Release Boost!! The Hero and the Hacktivist by Pippa Grant

See My Review For This Book Here!!!

 

Title: The Hero and the Hacktivist
Author: Pippa Grant
Genre: Sexy Romantic Comedy

 Release Date: November 9, 2018

Blurb

 

A SEAL / Best Friend’s Brother / Robin Hood in Cyberspace Romantic Comedy
For anyone who’s ever been on the receiving end of an unsolicited dick pic…
He has the muscles of Adonis, an ego bigger than the sun, and a very clear desire to get back in my pants. Which would be fantastic if he weren’t a SEAL and I
wasn’t a criminal.
Although, I prefer the term avenger.
I’m a hacktivist, cleaning up the cesspool of cyberspace one scam artist and troll at
a time, and I sometimes bend a few rules to get justice done.
He’s a military man with abs of glory, sworn to uphold the letter of the law no matter
its shortcomings. And if he’d known who—or what—I was, I doubt he would’ve
banged me at my best friend’s wedding reception.
Or come back for more.
Which is why he’s now the only thing standing between me and one very pissed off
internet troll who’s figured out where I live.
I’m pretty sure he’ll get me out of this alive—and quite satisfied, thank you very
much—but I’m also pretty sure this mission will end with me in handcuffs.
And not the good kind of handcuffs.
The Hero and the Hacktivist is a romping fun romance between a SEAL and a twisted hacker by day, drummer by night, complete with epic klutziness, terrible leg warmers, and an even worse phone virus gone wrong. This romantic comedy stands alone with no cheating or cliffhangers and ends with a fabulously fun happily ever
after.

 

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Purchase Links

$2.99 for release week ONLY!!

AMAZON US / UK / CA / AU

Free in Kindle Unlimited

Author Bio
Pippa Grant is a stay-at-home mom and housewife who loves to escape into sexy, funny stories way more than she likes perpetually cleaning toothpaste out of sinks and off toilet handles. When she’s not reading, writing, sleeping, or trying to prepare her adorable demon spawn to be productive members of society, she’s fantasizing about chocolate chip cookies.



Books by Pippa Grant

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Blog Tour!! Long Road Home by Stacey Lynn

See My Review Here!!!

A beautiful and emotional second chance romance with a strong heroine and a swoon-worthy hero. Must read! ~ USA Today Bestselling Author, Melanie Harlow

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I left home ten years ago, promising myself I’d never return to the place where I had never been accepted. I was despised and ridiculed for circumstances completely beyond my control.

But when my grandmother passes away, I’m forced to return to Kansas. I will have to face everyone who hated me. But they’re not who I’m most afraid of.

My biggest fear? Facing him.
Jordan Marx.
The boy I once loved more than life itself. The boy who defended me from them. The boy I’d disappeared on, leaving him nothing more than a horrible nasty lie and hastily scribbled note.

When Jordan finds out the secret I have carried for so long, I’m in for the battle of my life.

Or so I thought.

I might have wandered for years on a path riddled with thorns but with Jordan by my side, taking the long road home means more than reuniting with the only man I’ve ever loved. It might just mean finding myself, and the family I never thought I could ever have along the way.

LRH-AN (1)

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Excerpt:

God. How screwed up was I?

“It pisses me off how smart you can be sometimes,” I muttered and sipped my wine, eyes drifting out the window. If that had been the case, then I’d twisted reality for years. Believed it and based a life off it. I pressed my hand to my forehead and sighed. “I’m such a disaster, Jordan. A complete mess. I honestly don’t know why you bother.”

“Because when you let your guard down and let people see you, you’re still the most stunning woman I’ve ever met. You only have to start believing it.”

I dropped my hand as pleasure whipped through my veins. He was always bold and confident. I wasn’t used to this new bluntness. “It’ll take a while.”

“I’m a patient guy. And I’m hoping that at the least, you’ll start to believe how I see you, and the rest will come. You just have to trust me this time. Can you do that?”

Could I trust him? God, I’d trust him with my life. It was a ridiculous question. None of the decisions I made were because I didn’t trust him. It was simple self-preservation.

“I can do that,” I finally said.

“Good.”

“Good.” He grinned.

I blushed.

We were ridiculous.

“So what happens now?” I asked. He gestured to my almost empty wineglass.

“Would you like another?”

“No. It’ll probably put me to sleep.”

He took his to the sink and dumped it. I drank the last two sips while he rinsed out the glass, cleaned up the small mess we’d made and resettled the wine in the fridge.

“You didn’t answer my question,” I said once he turned and headed in my direction.

“Now,” he said, and he shot me that smoldering look of his. Furrowed brows, head dipped, heat in his eyes I remembered oh so well, and continued, “We’re going to make out on your grandma’s couch like we used to. We kiss until we can’t breathe. Maybe, if I’m lucky, you let me feel you up a bit, and then I go home with a hard-on like I used to, and tomorrow, we try to do better than we did tonight.”

His hands hit my hips. His head dipped. A furious heat swam on my cheeks and spread, warming other parts of me with precision like my libido was directly connected to his voice.

And as his lips brushed my cheek, went to my neck, his hands slid up to my waist and I fell into him, the feel of him, his touch, and the way he moved so slowly and seductively, there was really only one word I could give him.

“Okay.”

About the Author

Stacey Lynn Author Photo

When Stacey Lynn isn’t conquering mountains of laundry and fighting a war against dust bunnies and cracker crumbs, you can find her playing with her children, curled up on the couch with a good book, or behind closed doors, imagining the next adventures she’ll soon write.

She lives off her daily pot of coffee, can only write with a bowlful of Skittles nearby, and has been in love with romance novels since before she could drive herself to the library.

Stacey Lynn lives with her husband and children in North Carolina.

If you would like to know more about Stacey Lynn, follow her here:

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Blog Tour!! Ache for You by J.T. Geissinger

See My Review For This Swoony Book Here!!!

In this fairy tale with a sexy twist, she’s a penniless San Francisco seamstress. He’s the king of Italian couture.

Who’s got designs on whom?

Ache For You, an all-new steamy standalone in the Slow Burn Series from J.T. Geissinger is available NOW!

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Boutique owner Kimber DiSanto has seen better days. She’s been dumped at the altar by Prince Charmless, her business went up in flames (literally), and now she’s stuck in Florence, Italy, with an ice-queen stepmother, to try to save her late father’s failing dress shop. Only one thing could make it worse: another man in her life. The arrogant Italian fashion tycoon offering to buy her father’s shop is as rich as he is sexy, and their attraction is off the charts. But Kimber’s not about to get burned again.

Women don’t say no to Matteo Moretti—and certainly not with Kimber’s stinging precision. With all the heat and fury sparking between them, Matteo can’t resist baiting the gorgeous American. His plan? Win her over one scorching kiss at a time.

Kimber tells herself it’s all just a game. That her broken heart isn’t in danger, and that Matteo’s touch does not make her Lady Land dance with joy. But sometimes it takes the fieriest of enemies to turn a fantasy into a real-life romance.

AFY_AN

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Start the series of standalones today!

Burn For You

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Excerpt:

With my chin held high, I go over to him, push him out of the doorway, and slam the door in his face.

The door instantly swings back open.

Shit. No lock.

“You know, hate and love aren’t so different, bella.”

He’s being philosophical now, pursing his pretty mouth and gazing at the ceiling, as if viewing the stars.

I could kill him.

“Why do you enjoy torturing me? Are you some kind of sadist?”

He ignores me, naturally, and continues his little Socratic speech. “They’re two sides of the same coin, really. Passion, obsession, sweaty palms, and a racing heart. Lost sleep.” He slides his gaze over to the cheese and salami on the dresser. “A poor appetite.”

“You want a poor appetite? I’ll give you a poor appetite. I’ll take that salami and wedge it so far down your throat you won’t be able to eat ever again.”

Amused by my fury, he smiles. “Passion,” he reminds me, smug as shit.

I look around for something to throw at him.

“Let’s call a truce.” He strolls forward, hands in his pockets.

As if I’ll feel safer that way.

“No truce. No way. And you’re the one who started this war, remember?”

He makes a face, like he’s doubtful.

“Yes, you. Wait, why am I even talking to you? You fake kissed me!”

“Did I?”

“Yes! You admitted you did!”

“Hmm. I don’t recall that.”

“So we’ll add dementia to your long list of problems.”

By now he’s trapped me at the edge of the bed, advancing so stealthily I hardly noticed it, which was probably his dastardly plan all along.

I stand my ground and flatten my hand in the center of his chest, bracing my arm so he can’t move forward. “I’m not a joke,” I say, my voice raw. “I’m not a plaything.”

“I never said you were.”

Under my palm, his heart is a jackhammer. We do the hate breathing at each other again, which apparently is becoming our thing. Then we do the hate eye fucking again, which is definitely becoming our thing.

He says softly, “You’re giving me grief about how I look at you? You should see your eyes right now.” His voice drops an octave. “So dirty, bella. So very, very dirty.”

“I’m not selling the company, no matter how much you try to sex it out of me.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Sex it out of you?” As I watch with ragged breath, he sinks his teeth into his full lower lip. “Now that sounds interesting. Let’s discuss.”

“You’re a pig.”

“And yet you want me.”

“You’re unbelievable!”

“Yes, women have told me that before. Usually right after they come.”

I can’t even with this guy!

Then it’s like he remembers something. He looks around, frowning. “What are you doing in here?”

“What does it look like I’m doing? Trying to get rid of you!”

He looks at the wad of sheets in the corner. He looks at the freshly made bed. Then he looks back at me. The smile that breaks over his face is breathtaking.

“My darling ex-stepsister. Are you moving in?”

Very deliberately, I slide my hand up his chest until I reach his neck. Then I grasp his throat—lightly, but enough to let him know I mean it.

His skin is hot to the touch, and his throat is strong. Thick. It makes me think of other hot, thick body parts.

I officially hate myself.

He lifts his brows, obviously amused. “You have the most interesting internal conversations. Are you going to choke me?”

I growl. It sounds silly, like a kitten trying to be scary.

Matteo leans forward. My arm is still locked at the elbow, so it puts more pressure around his throat. Holding my gaze, he says softly, “Go ahead. I know you want to.”

Boy, do I. I curl my other hand around his neck so now I’ve got him good and surrounded. I feel his pulse, beating hard against my palms. It’s weirdly arousing.

Intently watching my face, he whispers, “Those eyes.”

About J.T. Geissinger:

J.T. Geissinger is a bestselling author of emotionally charged romance and women’s fiction. Ranging from funny, feisty rom coms to intense, edgy suspense, her books have sold more than one million copies and been translated into several languages.

She is the recipient of the Prism Award for Best First Book, the Golden Quill Award for Best Paranormal/Urban Fantasy, and is a two-time finalist for the RITA® Award from the Romance Writers of America®. She has also been a finalist in the Booksellers’ Best, National Readers’ Choice, and Daphne du Maurier Awards.

Her first novel was published in 2012. Since then she’s written eighteen more novels. When she’s not writing, she’s reading, drinking wine, surfing the internet, and daydreaming about all the things she’s going to be when she grows up. She lives near the beach in Los Angeles with her husband and deaf/demented rescue kitty, Ginger.

Joyce42

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Blog Tour!! I Bet You by Ilsa Madden Mills

See My Review For This Book Here!!!

She’s the one bet I can’t resist…

Wall Street Journal bestselling author Ilsa Madden-Mills returns with an all-new swoon-fest of a novel about what happens when you look beyond labels and take a chance on love.

I Bet You, an all-new sexy college romance standalone is available NOW!

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Sexy Athlete: I bet you…

Penelope Graham: Burn in hell, quarterback.

The late night text is random but Penelope knows exactly who “Sexy Athlete” is. And why she shouldn’t take his wager.

Ryker Voss.

Football star.

Walks on water and God’s gift to women.

Just ask him.

His bet? He promises Penelope he’ll win her the heart of the nerdy guy she’s been crushing on. His plan—good old-fashioned jealousy. Once her crush sees her kissing Ryker, he’ll realize what he’s missing. Sounds legit, right? The only question is…why is Ryker being so nice to her?

Penelope Graham.

Virgin.

Lover of sparkly vampires and calculus.

His mortal enemy.

Penelope knows she shouldn’t trust a jock, but what’s a girl to do when she needs a date to Homecoming? And Ryker’s keeping a secret, another bet, one that could destroy Penelope’s heart forever.

Will the quarterback score the good girl or will his secret mean everyone loses at this game of love?

IBY-AN

Download your copy today or read FREE in Kindle Unlimited!

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Excerpt:

Penelope

I stand in front of the mirror in the restroom and gasp. Holy moly, I’m a total disaster. Red is on my shirt, my neck, my cheek, and there’s even a dab in my hair. I let out a heavy sigh as I wipe at it with a wet paper towel. At least my hair is auburn and the red will just blend right in. I scrub at the stain on my shirt, but all I end up doing is making a giant wet spot.

“Forget it,” I mutter to myself a few minutes later as I straighten my lopsided messy bun and adjust my glasses. My makeup is faded, and I reach into my apron for a tube of cherry red lipstick then quickly swipe it over my mouth. Like that’s going to improve the situation. I need a makeover and new clothes stat.

I walk out of the restroom and take in Sugar’s Bar and Grill, a restaurant in Magnolia, Mississippi. The dinner rush is over, but a few stragglers will come in, mostly college students. Only a block from campus, Sugar’s has a modern farmhouse feel with galvanized steel light fixtures, pale pine floors, and straight-back metal chairs, but the food…well, that’s what keeps the place hopping. It’s the only restaurant near campus to get anything you want served up with a side of fresh fried green tomatoes. Their menu also features Southern classics, such as chicken and dumplings or macaroni and cheese with bacon sprinkled on top. Just thinking about it makes my stomach rumble. I was so wrapped up in writing during my break that I forgot to eat.

I sigh and head to the football table, where they promptly hand over the money. “Nice doing business with you, boys,” I say before flouncing off, feeling Ryker’s eyes on me the entire time.

What’s his deal with me?

I mean, you’d think he’d want to avoid me because of the article, but it’s as if his mission is to be around me as much as he can. In fact, I’m not even sure he knew who I was before I wrote it since we don’t run in the same circles. I suspect he’s torturing me.

I push him out of my head and walk over to a table that needs bussing, picking up half-empty soda glasses and putting them on my tray. The door chimes, signaling that someone has come in, and I raise my head to see—

Whoa.

I freeze.

Bring out the angels and cue the hallelujah chorus.

Now that’s the kind of man I should be writing sexy scenes about.

Standing at the door is Connor Dimpleshitz—yes, his surname is unfortunate, but his IQ makes up for it. I’ve been crushing on him since our sociology class last semester.

Framed by a golden halo of sunlight as it glints through the windows, I decide he’s what would happen if Albert Einstein and Henry Cavill had a baby. “A hot genius. The perfect unicorn,” I murmur to myself.

I chew on my lip, debating on whether to mosey up to him and say hi or hide.

Hide wins. I know, I’m a little ridiculous, especially since we have calculus together this semester and he’ll obviously see me at some point in class.

But then I’ll have good hair and ketchup-free clothes.

I quickly survey the possibilities for my escape as the hostess seats him in another server’s section. My eyes land on the right side of the restaurant, where I could make a mad dash for the kitchen, but he’s bound to see me darting since I’d have to walk past him. Plus, I want to hang around and watch him without him knowing.

I come to a decision. Wrangling the tray of half-empty sodas I cleared, I quickstep it over to the back left corner, the farthest away from the double doors of the entrance. I maneuver my body into an awkward hunkering position behind a huge potted plant with wide fan-shaped leaves. At least five feet tall with a gnarly brown trunk, the green monster is perfect camouflage.

I peek around a big leaf that’s in dire need of a good dusting,judging by the motes floating around. Feeling paranoid that someone is a witness to my absurdity, I throw a quick glance over my shoulder to make sure no one’s around.

Ryker. Shit.

He’s staring at me from the football table, and there’s a glint in his gaze, as if he’s wondering what I’m doing.

I scowl and stick my tongue out at him. He makes me feel so rebellious and flustered and…excited.

I can’t even stop myself. Ugh.

His expression deepens in amusement, and I grimace, realizing my butt is sticking out. His annoying eyebrow jacks up and says, What the hell are you doing?

With eye telepathy I tell him to mind his own freaking business.

I pointedly turn my back on him and focus on The Unicorn.

A few seconds later, a familiar deep voice resonates from behind me, making me start. “You look a little flustered, Penelope. Spying on someone for your next story, perhaps?”

I freeze. Blink. His voice is husky and lower than before when he was calling me garçon, the tone reminding me of languid summer nights under a starry Southern sky while he gives me deep, passionate kisses—

Good Lord.Stop your daydreaming.Must. Stop. Reading. Romances.

I heave out a sigh and turn around to face Ryker.

What the hell does he want now?

***

“I don’t submit to the Wildcat Weekly anymore,” I say.

I worked for them most of last year, covering the home games and a few random articles. With a dad who was in the NFL, I know a lot about football, but when Sugar’s offered me more hours, I took it.

“No more football stories, huh?”

I shrug, my gaze taking in his chiseled cheekbones, the curve of his full lips, the hint of scruff on his jaw. Dammit, why is he so gorgeous? “What can I say? I covered the most fascinating story last semester—you. Guess I went out on a high note.”

He nods, taking that dig. “I always noticed you at the games.”

I scoff. “I didn’t think girls like me were on your radar.”

“You sat near the third row at the fifty-yard line taking notes at every home game.” His eyes drift over me. “And I didn’t say you were on my radar.”

“Really? Sounds like you did.”

“Trust me, I have more discriminating tastes.” He shrugs.

“Why, how sweet of you.” My Southern accent has thickened, the way it does when I’m sassy. It’s one thing to know he doesn’t like me, but for him to say I’m not up to his standards…well. “Did you pop over here just to be nice?”

He exhales and rakes a hand through his hair, calling attention to the lighter strands that have been bleached by the sun. “Honestly, I’m not sure why I came over here.” A conflicted expression crosses his face as he tugs at his collar. My eyes stare at the myriad of curly blond chest hairs that are poking out from the V-neck of the light blue Oxford he’s wearing with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay from the ketchup getting all over you, but everything I’m saying is coming out wrong.”

Oh. This is different. And not what I expected.

“I’m fine, Baby Llama. No need to worry. You can go. Your girlfriends are waiting for you.” I tilt my head back toward the football table.

He doesn’t budge. “Baby Llama?” An amused grin flashes over his face.

I shrug. It’s been my private nickname for him since sophomore year when I stumbled upon him coming out of an upstairs bathroom at the Tau house after a shower with only a white towel wrapped around his trim waist. Some jersey chaser was with him. His hairy chest had both shocked my virgin sensibilities and excited me at the same time. The unruly curls just made him seem more naked, as if I’d seen his cock. Much to my dismay, I’d later dream about rolling around on that bed of golden curls. Seriously, who takes a shower with a chick in the middle of a kegger? Ryker Voss, that’s who. Because he can. And girls do whatever he wants.

But not this one.

I respect the game—even love it—but I don’t fall for football players, especially high and mighty quarterbacks who think they walk on water. My dad was the star player at Waylon twenty years ago, and trust me, I know how they operate. They get what they want and then they walk out, leaving broken hearts everywhere.

“Have you ever seen a real llama?” he asks, continuing our conversation. It’s as if he’s actually trying to be nice. “I saw one at a safari park once. Little bugger tried to eat my hand off when I fed him, but he was cute. Maybe you need a poster of one in your room so when you see it, you’ll think about me. I’ll even sign it for you.”

And there’s the cocky again.

“Buy me one. I’ll throw darts at it.”

“Damn, you never stop.” He huffs out a laugh, his eyes lingering on my neck. “Oh, there’s a bit of ketchup here too,” he says, reaching out to glide his finger across the top of my collar, his knuckles barely brushing against my neck.

The feather-light touch is brief and not sexual, yet my body hums, tendrils of sparks racing over my skin. I suck in a breath and catch his scent, warm and spicy with hints of leather and sandalwood.

He blinks and clears his throat. “Um, I actually have this cleaner stuff that I spray on my practice clothes. It’s a miracle worker. You’re welcome to borrow it. Of course, you’d have to come by the football dorm to pick it up. We could even do laundry together if you wanted?”

He says the words softly, as if they’re nothing,and I’m staring at him full on.

Do our laundry together?

I suspect Ryker Voss is flirting with me, though not well. The pimply-faced checkout boy at Big Star has better lines than this.

Yet…

Something warm grows inside my stomach and then flutters around, the sputtering of newborn butterflies. He is the hottest guy on campus. Still, I remind myself he’s a player, gather my resolve, and shoot those butterflies down.

“You’re being weird, Ryker.”

“Because I’m being nice? Yeah. New year, new start. I want to forget all the bad stuff from last semester.” He pauses. “And the article you wrote.”

“Is that right? Even the part where I said you dishonored the sport and were a disgrace to college players everywhere?”

He stares down at his hands. “I had my reasons for what happened.”

So I heard. He got involved in the fighting to help his friend and fellow teammate Maverick save his disabled sister.

“Ah, well, I did write a follow-up article, but it wasn’t nearly as popular as the first one.”

He shrugs, and somehow, he’s closer now. I stare into his thickly lashed cerulean eyes and blink at the force of them. His irises…God, someone should name a crayon after them.

“So…do you want to do laundry together sometime?”

This again? My mouth parts. “What? Like a date?”

“Yeah.”

I blink rapidly, my brain trying to wrap about this new Ryker. “No. I’m sure you already have jersey chasers lined up outside your dorm vying to do your laundry. I’ve heard they actually beg to rub your shoulders and do your homework. I imagine they even fight to be the one to suck your sweet little toes.” I come to an abrupt halt. Suck his toes? SUCK HIS TOES? OMG. Where did that random comment come from? I don’t have a foot fetish. I blame it on his presence and carry on. “And don’t worry about me—I don’t need your laundry advice. A little ketchup never hurt anyone.”

Determination crosses his face and with a flurry of movement, he drops a small piece of paper onto the tray I’m holding.

I stare down at it. Sexy as Hell Athlete is written in masculine handwriting with a phone number after it. I look back up at him, my eyes tracing the enigmatic half-smile on his face.

“I wrote it down for you earlier and wanted to give it to you after the ketchup thing, but I chickened out.”

Several seconds go by.

“Will you give me yours?” he asks after a few moments of us just standing here.

“My what?”

“Number.” He grins.

I indicate the tray and my obvious impediment. “I don’t have any paper on me.”

“Just tell me. I’ll remember.”

I’m flustered, and that’s the only reason I rattle off my phone number. He grins and repeats it back to me.

He lowers his voice in a conspiratorial way. “So…you’re watching someone, I take it. Anyone I know?”

Feeling bemused by his attention, I shake my head, quickly losing control of this situation.

“For a writer, you seem to be at a loss for words. Do I make you speechless, Penelope?”

I scoff. “No.”

“I’m curious as to what has your attention back here.” He slides in next to me behind the plant, his shoulder brushing against mine. He’s a giant next to my slender frame, and all at once, I feel protected and safe, which is entirely wrong. It’s probably his male pheromones, lulling me into softness before the kill—and damn if it isn’t working. He murmurs something about us hiding together and spying on people, but I’m distracted because my face is up close and personal with the chest hair that pokes out of his shirt. I want to trail my fingers through it and see if it’s as soft as it looks. He smells like alpha male and sex. Hard, passionate sex that makes you orgasm fast and furious.

Not that I have any firsthand knowledge of that, of course, but I have my fantasies.

Gird your loins, Penelope.

Resist the quarterback.

But I’m getting sucked in.

I blame it on the dimple that appears when he smiles. My stomach does that fluttering thing again, and this time, I can’t shoo the butterflies away. I’m weak. I move my eyes up the strong column of his tanned throat to meet his gaze. At least ten seconds go by as we take each other in.

What. Is. Happening?

“You’re pretty,” he murmurs. “Have I ever told you that?”

“We don’t usually talk except for when I take your order.”

His hand reaches up and briefly touches a piece of my hair that’s fallen out of my topknot. He rubs it between his fingers. “Your hair…it’s—”

“Auburn,” I manage, clearing my throat.

“It reminds me of a new penny, the way the amber color catches the light…” His voice trails off, and he bites his bottom lip. “God, that has to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever said.”

“You have worse lines. Tell me, is doing laundry code for sex?” I say, staring up at him. I’m itching to straighten my glasses, a nervous reflex, but my hands are holding the tray.

“I only use lines on jersey chasers. You’re the kind of girl I have to work for.”

“What about your discriminating tastes?”

“Pure bluff. I think we have a real connection, Penelope.” His face is closer now, and I swallow, wondering how we must look to everyone else in the restaurant. I realize that in the process of talking, we’ve backed up to the wall behind the plant, and I figure the only table we’re visible to is the football one, but I don’t tear my eyes away from Ryker to check.

“You smell like rainbows,” he says.

My chest rises. I’m enjoying his full-court press. It’s…intoxicating. “What does a rainbow smell like?”

“Sweet and delicious.”

“It’s the suckers.” His eyes land on my lips, and it almost feels as if he’s touched them. Heat rushes over my skin. “The red ones are my favorite. I think they’re cherry or strawberry or raspberry…definitely not cranberry…that’s disgusting,” I say, rambling, feeling disoriented.

“It’s crazy, but I really want to kiss you right now,” he murmurs.

My eyes drift over his shoulder to where Connor’s table is. I can’t see his face, but I know he’s there, and even though I’m drugged by Ryker’s proximity, I remind myself he’s the one I should kiss.

Not Ryker.

Ryker is a player—just like my dad was.

He watches the direction of my gaze and follows it. “You’ve been watching Dimples hitz, haven’t you?” he says, a frown line appearing on his forehead. “Are you into him?”

My stomach dips. “Why would you say that?”

“Because you hightailed it over here when he walked in and you’ve been hiding ever since. So, I figure he either did you wrong or you’re infatuated, and since I haven’t heard any gossip about you and him, I’m guessing you must have a thing for him.”

Abort! Abort!He knows too much!

Sanity slowly returns to my brain in small increments, and I take a deep breath, orienting myself as questions race through my head. What if he uses my crush against me? Maybe he wants revenge for the article. I don’t know!

Flustered and unsure, my eyes dart around the restaurant, looking for an exit so I don’t have to answer his question.

My gaze lands on the football table he came from, and I notice Archer watching us with focused interest, a calculating look on his face as he whips his eyes from me to Ryker. He leans over and whispers to Blaze, who turns to peer in our direction. I pause, my brain analyzing and decoding. Why is Archer suddenly interested in what Ryker is doing over here with me—especially when there’s a pretty co-ed sitting right next to him, tracing little circles on his bicep?

Yet Archer’s eagle eyes are onus. Watchful.

I notice all three players at the table have suddenly given us their attention, anticipation evident on their faces.

Alarms go off in my head and things start to click into place.

How nice he was to me. How we ‘have a connection’. Yeah, right.

Mortification washes over me.

How could I not have seen it sooner?

God, I am an idiot.I was so distracted…

I’m a bet. A stupid freaking bet.

I feel like someone just punched me in the gut.

My survival instinct tells me to get away from Ryker, and obviously,I could just walk away and hold my head high, but I want to make a point and show those football players they can’t toy with me. I release the tray I’ve been balancing for what seems like days in his direction. The contents of the glasses spill out and crash to the floor, watered-down soda and ice drenching us before dripping down to the floor. The plastic glasses make a horrible clattering noise on the wooden floors, and I imagine most everyone in the restaurant heard it. I don’t look to see their faces. I only glare at Ryker.

He jumps back and stares down at the mess on his khaki pants then looks back at me. “Remind me to never bring up Dimpleshitz again.”

“Stop your games, Ryker.”

His face stills. “What games?”

My teeth snap together. Enough.

Love football heroes and nerdy heroines?

Start the series of standalones today with I DARE YOU

Download your copy now or Read FREE in Kindle Unlimited!

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About the Author
Wall Street Journal, New York Times, and USA Today best-selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills writes about strong heroines and sexy alpha males that sometimes you just want to slap. She’s best known for her angsty, heartfelt new adult college romances.

A former high school English teacher, she adores all things Pride and Prejudice; Mr. Darcy is her ultimate hero.

She’s also addicted to frothy coffee beverages, Vampire Diaries, and any kind of book featuring unicorns and sword-wielding females.

Join her Unicorn Girls FB group for special excerpts, prizes, and snarky fun!

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Blog Tour & Review!! Misadventures with a Professor – Sierra Simone

See My Review Below!!!

 

Book: Misadventures with a Professor

Author: Sierra Simone
 
Part of the Misadventures Series by Waterhouse Press

Genre: Contemporary Romance 
 
***MISADVENTURES ARE STANDALONE ROMANCES THAT CAN BE READ IN ANY ORDER***
 
 
Add to your TBR – Goodreads
Synopsis
Zandy Lynch never planned on going to grad school a virgin. So when her professor father finds her a job abroad as a research assistant the summer before she starts her master’s program, she sees her chance. She’s got one night in London to lose her V-card to a Mr. Darcy lookalike before she has to join some ancient professor in the country…
****
Misadventures is a romantic series of spicy standalone novels, each written or co-written by some of the best names in romance. The stories are scandalous, refreshing, and, of course, incredibly sexy. They’re the perfect bedside read, a ‘quick blush’ for the reader who loves a page-turning romance.
Buy the Book
 
 
 
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Meet the Author
 
Sierra is a voracious reader of all things including the smuttiest smut, young adult, piles of non-fiction for research, and everything Bill Bryson (especially on audio).
She loves writing the dirtiest things that she can think of, King Arthur, sparkling water, Tarot, coffee, leggings, and learning new words daily.
Her previous jobs have included firing ceramics, teaching living history lessons in one-room school house in full, 1908-approved school marm attire, and working as a librarian for several years—not in that order
She lives in the Kansas City area with her hot cop husband, two children, and two giant dogs. (And two cats, but they’re so naughty we don’t talk about them.)
The social media she cares about the most are Spotify and (her very very NSFW) Tumblr. Following her in those places is a true love language, indeed.
 
 

My Review…

Ms. Simone knows how to write the down and dirty! And she does it oh so well.

This is the story of Oliver and Zandy.  It’s fast paced, adventurous and is naughty in all the right ways!

They don’t have, what you would call a “normal” relationship.  But hey, “normal” is a setting on a dryer.  Who are we to claim what is normal or not.  Their relationship works for them and that’s what makes this story all the better.

Zandy is of a intellectual mind.  She is analytical and thinks things through, almost to the point of detriment to herself.

Oliver is the epitome of an English professor.  But he has a hidden side of him that really loves Zandy.  Unfortunately he has also thought that his hidden side should stay hidden and Zandy brings it to the light and shows him that what they have together is perfection.

Ms. Simone writing really brings you into the story, into her world and you will be thanking her for it!

If you are looking for a fast paced, down and dirty.  Look no further!!

Blog Tour!! Muffin Top by Avery Flynn

See My Review For This Fantastic Book Here!!!

“Smart, sassy, and utterly delightful! Get ready to fall head-over-heels in love with Lucy, one of the wittiest and most inspiring heroines I’ve ever met!”

– Annika Martin New York Times bestselling author

Muffin Top, a hot romantic comedy from USA Today bestselling author Avery Flynn is available now!

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The only thing about me that’s a size zero is the filter on my mouth. I’ve got a big personality, a big rack, and a big number on the scale. And I’m perfectly fine with that.

But when some random guy suggests I might not be eating alone if I’d ordered a salad instead of a hamburger I’m shocked silent, which is a feat, trust me.

That brings us to one sexy fireman named Frankie Hartigan. He’s hot. He’s funny… And he’s just apologized for being late for our “date” then glared at the fat-shaming jerk. Next thing I know, he’s sitting down and ordering himself dinner.

I have no problem telling him I don’t need a pity date . . . unless of course it’s to my high school reunion next week. Oops where did that last bit come from? And what do I do now that he’s said yes?!

Because this is no make-over story, and I think Frankie is using me for something. I just have to figure out what…

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Download your copy today!

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Excerpt:

The temptation to say “Yes, Frankie, please squash him like a bug while I clap and watch” was so, so strong—like, the guys who pull semi trucks with their teeth strong. Instead, Lucy played along with her best friend’s fiancé’s brother— OMG, that was now the name of her imaginary all-girl ska band—and smiled sweetly up at him.

“He was bothered by my dinner order, honey.”

“Really?” Frankie looked down at her plate, over to the dipshit, and then right at her. There was no missing the devil in his eyes right before he turned his attention back to the other man. “What’s wrong with what my girl’s eating?”

Mr. In Her Business blanched. Literally. The color drained out of his face so fast that he resembled one of those swipe right before and after photos on makeover blogs. How in the hell she managed to not laugh out loud she had no frickin’ clue.

“N-n-nothing,” the man stuttered.

Nope. He was not getting off that easily.

She looked up at Frankie, still standing next to her chair, his big hand braced on the back of it, and said in the clueless voice that anyone with a brain would know meant there was danger ahead, “He said I should have ordered a salad, then I might have a chance to move from a five to an eight. I’m a five because I have great tits.”

Thunderous didn’t begin to describe the dark look of pure vengeance that crossed Frankie’s face, making even the freckles that crossed over the bridge of his nose look scary. Mr. Buttinsky made a little squeaking noise that reminded Lucy of the sound of air coming out of a balloon when someone pulled the tip taut as it was deflating. Frankie took a step forward, menace vibrating off of him in waves. The other guy didn’t bother to say a word, he just took off, weaving his way at a fast clip through the crowded bar and out the front door. Lucy liked to imagine that he peed his pants a little as he did so.

“Thanks, Frankie,” she said to the man still staring at the departing figure of Mr. Peed His Pants. “I owe you one.”

Her ginger knight in well-fitting jeans and a T-shirt made some kind of noise that maybe was a response in the affirmative. It sounded kinda like “no problem.” Whatever. She was used to that from guys. She was only of interest until a hotter, skinnier, or prettier woman came along. It

was the universal fat chick cloaking device.

Determined not to let it annoy her as much as it usually would, she turned back to her jalapeño cheeseburger, spicy fries, and soda. Now she could finally enjoy her dinner in peace.

Alas, it wasn’t meant to be. Frankie clunked down a three-fourths filled mug of beer on the other side of her table, pulled out the chair across from her, and sat down. Before she could even ask what he was doing, he waved the waitress over and told her he wanted whatever Lucy was eating, plus an extra order of fries and another beer. Once she’d left, he turned his attention to Lucy and gave her what could only be described as a vibrator smile. She named it that in her head—thankfully only in her head—because she now had a desperate need for her vibrator and maybe a fresh pack of batteries.

“You’re not gonna make me eat alone now that we’re on a date, are you?” he asked, swiping one of her fries.

About Avery

USA Today bestselling romance author Avery Flynn has three slightly-wild children, loves a hockey-addicted husband and is desperately hoping someone invents the coffee IV drip.

She fell in love with romance while reading Johanna Lindsey’s Mallory books. It wasn’t long before Avery had read through all the romance offerings at her local library. Needing a romance fix, she turned to Harlequin’s four books a month home delivery service to ease the withdrawal symptoms. That worked for a short time, but it wasn’t long before the local book stores’ staffs knew her by name.

Avery was a reader before she was a writer and hopes to always be both. She loves to write about smartass alpha heroes who are as good with a quip as they are with their *ahem* other God-given talents. Her heroines are feisty, fierce and fantastic. Brainy and brave, these ladies know how to stand on their own two feet and knock the bad guys off theirs.

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Connect with Avery

Instagram: @AveryFlynn

https://www.instagram.com/averyflynn/

Website: http://averyflynn.com

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Blog Tour!!! The Legacy by Dylan Allen

See My Review For This MUST READ Here!!!

 

 

“Hands down, one of my fav reads this year!”

Ilsa Madden-Mills, Wall Street Journal bestselling author

The Legacy, an all-new steamy contemporary romance standalone from Dylan Allen is available NOW!

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He’s the king of all he surveys.

Except her.

Exiled for 15 years, Hayes Rivers has finally assumed his place as head of Houston’s oldest and most powerful family.

Now, they call him King.

A legacy of wealth and prestige are his to claim.

As age-old rivalries, long-buried secrets, and generations of betrayal threaten his birthright, he finds himself in a battle for control of his family’s future.

When he meets Confidence, she’s a sweet distraction.

Everything he shouldn’t want.

But after a weekend of passion and surprising intimacy,

he realizes she’s everything he needs

He holds the keys to a kingdom,

But he covets the key to her heart.

And he’ll stop at nothing to claim his queen.

the legacy an one

Download your copy today or read FREE in Kindle Unlimited!

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He rakes his eyes down my body. My white blouse feels thin under his heated gaze. I shift in my shoes when he lingers on my hips.

“You’ve missed me,” he says.

“I haven’t,’’ I lie.

“If I touched your pussy, what would I feel?” he asks.

“That’s one question you won’t be answering tonight.”

“I want to touch you.” He dips his head and kisses my cheek. His hand grips my hip.

“You’ll feel better when I’ve made you come,” he whispers against my cheek.

He moves so fast that my ass is up on the edge of the sink before I can protest.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks. His finger trails up my leg and stops at my knee. Blood rushes in my ears, heat pools between my thighs.

“Of course not,” I breathe.

His fingers slip under the hem of my shorts and I grab his fingers.

“But I’m going to ask you to anyway.” His eyes fly up to mine in surprise, but there’s no anger there. In fact, I think what I see is respect.

“Why?” he asks and stands back up.

If it could speak, my vagina would be cursing me out.

“Because what I want isn’t what I need, Hayes.”

“Why are they mutually exclusive?”

“I don’t want to just be your partner in bed,” I admit.

“Oh, Tesoro,” he sighs and drags his nose across my temple before he moves us back to facing each other. He cups my face in his hands and presses a soft kiss to my lips before he pulls back.

“There’s not a pussy in this world I’d fall on my knees for. Not even yours,” he says, the fierce love and tenderness in his eyes stealing my breath.

His eyes never leaving mine, he continues. “But for this, Tesoro…” His palms cover the space between my breasts and my heart kicks against the wall of my chest, desperate to find its way into the hand of the man it loves.

“For the love of the most brilliant woman I’ve ever met.” He kisses me again. “I would spend the rest of my life on my fucking knees.”

And then, my big, strong, beautiful man brings my entire world to a halt. He drops to his knees in front of me. On the floor of the public restroom.

“Hayes, get up.” I tug his arm. “Please.”

He grips my hips and presses his face in between my legs and inhales.

“Goddamn.” His groan vibrates against me and moisture blooms beneath his mouth and nose. “I love the way your pussy smells. I fucking miss the way it tastes. I’m dying to feel it gripping my cock.” He rubs his nose against my clit and pleasure skitters, like the kiss of butterfly wings, all over my body.

I thread my fingers into his thick, silky hair just as he leans away and stares up at me with that same fierceness.

But now, it’s laced with need.

He has the look of a predator, and I wish he would hurry up and catch me.

“I want to plant my flag there so that everyone knows it’s mine. But, it’s not even in the top five of my favorite things about you, Confidence. And it’s certainly not the only thing I want.” He looks up at me through his honest, smart eyes, and the rest of the world falls away.

“Oh, Hayes …” I trace the line of his strong brows and sweep down the slope of his nose.

“I want your fire. I want your courage; I want your loyalty. I want your anger, your disdain, your disappointment.” I brush a lock of hair off his forehead. “I want you smiles; I want your laughter. I want you fighting for my team. And yes, I want your pussy. Every day.” He squeezes my hips, and I want to give him everything he’s just asked me for.

But …

“I can’t.” I shake my head, caught between my fear and my love and feeling like neither one of them are serving me well right now.

“You won’t,” he chides me gently, but with real reproach in his voice. “But I understand.” He cuts off my protest. “You want to protect yourself. But you can’t. Not from me. Not from us. It’s all or nothing. And as long as we’re alive, it will never be nothing.”

“Hayes, don’t …” I pull back slightly and shake my head. I don’t know what to say.

“I know,” he says with real regret in his eyes. “I fucked up. But, I am not that asshole who treated you like you were nothing. I’m not ashamed of anything except that something I did made you feel like you were less than the miraculous person I know I’ll never deserve,” he says.

My hand comes to my chest and my fingers clutch the front of my blouse. “Oh, Hayes,” is all I can manage.

“But, I need you to understand—” His eyes go from pleading to demanding in a blink.

“That you thought I was hiding something?” I interject.

“No,” he says sharply. “That I’m responsible for my entire family. Not just the ones that are alive right now. But the ones who will be alive in a hundred years. I just had to keep the estate intact because I lost sight of that once and married someone who I barely knew.”

“Well, I’m not her,” I remind him.

“I know that … and I knew it in Italy, too. By the time the report came, I didn’t care what it said.”

“Why not?” I ask.

“I already knew everything that I needed to about you. You’re the woman who leans in when most people lean away,” he says. I want so badly to throw my arms around his neck and tell him it’s okay. That I see him, and that I’ll always lean in.

“I’m going to show you why us. How us. I’m asking for a lot. Your future. Your love. Your loyalty. Your body. Your children. Your life,” he says. “But I’m offering you the same things in return.”

About Dylan Allen

Dylan Allen is a Texas girl with a serious case of wanderlust.

A self-proclaimed happily ever junkie, she loves creating stories where her characters chase their own happy endings.

When she isn’t writing or reading, eating or cooking, she and her family are planning their next adventure.

Dylan Allen

Connect with Dylan

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authordylanallen/

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