Breathe, an all-new second chance romance from Wall Street Journal and New York Times bestselling author Carly Phillips is coming May 15th!

Fall in love with the Wards…

From troubled teen to successful general contractor, Jake Nichols turned his life around from his time in foster care. Divorced and single, he juggles his time between his daughter and his work. Next on his agenda, a new project that is his chance to prove his worth at the job he loves. Except he never anticipates that the only girl he’s ever loved and lost as a teen is now a grown and beautiful woman in charge of the project.

Phoebe Ward has survived and conquered a painful past that includes foster care and becoming a teenaged mom. She wants nothing more than to focus on the present but it’s hard when she looks into the eyes of her son, knowing she’s tried and failed to find his father. She’s resigned herself to raising him alone with the help of her family… Until a client meeting brings her face to face with her first love. A boy… now a sexy man she thought she’d never see again … and the father of her child.

So many years have gone by and both of their lives have changed drastically. Will they be able to put the past behind them and find the second chance they both deserve?

A Standalone Novel

Excerpt

“Hello?” Phoebe called out.
“In here!” a masculine voice said, sounding like it came from the far side of the house.
She followed the sound and noticed a man talking on the phone, his back to her. He was tall, well built, muscles defined, as she took him in from behind. And what a behind he had, a tight ass in his faded jeans.
She ogled the sight shamelessly, her gaze traveling up his lean waist and broad shoulders. His dark hair was short and the jet-black color she preferred on a man. He wore a light blue button-down, sleeves rolled up, revealing sexy forearms.
And then he turned to meet her gaze, giving her one raised finger to indicate he needed another minute on the phone. Except she wasn’t paying attention to the gesture, because one look at that handsome face, more mature than she remembered but just as good-looking, and she froze.
Vivid blue eyes widened at the sight of her in return.
She wasn’t just looking at a stranger, she was staring into the shocked eyes of her son’s father, a man she hadn’t seen since before she found out she was pregnant.
“Jake?” she whispered, unable to comprehend the fact that she was standing in the same room with her first love. Her first everything.

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Fearless
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Meet Carly Phillips

Carly Phillips is the N.Y. Times and USA Today Bestselling Author of over 50 sexy contemporary romance novels, including the Indie published, Dare to Love Series. She is happily married to her college sweetheart, the mother of two nearly adult daughters and three crazy dogs. Carly loves social media and is always around to interact with her readers.

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“What are you doing now that your team is out of the running for the Stanley Cup?”

Forget.

I need to forget. I need an escape.

Only one person isn’t falling for my reputation as the NHL’s Golden Boy; she captured my attention the minute she called me out for snooping through my best friend’s house. She didn’t want to hear my reason–she only wanted to playfully give me a hard time.

Adalyn is bold, sassy–and the perfect escape.

She’s everywhere. In town and in my dreams, and suddenly I need to spend every waking moment with her.

And I do, making this summer the best off-season I’ve ever had.

But in the midst of getting lost in Adalyn, what I don’t expect is to get her pregnant.

And what I definitely don’t expect is having to fight for her affection.

 

 

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Tentative at first, we explore, our lips light, our mouths not quite nipping, but not fusing together either.

We probe, we search, we delve into each other.

Her hands to my face.

My fingers tangling in her wavy brown curls.

Mouths open.

A gasp.

A moan.

A tightened grip.

The lightest touch of tongues.

Scooting closer, she wraps her legs around the back of mine, linking them together.

Tangling, molding, becoming one, the sweet taste of her mouth on mine . . . I’m lost.

Falling and falling fast, our kiss so deep, so intense with each thrust of our tongues, with each mingling of our lips, with every intake of desperate breath.

Tender, the way she moves her lips across mine.

Shaky, the way her hands tentatively explore the crevasses and divots of my broad and built chest.

Fearful . . . of the unknown, of what this means.

But so goddamn electrifying because the craving I’ve harbored for this woman is finally being sated.

Eyes closed, hands lingering, I slowly pull away and rest my forehead on Adalyn’s trying to catch my breath, taking a second to steady the jittery, wobbly feeling in my legs.

“Wow,” I mumble. “That was—”

“Unforgettable,” she finishes for me, her nose rubbing against mine.

Exhaling, I say, “Yeah, it was.”

My hands venture to her sides, memorizing every contour of her body in their path. “Where’s your bedroom?”

Her eyes light up and she hops down from the counter, taking my hand in hers in the process. “This way.” She practically skips down the hallway, light and giddy.

The dark hallway leads to another white, clean, and crisp bedroom. Smooth lines, monotone colors of whites and creams, with one light blue throw pillow on her plush white bed that looks like a cloud floating in the middle of heaven.

Angling in my direction, she reaches for the hem of her dress, but I stop her, gripping her shoulders and standing her upright. Confusion laces her eyes and I take no time in easing that confusion.

“I want to take this slow, Adalyn.” I let out an unsteady breath. “That kiss back there, fuck . . .” I press a hand through my hair. “That rocked my goddamn world.”

Shyly, she peeks up at me through her eyelashes. “It rocked my world too.”

Unable to keep my hands off her for too long, I tip her chin up and press my lips against hers, my mouth smoothing along hers, lush and delicious, just as I expected. She sighs into me, holding on to my waist. I press my tongue against hers again, loving how she gives as much as I take.

Slowing down, my lips brush hers, the fiery passion we have for each other simmering like a pot ready to boil, but never getting hot enough.

I don’t want it to get too hot. Not right now.

I need to know more about her. I want more time with her. I don’t want to jump into this—into a physical relationship—when I know there is so much more I can share with this woman.

There is time for this connection to go beyond the physical, but for now, I need to not get wrapped up in the sensation of her being so close to me and rather seduce her mind instead. I. Want. Her. I want what Calder and Rachel have. I want the depth of trust and friendship I’ve seen in my parents’ marriage . . . How is that possible so soon? God, I want inside her, but I think I need inside her heart more than in her body.

Yes, I’m certifiable.

Completely.

“Can we agree on something?”

“Depends on what it is.” Her fingers trace up and down my spine.

Tracing her pattern, matching it with my fingers, I say, “Can we both acknowledge this unimaginable pull between us? Can we admit to ourselves that the physical is there, that we both would have no problem taking this relationship to the bed?”

“Easily,” she breathes out heavily, her fingers playing with the hem of my shirt.

“Can we also agree to wait?”

Sighing heavily, she rests her head against my chest, knocking it a few times with her forehead. “You’re killing me, Hayden.”

“I know but there have been too many times where the physical has taken the lead in developing a relationship and the communication has lacked. I don’t want that with you.”

“I can understand that.” She bites her bottom lip, her thoughts running a mile a minute in that pretty head of hers. “But what about . . . you know . . . when you have to leave, go back to Philly?”

I nod. “This is for then. So when I do go back, we’ll be okay. Because I can see a future with you, Adalyn, and that’s why I want to build something solid with you, something that can last. I want that chance. With you.”

“So when you return to Philly, you want to stay in contact with me?”

“Fuck yes, I do. And I’m going to have you sitting front and center at as many games as you can get to, especially since I’m trying to make hockey your favorite sport.”

“I don’t know.” She smiles. “That’s going to be one hell of a task to accomplish. Think you can handle it?”

“I know I can.” I press a quick kiss against her lips and then slap her ass, making her squeal. With a wink, I say, “Go get changed for bed, we have some making out to do.”

“Making out?” she asks, adding in a lift of that well-defined eyebrow of hers.

Acting stern and pointing my finger at her, I say, “Just making out. If you start with your wandering hands, I’m going to jet out of here, taking my body warmth with me.”

“That’s just cruel.”

“Then keep it in your pants, Adalyn.” Smiling wickedly, I go to the living room to grab my overnight bag, reprimanding myself with the same warning.

Keep it in your pants, Holmes.

For the love of God, keep it in your pants.

 

 

 

 

Born in New York and raised in Southern California, Meghan has grown into a sassy, peanut butter eating, blonde haired swearing, animal hoarding lady. She is known to bust out and dance if “It’s Raining Men” starts beating through the air and heaven forbid you get a margarita in her, protect your legs because they may be humped.

Once she started commuting for an hour and twenty minutes every day to work for three years, she began to have conversations play in her head, real life, deep male voices and dainty lady coos kind of conversations. Perturbed and confused, she decided to either see a therapist about the hot and steamy voices running through her head or start writing them down. She decided to go with the cheaper option and started writing… enter her first novel, Caught Looking.

Now you can find the spicy, most definitely on the border of lunacy, kind of crazy lady residing in Colorado with the love of her life and her five, furry four legged children, hiking a trail or hiding behind shelves at grocery stores, wondering what kind of lube the nervous stranger will bring home to his wife. Oh and she loves a good boob squeeze!

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Are you ready for your first look at Cameron McGregor? Check out an excerpt of MELT FOR YOU by J.T. Geissinger below! Preorder your copy now and get your hands on him when MELT FOR YOU publishes May 15th!

 

About MELT FOR YOU

A wallflower gets seduction tips from a playboy athlete—until love changes the rules.

Socially awkward Joellen Bixby has a date every Saturday—with her cat, a pint of ice cream, and fantasies of the way-too-handsome Michael Maddox. She’d give anything to win over the unattainable CEO of her firm, but how can she when she blends in so well with her cubicle? The answer may be closer than she thinks.

Cameron McGregor is a cocky, tattooed Scottish rugby captain who just moved in next door. He’s not Jo’s type—at all—but the notorious playboy is offering to teach the wallflower everything he knows about inspiring desire. Though a lot of women have rumpled Cam’s kilt, Jo is special. Far from the ugly duckling she thinks she is, in Cam’s eyes she’s sharp, funny, and effortlessly sexy. Now, thanks to him, Jo is blooming with confidence and has the man of her dreams within reach.

Unfortunately for Cam, he’s just helped to push the woman of his dreams into the arms of another man—and now he’s in the fight of his life to keep this beauty from getting away.

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Preorder your copy of MELT FOR YOU now: https://amzn.to/2qBO2AM

 

 

Read an Excerpt from MELT FOR YOU

“Remember to breathe,” he whispers.

“Just kiss me already,” I whisper back, surprised by how much it sounds like a plea.

“Your eyes are still open.”

I immediately shut them.

His soft laugh sends a thrill up my spine. “If only you were that obedient all the time, lass.” He lightly nips my lower lip, a dark, delicious little promise.

My hands. What do I do with my hands? They’re flattened against his chest again, but that seems lame, so I slide them up around his neck…and discover his hair. Good lord. Thick, glossy strands of hair slide like silk between my fingers. It’s longer than any of the men’s at the office, much longer than Michael’s, past the collar of his shirt, dark and waving, exquisitely soft.

As his tongue slowly begins to probe my mouth, I tug on all that gorgeous hair, forgetting I’m not supposed to be enjoying this.

I arch against him, softening, expanding, breathing deeply through my nose as the kiss deepens and begins to burn. I wasn’t kidding when I said he was experienced. He knows exactly what to do, how to get my blood sizzling and my heart hammering and all the pornographic images of him nude and splayed out like the best Christmas gift I’ve ever received pulsing like neon signs inside my head.

My nipples tighten. There’s a new heaviness between my legs, but it’s not him, it’s me, flushed and aching, every pull of his lips sending a spike of heat to that hollow space inside me that I’m becoming acutely aware of, its muted little howls of need.

I break away to check in before I lose myself completely and choke him with my prehensile tongue. “How’m I doing?” I mumble, flushed and out of breath.

His eyes drift open. Hot and dark, they pin me in place. “Jury’s still out,” he says, his voice thick. “Need more evidence.”

His mouth. I will drown in the pleasure of his mouth. I’ll die on this sofa and Mrs. Dinwiddle will find my body, fingers and toes chewed on by the poor starving cat.

The kiss grows decadent. Sinful. I moan, a desperate sound rising from the back of my throat. It has an interesting effect on Cam.

His entire body goes stiff.

He takes my head in both hands, breaks the kiss, and turns his face away. He breathes raggedly for a few moments, his nostrils flared and his jaw like granite. With his fingers pressed into my scalp, he says roughly, “You can’t make noises like that.”

Oh God. I sound like a warthog. A donkey. A trained pig, snuffling through the underbrush in search of truffles. “Okay.”

The humiliation in my voice makes his eyes slash to mine. “It’s not bad. It’s just…distracting.”

Distracting?

He slightly shifts his weight, and things are clarified.

I bite my lip so hard I might have drawn blood. My heart is a hummingbird beating frantically against a cage. I whisper, “You said you wouldn’t get aroused.”

He looks at my mouth like a warlord looking over a kingdom he’s just seized. “I lied.”

A kiss again, dangerous, like standing at the edge of a cliff and looking over, shifting dirt and rocks tumbling beneath your feet. My fingers twist in his hair. His hands move my head, left or right, however he wants it, a throbbing pulse like drumbeats in my ears. I’m so turned on I feel frantic, unstable, like I might break out of my own skin.

Caterpillar becoming butterfly. Chrysalis shed, wings outstretched, wind beneath my belly. Caught on an updraft. Beating, beating, flying free.

He breaks the kiss, suddenly, shatteringly, the separation like breaking glass. Dizzy, I whimper at the loss of his mouth.

“Fuck. Joellen. Fuck.”

He’s panting, his voice a desperate rasp. He radiates heat like a furnace. Even his hands on my head are hot, burning right through my skull.

With his scent in my nose and his heat wrapped around me and his heart pounding against mine, I’m somewhere else. I’m someone else. A gypsy, casting spells. A sloe-eyed singer in a smoky jazz club. A femme fatale in a film noir, all knowing smiles and long legs and a throaty voice with an edge like a purr.

“Don’t stop,” I say in my new voice. “You taste so good.”

He stares right at me, his eyes intensely aglow. Tiger eyes. Wolf eyes. The eyes of a predator about to pounce on his meal.

He growls, “You like the way I taste?”

There’s a challenge in the question. Other than his ragged breathing, he’s so still, every muscle tensed.

What’s happening?

I come back to myself abruptly, all at once aware of how far this little experiment has gone, how dangerously close it is to the point of no return, and the cat up on the kitchen table eating the remains of Cam’s dinner from his plate.

Oh shit. My face floods with heat.

I’m not a gypsy. I’m not a femme fatale. I’m an awkward, lonely woman sitting on the lap of the most famous athlete on the planet, making an utter fool of myself.

 

About J.T. Geissinger

A former headhunter, J.T. Geissinger is the author of more than a dozen novels in contemporary romance, paranormal romance, and romantic suspense.

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®. Her work has also finaled in the Booksellers’ Best, National Readers’ Choice, and Daphne du Maurier Awards.

Join her Facebook reader’s group, Geissinger’s Gang, to take part in weekly Wine Wednesday live chats and giveaways, find out more information about works in progress, have access to exclusive excerpts and contests, and get advance reader copies of her upcoming releases.

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