grapes are worth keeping. Everyone wins, right? But what happens when you fall in love when you’re texting with your fake boyfriend? Worse yet, what do you do when he’s clueless?
From two USA Today bestselling authors, a RomCom so sweet you’ll want to hug your kindle and never look at texting the same way.
Grab your copy today or read FREE in Kindle Unlimited!
Amazon: https://amzn.to/3aqAiQf
Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/WhileYouWereText
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Excerpt
HANNAH
Not twenty minutes after opening for the day, the bell above the door jangled and in walked the cute guy I’d been daydreaming about this morning. Today he had a long, dark Henley on with jeans that had seen better days. Probably for the best, given the nature of painting crafts. But it was the way his brown eyes drooped at the corners that got to me.
“Morning!” I trilled as he approached the counter.
His lips quirked up, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Hey. Can I get a frog please?”
It must have been the knock to the head by the shower curtain, but I just couldn’t let this guy paint another frog without poking my nose in his business.
“Are you sure you don’t want to move up the food chain and try a bird? We have a pretty good parrot, if I do say so myself.”
The guy leaned his hip on the counter and folded his arms across his chest. Up close, he was less lanky and more broad than I gave him credit for. His eyes held humor now and I gave myself a mental gold star for putting it there.
“But then I’d have to use more than one color of paint,” he replied, the rumble of his voice making me think of the rare rainy morning when I could burrow under the covers and sleep in.
I leaned my forearms on the counter, angling in and shamelessly inhaling his scent. He smelled like he rolled around in a pile of fall leaves before stepping foot inside my shop. “That’s generally the idea.”
He full-out grinned and my heart stopped. “I prefer a monochromatic masterpiece.”
I tossed a look over my shoulder at the shelf with his monochromatic frogs before looking back at him. “Is that what those are? Your masterpieces?”
He clutched his chest and I straightened in alarm. “Your harsh criticism wounds me.”
I didn’t get the chance to reply before the bell above the door rang. A piercing voice called out, “There you are!”
Nails on a chalkboard would have been preferable to that squawk. The guy cringed, as if expecting a physical blow. His eyes widened comically at me before he smoothed out his face and turned around.
“You must be Jessica,” he mumbled, his voice sounding far less deliciously rumbly and more grumpy grumbly.
“I am, you handsome devil. Your mama said you’d be the rugged tall one and she wasn’t kidding, was she? What are you? Let me guess! Six-foot-five? No, no. That’s a bit much. Six-foot-four?”
The woman kept talking, words just dribbling out her mouth like a fire hydrant wrenched open by kids on a city street corner. There was a hint of a southern twang, but I couldn’t tell if that was natural or an affected thing she did because she thought it was cute. Her hair matched her mouth: over the top and jaw-dropping. For a morning date, she dressed like she was going to prom, complete with the huge curls, inch-thick makeup, and a dress that put it all out there.
Seeing her thread her arm through the cute guy’s and pull him to a table made my stomach churn. Not out of jealousy, of course, but just concern for his general well-being. That woman was going to eat him alive.
LINCOLN
I focused on painting. This frog was going to be the most carefully painted of them all. I glanced over at the girl up front, feeling desperate to escape, but she was busy moving things around on shelves below the counter. I could see her dark head popping up now and then. I fought back a wild urge to join her, to get out of the laser-vision stare of my current date.
“So, uh, how do you know my mom again?” I asked the woman who’d dropped one hand across the table to trace lines across my frog-holding fingers with a long talon.
“Oh, I just met her,” she said, the sharp blood-red dagger still on my hand.
A little blossom of fear opened up inside me and I tried very hard not to think about that Glenn Close movie I’d seen as a kid, the one where the slighted woman ended up boiling a bunny. I didn’t have a bunny, though I’d been contemplating a kitten actually. Now I thought better of it.
“Where was that?” I asked, desperate to stop my mother ever setting me up like this again.
“At the grocery store,” she said, her voice taking on a dreamy quality, which was even harder to bear than the high-pitched squeak it had contained before. “She saw me crying over the artichokes, and she was just so sweet and asked me what was wrong, bless her heart.”
I knew I shouldn’t, but the words just skittered out of my mouth. “And what was wrong?”
Her nail dug painfully into the top of my hand as she answered. “Rex. My ex. He dumped me, and he wasn’t even kind about it. He said the most horrible things to me, Lincoln. Things I know you’d never say. He didn’t like my hair!” This last part was shrieked, and the sudden outburst made me pull my hand away from her violently, overturning the tiny tub of blue paint and spilling a tiny puddle on the table.
“Um, I’d better go get some more paint.” I stood, the wild animalistic need to escape a predator pounding through me. I spun and practically sprinted to the counter, where the kind dark-haired girl who worked there practically shone like a beacon of safety.
“How’s it going?” she asked brightly, but I could see in her face that she knew it was going in the most terrifying manner possible.
I looked around the countertop frantically, spotting a pen and a little pile of scratch paper notes and grabbing for one. As I scrawled across the paper, I forced myself to try to act normal. “Yeah,” I said, writing at the same time. “Going super well. This frog, well, this one is really going to be a good one. But I need more blue paint.”
I babbled on, my hand scribbling my cell phone number and the words:
“Plz txt me with fake emergency. Will die if I don’t get away.”
About Delancey Stewart
I’m USA Today Bestselling author Delancey Stewart. My contemporary romances run the gamut of settings and setups, but they always deliver humor, heart and heat. It’s a guarantee.
I write from my home in Denver, CO, where I manage a household full of boys and men. Okay, only one man. The hubs. But two boys. I mean, three if you count the hubs. (You see why I do words and not numbers. I was told there’d be no math in this bio. Someone lied.)
I grew up in California and have had more jobs than anyone on earth (personal trainer, pharmaceutical rep, copywriter, tech writer, marketing director, wine seller, elementary school teacher… I’m not kidding. The list. It goes on.) But the one I love the most is writing, in part because I get to meet people who love books and stories as much as I do! Please don’t hesitate to get in touch to say hello, and don’t forget to join my newsletter!
Connect with Delancey
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Website: https://delanceystewart.com/
About Marika Ray
Marika Ray is a USA Today bestselling author, writing steamy RomComs to brighten your day. All her books come with a money-back guarantee that you’ll laugh at least once with every book.
Marika Ray spends her time behind a computer crafting stories, walking the beaches of southern California scoping out the lifeguards, and making healthy food for her kids and husband whether they like it or not. Prior to writing novels, Marika held various jobs in the finance industry, with private start-up companies, and then in health & fitness. Cats may have nine lives, but Marika believes everyone should have nine careers to keep things spicy.
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RELEASE BLITZ – Disaster Girl by Michelle Dayton
The only thing Tess knows better than walking into a disaster is digging herself out of one. But when she becomes the victim of a revenge porn site, she needs help — from brilliant and sexy hacker, Max. Falling for him could lead to another epic disaster… Readers who love Christian Lauren and Jasmine Guillory will love this spicy, humorous contemporary romance.
“… a deeply satisfying romance with real stakes and a realistic look at caregiver burnout. Readers won’t want to put this down.” – Publishers Weekly, starred review
Blurb
Tess Greene knows disaster—dating disasters, computer disasters, family disasters, you name it. But just when her life is finally almost perfect, she’s targeted by an internet celebrity who runs a revenge porn site admired by douchebags across the country. She has one month before the entire world will have an up-close-and-personal view of her sexual history. Tess has always handled everything on her own, but for this disaster, she needs backup.
Max Hampshire, a brilliant hacker, is exactly the lifeline Tess needs. What she doesn’t need is Max himself. She does not need his quick wit, sexy black-framed glasses, or all-around sweetness. The last guy who helped Tess left with his life crushed and his heart broken, so she knows that staying far away from Max would be safer for everyone.
But safety isn’t really an option when dealing with sleazy predators—or love…
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Excerpt
Copyright 2021 @Michelle Dayton
Sometimes when out at a restaurant or the park, I’d see a couple smiling at one another. Not speaking or laughing, but just solely connected to one another from the eyes and lips. They didn’t feel you watching because they were seeing only each other. These smiles were private moments happening in public, and you almost felt like a voyeur watching it. On the few occasions I’d witnessed that kind of smile, I’d felt odd, physically. A pain my chest, a shortness of breath, a sting in the eye. At this moment, smiling at Max, I knew what those physical symptoms represented: jealousy. Because I’d never experienced one of those shared smiles that spoke of pure enjoyment and appreciation and connection and all that sappy bullshit.
Until now.
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About Michelle Dayton
There are only three things Michelle Dayton loves more than sexy and suspenseful novels: her family, the city of Chicago, and Mr. Darcy. Michelle dreams of a year of world travel – as long as the trip would include weeks and weeks of beach time. As a bourbon lover and unabashed wine snob, Michelle thinks heaven is discussing a good book over an adult beverage.
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