March 24, 2017

Cover Reveal: The Negotiator by Avery Flynn

at 3/24/2017 12:30:00 AM 0 comments

Tasty Book Tours Presents....


THE NEGOTIATOR
A Hot Romantic Comedy
Avery Flynn
Releasing April 24th, 2017
Entangled Select



Wanted: Personal Buffer

Often snarly, workaholic executive seeks “buffer” from annoying outside distractions AKA people. Free spirits with personal boundary issues, excessive quirks, or general squeamishness need not apply.  Salary negotiable. Confidentiality required.

Workaholic billionaire Sawyer Carlyle may have joked he needed a “buffer” from their marriage-obsessed mom, but he didn’t need a waiting room filled with “candidates” to further distract him. (Thanks, bro.) But when a sexy job applicant shooes his mom and the socialite in tow out of his office, Sawyer sees the genius of the plan. And the woman. In fact, Miss Clover Lee might just get the fastest promotion in history, from buffer to fake fiancé…

This “free-spirit” might look like hot sunshine and lickable rainbows, but she negotiates like a pitbull. Before Sawyer knows what hit him, he’s agreed to give up Friday nights for reality tv, his Saturdays for flea markets (why buy junk still baffles him), his Tuesdays and Thursdays for “date nights” (aka panty-losing opportunities if he plays his cards right). And now she wants lavender bath salts and tulips delivered every Monday?

Yup, she’s just screwing with him. Good thing she’s got this non-negotiatable six-weeks-and-she’s-gone rule or Sawyer may have just met this match…



When Avery Flynn isn't writing about alpha heroes and the women who tame them, she is desperately hoping someone invents the coffee IV drip. She has three slightly-wild children, loves a hockey-addicted husband and has a slight shoe addiction. Find out more about Avery on her website, follow her on Twitter, like her on her Facebook page or friend her on her Facebook profile. Also, if you figure out how to send Oreos through the Internet, she’ll be your best friend for life. Contact her at avery@averyflynn.com. She’d love to hear from you.



March 23, 2017

Promo Post: Walk of Shame by Lauren Layne

at 3/23/2017 12:00:00 AM 0 comments

The City's HOTTEST Cold War!


WALK OF SHAME
a Love Unexpectedly novel
Lauren Layne
Releasing April 18th, 2017
Loveswept



Sparks fly between a misunderstood New York socialite and a cynical divorce lawyer in this lively standalone rom-com from the USA Today bestselling author of Blurred Lines and Love Story.

Pampered heiress Georgianna Watkins has a party-girl image to maintain, but all the shopping and clubbing is starting to feel a little bit hollow—and a whole lot lonely. Though Georgie would never admit it, the highlights of her week are the mornings when she comes home at the same time as her uptight, workaholic neighbor is leaving to hit the gym and put in a long day at the office. Teasing him is the most fun Georgie’s had in years—and the fuel for all her naughtiest daydreams.

Celebrity divorce attorney Andrew Mulroney doesn’t have much time for women, especially spoiled tabloid princesses who spend more time on Page Six than at an actual job. Although Georgie’s drop-dead gorgeous, she’s also everything Andrew resents: the type of girl who inherited her penthouse instead of earning it. But after Andrew caps one of their predawn sparring sessions with a surprise kiss—a kiss that’s caught on camera—all of Manhattan is gossiping about whether they’re a real couple. And nobody’s more surprised than Andrew to find that the answer just might be yes.



Georgie

Tuesday morning

Let’s talk about five a.m. for a second.

Also known as the worst hour of the day, am I right?

Here’s why:

If you’re awake to see five in the freaking morning, it means one of a few things, all of them heinous.

Scenario one: You’re on your way to the airport for an early morning flight. Heinous.

Scenario two: You’ve been out all night, and now your vodka buzz is fading, and you’re just sober enough to realize that the rest of your day will likely involve Excedrin, carbs, and indoor voices. Heinous.

Scenario three: You’ve got a crap-ton on your mind, and you’re lying awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, hating your life. Maybe hating yourself a little bit, I dunno, who am I to judge? Heinous.

Now brace yourself, because scenario four is the most heinous of them all: You’re awake at five a.m. because you’re an uptight prick whose schedule is even more rigid than your posture, and your life is an endless string of working out, the corner office, repeat. You’re also likely the type of person who subsists on protein shakes and kale smoothies, and you have been known to utter the phrase the body is a temple, thus solidifying what we already knew about you.

You have no friends.

But wait, I’m getting ahead of myself.

See, it’s five a.m., and I, Georgie Watkins, am . . . kind of excited about it.

I know. I know. Four months ago I’d have bet my favorite vintage Chanel bag that there was exactly zero chance I’d actually look forward to the ghoulish hour of five in the morning.

And yet here we are.

I guess you could say there’s a scenario five on reasons to be up this early.

“Good morning, Ramon,” I sing, pushing through the revolving doors of the luxury high-rise on 56th and Park, the place I call home.

The concierge/security guard/all-around good guy glances up and gives me a friendly smile. “Ms. Watkins. Good morning.”

Usually the massive front desk is a bustling, busy affair. Starting at around seven, an army of well-dressed concierges will be smoothly facilitating the needs of impatient residents, as tiny dogs let out sharp, high-pitched barks of greeting from their Louis Vuitton carriers.

But that’s later.

Right now, the luxurious lobby is mostly silent, with just the lone overnight guy working the front desk, holding down the fort until the day guys arrive to handle the morning crush.

My new Tory Burch clutch tucked into my armpit, I hold up the box in my hands and waggle my eyebrows. “Brought you something.”

Ramon’s smile grows wider, brown eyes lighting. “My wife says you’re going to make me fat.”

“Tell Marta that the dad bod is totally in style right now,” I say, setting the box of donuts on the counter and lifting the lid. “Unless, of course, you don’t want a maple bacon donut?”

Ramon is already reaching inside the box, shaking his head in reverence as he lifts the sugary treat. “Still warm.”

“Well, technically the shop doesn’t open until five, but I’m such a loyal customer, they let me in a bit early,” I say, surveying the array of donuts and trying to decide if I’m in a chocolate kind of mood or if I want to risk the powdered sugar one.

Since my Alexander McQueen minidress is black (the archnemesis of powdered sugar), I reach for the chocolate as I set my clutch on the counter and fish out my phone: 4:58 a.m.

Two more minutes.

“How’s Marta dealing with the pregnancy of baby number three?” I ask, taking a bite of the donut and shifting attention back to Ramon, who’s already polished off his donut and is contemplating a second. I nudge the box toward him.

“She’s good,” he says. “Excited that we’re finally having a girl.”

“A girl!” I say, reaching across the counter and squeezing his massive forearm. “Congratulations, I hadn’t heard!”

“Just found out yesterday,” he says with a happy smile, apparently deciding that the occasion calls for another donut.

“Oh my gosh, I have the perfect baby gift,” I say, nibbling at a piece of my donut. “I saw this adorable Burberry onesie in Bergdorf’s the other day, with this precious little red bow—”

“Yes, because that’s what every infant needs,” a low voice interrupts. “A four-hundred-dollar piece of fabric that needs to be dry-cleaned. Don’t be ridiculous, Georgiana.”

I don’t have to look at my clock to know what time it is.

Five o’clock.

On the dot.

Not even bothering to turn around, I roll my eyes as my red nails tear off another piece of donut and pop it into my mouth. “Ramon, do you think you could talk to maintenance about adjusting the temp? It just got a little cold in here.”

Ramon’s been working here long enough to know my request isn’t for real. He’s not even paying attention to me. He’s already set his donut aside and has straightened up, practically saluting the newcomer.

“Mr. Mulroney. Good morning, sir.”

“Mr. Ramirez.” The voice is low and serious, a touch impatient, although not quite rude.

You know that adage that you catch more flies with honey? I’m not so sure it’s true. I bring donuts to the front desk guys just about every morning, and they adore me. I know they do.

But they respect him.

Giving in to the inevitable, I finally let my eyes flick to the side, my gaze colliding with a stern brown scowl.

I put on my widest, sparkliest smile, only because I know it drives him crazy.

As always, I see a muscle in his jaw twitch as I flutter my eyelashes.

“Good morning, Andrew,” I say sweetly.

“Georgiana.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Only my late grandmother has ever called me that, and I’m pretty sure that’s because I was her namesake. Everyone else calls me Georgie. Well, okay, not everyone. Ramon and the other guys still insist on calling me Ms. Watkins, but I’m working on it. See: daily donuts.

I smile wider and push the box in Andrew’s direction. “Donut?”

His lip curls. In case you haven’t already gotten a read on this guy, he’s the type that sneers at donuts.

He lifts a boring black travel mug. “Already have my breakfast.”

“Blended-up quinoa sprinkled with a few bits of spinach and pretension?” I ask.

“Whey powder protein shake.”

“Sounds immensely satisfying.”

He takes a sip of the nastiness and watches me with cold brown eyes. “The body is a temple, Georgiana.”

There it is.

Full circle to my above commentary about what sort of people are up and about at five a.m.






Lauren Layne is the New York Times bestselling author of over a dozen romantic comedies.

A former e-commerce and web marketing manager from Seattle, Lauren relocated to New York City in 2011 to pursue a full-time writing career.

She lives in midtown Manhattan with her high-school sweetheart, where she writes smart romantic comedies with just enough sexy-times to make your mother blush. In LL's ideal world, every stiletto-wearing, Kate Spade wielding woman would carry a Kindle stocked with Lauren Layne books. 



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March 22, 2017

Release Day Blitz: Playing House by Laura Chapman

at 3/22/2017 12:00:00 AM 0 comments

She's a work in progress . . . He's a fixer upper . . .


PLAYING HOUSE
Laura Chapman
Releasing March 21st, 2017



She's a work in progress . . .

Bailey Meredith has had it. As an assistant at a prestigious interior design firm, she’s tired of making coffee and filing invoices. She’ll do just about anything to get out from under the paperwork and into the field for real experience. Then she sees an ad for a job that seems too good to be true.

He's a fixer upper . . .

Wilder Aldrich knew she would be perfect for the crew the moment he saw her. His hit home improvement show only hired the best, and Bailey had potential written all over her. It isn’t just her imaginative creativity and unmatched work ethic that grabs his attention. There’s just something about her.

With chemistry on screen, it’s only a matter of time before sparks fly behind the scenes as well. But with Bailey’s jaded views on romance and a big secret that could destroy Wilder and everyone he cares about, are either of them willing to risk it all for love?

Keeping a close distance, she followed Waverly up the cracked path to the house. Bailey took quick mental notes of her surroundings. The exterior needed a lot of work. The sagging roof missing gutters made her think they’d find the inside in similar disarray. They stepped through the front door, nearly tripping over Wilder Aldrich, who was measuring the entryway.
“Hey!” He sprang to his feet and out of their way. “What did I tell you about waiting until I gave you the all clear?”
“You were taking for-frickin’-ever, and some of us were freezing our tits off.” She pursed her lips and took on a warrior stance, seemingly daring him to say something else.
Conceding victory to her, Wilder turned and flashed an apologetic grin at Bailey. “Hey.” He offered a hand. Warmth permeated through the thin material of her glove. “Welcome to Casa de Waverly.”
Giving him a smug grin, Waverly sipped her coffee and faced Bailey. “Do you have a smart phone?”
Bailey stared blankly for a second, still dazzled by seeing Wilder up close. But she quickly snapped to attention and dug her phone out of her coat pocket.
“Good,” Waverly said after inspecting it. “While you’re on the job, I’d like you to snap some photos for our social media accounts. I’ll want to vet everything before we post it, but we need to start building the buzz for the next season while we’re filming. In exchange, we’ll cover your phone payments to take care of your data usage. Understood?”
“I can do that.”
“Good. Now . . .” She pulled out her own phone. It was the latest model that had come out on the market a month ago. With all of its reported bells and whistles, it put Bailey’s poor phone to shame. “I’m going to make a quick call. I’ll be back in a few minutes, and we can get started on,” she gestured around her, “this mess.”
She spun on her heel and waltzed out of the room, cooing into the phone.
Wilder cleared his throat, and Bailey turned to give him her full attention. She estimated he was only a couple of years older than herself—maybe in his late twenties or early thirties. He looked younger in real life than he did on TV. He was leaner and a little shorter—though she still had to crane her neck a little to meet his gaze.
He was also more handsome. Not the GQ model, your tongue-sticks-to-the-top-of-your-mouth kind of sexy. But he was hot in the same way the guy you sat next to in Chemistry was. It was enough to distract you from formulas and Bunsen burners every so often, but not enough that you’d ever set the lab on fire or forget to finish your final exam.
So far, he seemed much more serious. Where was the guy who scared Waverly with a stuffed dummy in a closet in the last episode she’d watched before calling an end to the marathon?
He was, she realized, studying her every bit as closely, with those hazel eyes speckled with green. Noting that, she didn’t feel quite as rude taking mental notes on the man in front of him.
At least she looked good. She’d laid out three outfits that morning in the hotel room. The first was a long, silky turquoise tunic that she’d paired with a pair of black leggings and knee-high boots. It was similar to the clothes Waverly favored on screen—only hers weren’t name-brand knockoffs. Then she had the casual jeans, a gray T-shirt that she could dress-up with a navy blue blazer. And there was option three: dark-wash, fit jeans, a chambray shirt, and a scarf. It was an ensemble that fell somewhere in the middle. It was the one that looked the most like her when she inspected herself in the mirror.
It was the one that felt most like her now in the middle of the foyer.
She wondered what he saw when he looked at her. Did he see a confident young woman ready to tackle major projects adeptly? Or did he see someone who was desperate to create, no matter what happened? Both were correct, but which one shone through right now?
Like a light switch, that triggered something in her. She offered her hand again. “We haven’t officially met. I’m Bailey Meredith.”


Laura Chapman is the author of First & GoalGoing for TwoThree & Out, and The Marrying Type. A native Nebraskan, she loves football, Netflix marathons, and her cats, Jane and Bingley. Connect with her online on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and her website.

March 21, 2017

Release Day Blitz: The Trouble with Bachelors by Caitlyn Blue

at 3/21/2017 01:58:00 AM 0 comments

The trouble with bachelors is you never know.


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




Falling for her sister's first love, how could that possibly go wrong...

Zach Thorne is supposed to be off limits. He’s her sister’s high school boyfriend and his love life is a revolving door of women. He’s also handsome, sexy and the one guy Emma Callahan has never been able to forget.

Now they’ve been thrown together as best man and maid of honor for her sister’s wedding and some serious sparks are flying. Zach is perfect wedding fling material until he starts to take their romance seriously. Now, Emma is left wondering: is he for
real or is she about to get her heart broken?

The trouble with bachelors is you never know.

“This was fun,” I murmur as his fingers coast over my cheek.
He tucks a lock of hair behind my ears and traces my jaw. It’s been a year since a man has touched me. And no one has ever caressed me like this. It’s like he’s trying to memorize my features. I’m enthralled. It’s hard to know what to do next, so I clutch my hands in my lap and stare at him. His eyes lock on my lips and I realize I’ve seized the lower one between my teeth.
His breath hisses out on a soft sigh. “Do you have any idea how sexy you are?”
“No.” It’s not the default word anyone uses when describing me.
“You are.”
How many women has he used this line on? Hundreds surely. He’s a player. A guy you sleep with not someone you date.
At the moment I’m standing at the line that separates the woman I am and the woman guys like Zach sleep with a few times and never call again. I can listen to my body and have several amazing orgasms to relive over and over, or I can listen to my heart, stay true to who I am and keep looking for a guy who can make me happy long term.
His fingers curve around the back of my neck. As he draws me forward, I ask, “Are you going to kiss me again?”
“I’d very much like to.”
This time his kiss is more direct. Firm and determined, he claims my lips and as his tongue darts forward, I open for him. He tastes like the striped peppermint candy we snagged on our way out of the restaurant.
The kiss quickly goes nova. Heat explodes in my midsection and lances downward as Zach’s hand curves over my knee. I clutch his shoulder, trembling with longing. Phrases spill through my mind. Naughty things I’d want to say to him. Images of taking him into my mouth again and making him cry out my name as he comes. I’ve forgotten that I’m not the type who has sex in cars. Right now, all I’m thinking is: yes, please, let’s do this.
Our tongues are dueling, my legs are parting and Zach’s hand is riding up my inner thigh when the phone in my lap buzzes with an incoming text. It’s close enough to my happy place that the vibration only adds to my arousal. I moan. Zach drags his lips from mine.
“That’s it, baby. Let me hear it.”
As his other hand dips inside my coat, fingers gliding over my breast, it’s easy to moan again. Damn, he’s good at this. Trembling with need, I bite my lip as the urge to whimper builds. I shift my hips as my clit perks up and starts crying for attention. If he doesn’t touch me there I’ll go out of my mind.
A second text follows the first or maybe it’s just that reminder that I haven’t looked at the first one. Either way, it feels great. So does Zach’s mouth on my neck. And is that his teeth? I open my thighs, silently begging him to go higher. He’s so close. I’m so close.
Buzz.
I’m panting. He’s sucking on my earlobe. Shit. That’s amazing. His thumb grazes my nipple.
Buzz.
Buzz.
The hand beneath my skirt reaches the elastic on my panties and I shift my hips, pushing into his fingers. Can he feel how wet I am? A little higher, please.
Buzz.
Buzz.
The vibration is so constant it’s like a sex toy and I’m so close to getting off. Just a little bit more. His finger brushes over the soaked crotch my panties. The lightest of touch and my body is electrified.
“Fuck,” he mutters, tracing over my hot, aching core a second time. “These are soaked.”
A garbled noise emerges from my throat.
Buzz.
Buzz.
Buzz.
Buzz.
And then Zach’s fingers are retreating and I groan in protest. “Um, do you need to get that?”
Get what?
Buzz.
Buzz.
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” I exclaim as Zach removes his lovely, clever hands from beneath my clothes.
He flops back against his seat with a hearty curse. Eyes closed, breathing hard, he shields his face as his shoulders move. Damn the man. He’s laughing.
Snarling, I pick up the phone and see at least a dozen texts from my cousins. Looking over at the house, I spy all three of them lined up at the living room windows. Well, what did I expect? I’m making out with Zach in front of our house. I might as well have set up a neon sign on the front lawn that says orgasms happening here. Almost happening…so close. A growl vibrates my chest.
“Your cousins?”
“Yes.”


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

 

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