Lie With Me
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo / Google Play -- EXCERPT: “This is your chance at fifteen minutes of fame.” “I’ve already had mine.” Turning away from Nat with a sigh, he gave Emma’s hand a quick squeeze before letting go, and she immediately missed his warmth. “It’s someone else’s turn.” He’d had far more than fifteen minutes. She cocked her head and squinted against the low sun to look up at him. “Did you like any of it?” He laughed without humor. “Of course I did. All that attention, being treated like a superstar, it feeds the ego hard.” Removing his hat, he ran a hand through his short hair and tucked the cap into a side pocket on his shorts. “But I also hated it.” “How come?” She knew part of the answer. He’d once explained to her the unique pain of being wanted for his looks and what he represented—the fantasy he could fulfill—rather than for himself. Or just as bad, being wanted as a stepping stone to someone else considered even more desirable. Unfortunately, all of that had played into their breakup. Rolling his lips in, he hesitated. Before she could withdraw the question for being too nosy, he said, “Because there’s no privacy, no anonymity. You’re not a person anymore, you’re a commodity, an idea. Dumb jock, playboy, pretty face. Every party you go to, every stupid thing you do, people who claim to be your friends are taking notes, taking pictures, and looking for a way to take advantage. And that was before social media and a smartphone in every pocket.” He shuddered. “I can’t even imagine now.” “The dark side of fame.” She’d hated how much attention he got when they were out, especially from the women, many of whom had felt like they could touch him freely because he’d let someone put a picture of him in his underwear on a billboard. He glanced at her, maybe wondering if she was being facetious. “Obviously, it was a privilege to play football, and to have my tuition and everything paid. But there are a lot of expectations. By the time you and I met, I was mostly done with it, but football’s a full time job on and off the field. It’s not all roses and sunshine, and the modeling gig only exacerbated things.” “I remember.” As someone who now spent her life trying to go unnoticed, just the thought of being in the spotlight made her shiver. “So, what’s your excuse?” he asked. “For not wanting to be interviewed?” He nodded. She shrugged. “I’d rather write the story than be the story.” True enough. “And whoever was behind the shooting…I’d rather not be on their radar, you know?” Probably too late, but the sentiment stood. “Absolutely.” They walked toward the Altstadt—Lucerne’s old town—in silence, skirting around the growing crowd of bystanders and media, her gaze skimming for familiar faces or watchful eyes. After three years in the business, counter-surveillance was becoming automatic. Emma didn’t yet have a precise plan for getting the SD card from Jason, but she was surprisingly grateful for his presence. She had sat in cars with lecherous old men happy to take money to betray their bosses, met informants in sketchy places, and been the only woman in a bar full of handsy trust fund bros. She could’ve dealt with today’s events alone too. But thanks to Jason, she didn’t have to. They weren’t even talking about what had happened and she still felt better with him at her side. Guilty, and exhausted, and grumpy about having to lie to him, but…better. Yet she couldn’t get caught up in the moment. She had to get the drive—preferably without him realizing he’d ever had it—try to determine if he or anyone in Renfro’s orbit was involved in Viktor’s death, and then she had to disappear. With a sigh, she turned a corner and aimed for one of the less crowded cafés. Seconds later, a familiar face appeared in the reflection of a shop window and her pulse quickened. Go time.
GIVEAWAY! #Book Blitz #Castelon (The Wraithwood Trilogy) by Alyssa Roat #YA #Fantasy @Xpresso Book Tours19/3/2023
Castelon
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble -- EXCERPT: “A portal. Anything. I’ll take a bicycle at this point.” Dad frowned, leaning on his hands on the oval table, and barely looked up from the maps. “You’re not ready.” She clenched her fists and resisted the urge to lean against the opposite side of the table. That would just prove his point. A few wizards circled the work surface along with Dad, moving pieces, making notes. Most likely advisors or military leaders—probably not people she should be questioning his judgment in front of, but what choice did she have? “I’m walking, I’m standing—” “You’re hobbling and wobbling.” He straightened and waved a hand at a young man standing at attention along the wall of the office-like space. “Take her back to her room, please.” He gave her a stern look, accentuating the dark circles under his eyes, no doubt caused by the weight of bad news no one would tell her. “I’ll come see you in an hour. Where’s Marcus?” “I don’t know.” Her tongue took over with more impertinence than she’d ever leveled at him before. “I imagine he has better things to do in the middle of this war than make sure I don’t leave my room.” A few of the wizards shot each other uncomfortable looks. Dad sighed. “One hour, Brin. You can survive that long.” She followed the stiff young man back to her room, trying not to pant too much from the simple exertion of walking through the halls. Two days of consciousness had made for two days of monotonous pain heightened by the urgency stirring in her gut. She had to get back to Wraithwood. She had to find Excalibur. She had to stop this war, this slaughter, the destruction she had caused. When Marcus wasn’t hovering over her like an anxious mother hen, he’d been spending every moment in Dirklon’s—admittedly limited—library. Finding nothing. But Dad banned her from accompanying Marcus even there. “You go book crazy,” Dad had said. “I’ll find you climbing some shelf or forgetting to eat for a whole day in a research frenzy.” She wanted to protest that she didn’t do that. Except that she definitely did, and had, done that. More than once. So instead of book crazy, she went stir crazy, with nothing to think about but pain. Sometimes the magic in her veins ran hot, sometimes cold. Sometimes it seemed to push against her skin, threatening to explode. She dared not explore the deep, roiling mass within her like an acidic sea. “Here you are, my lady.” The young man gave a jerky bow. She focused, only now realizing they had stopped. “Thank you.” She pushed open the wooden door and shut it behind her, slumping against the surface, her scant muscles feeling like gelatin. “I thought we agreed you wouldn’t wander.” She scowled at Marcus where he leaned against the bedpost, arms crossed. He pushed to his feet and scanned her face. Unlike Dad’s, his expression was soft. “Brinnie. Please. There’s nothing we can do right now.” “So much for agreeing to a road trip.” She winced at her own sharp tone. “I’m still on board.” His tone remained even, unaffected by hers. “After you take time to rest and heal.” Tears formed in the corners of her eyes. She blinked them away. “I need to do something. Something to keep my mind—” She didn’t finish. To keep my mind out of that dark place. To keep it from returning to the dungeon, the battlefields, the screams… He placed gentle hands on her shoulders. “I know.” She took a shuddering breath. His unexplained voice in her mind, another mystery, should have concerned her, but it soothed her thoughts. She sighed and leaned against him for support. “Should I tell her?” Her head snapped up, almost knocking him in the chin. “Tell me what?” “Whoa.” He steadied her, expression sheepish. “You weren’t supposed to hear that. How about you sit down first?” She eased herself into the bedside chair. If she sat on the bed, she would be sucked into sleep. And she didn’t have time for that. “What do you know?” He sighed. “Things aren’t…great at Wraithwood.”
GIVEAWAY! Faking It With the Grump
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- EXCERPT: She looks suddenly nervous. “Okay, here’s the thing. I kind of told some people today that you and I are…well, that we’re…” When she doesn’t complete her sentence, I lean in and ask, “You and I are what?” She glances around nervously before she says, “Dating.” I straighten, shocked. As my brain tries to comprehend what she just said, I blink at her a few times. I need clarification. In my experience, beautiful women don’t usually go around telling people they’re dating you without your knowledge. Well, not sane, beautiful women, anyway. “Did you say you’ve told people you and I are dating?” I ask. She nibbles on her lip, reminding me of a rabbit. It only adds to her appeal. Despite my concern, she’s confirmed she’s not exactly sane. “I did warn you it was weird.” “That’s true, you did. But that doesn’t explain why, exactly.” She clasps her hands together, clearly uncomfortable. I’m overcome with the strangest sensation, wanting to reach out and place my hand over hers to reassure her it’s okay. I don’t. She takes a breath. “I know this makes me sound crazy. And I’m not crazy. Really, I’m not.” Said no crazy person ever. “I don’t know if you recognize me or know what happened, but even if you don’t, I really, really need you to pretend to date me because—” Wait. Pretend? Her eyes dart to something behind me, and before I fully realize what’s happening, she’s pushed the bar stool to one side, closed the distance between us, a decidedly wild look in her eyes. “Everything all right?” I ask her tentatively. “Okay if I kiss you?” she murmurs out of the corner of her mouth. I blink at her. “Now you want to…kiss me?” She nods, her eyes darting behind me and then back to my face. “That okay with you?” This gorgeous woman who smells like a meadow, the double threat, the woman who only just told me she wants to pretend to date me, now wants to kiss me. As confusing as this situation may be, I’d be an idiot not to leap at this. “Sure,” I tell her, the thought of having her soft lips pressed against mine making my belly clench. It would appear she’s not a woman to be told twice. Immediately, she pulls herself up onto her toes, places her hands at the back of my head, and before I can utter another word—like “why?”—she leans in toward me and kisses me. I don’t move for fear this is some kind of mirage. Not that I think mirages are all that common in Washington, what with it not being a desert. But seriously, this sort of thing doesn’t happen to me a whole lot. Or, you know, ever. And I’ll be honest, as far as kisses go, it’s easily the most surprising of my life, hands down. One second, she’s explaining to me why she wants me to fake date her, and the next she’s kissing me, like it’s no big deal at all. The problem is, for me to kiss someone like Harper Cole, it should be a big deal.
GIVEAWAY! The Rise of the Witch
The Rebirth
-- EXCERPT: PROLOGUE Thursday, March 16, 2023 10:49 p.m. Chicago, Illinois His time was up. He knew it. The bullet to his stomach had already soaked his pants with blood, and he could feel the warmth of it running into his shoes. He staggered among the tall trees, pressing a hand over the hole, but that only pushed the blood out faster between his fingers. He managed a few more steps, as though his body still believed it could survive—but he collapsed. His cheek scraped against the wet grass. Damp leaves froze his face. A bug jumped out of the ground, tickling his nostrils. His gaze climbed up the thick, naked tree branches. Far to the north, along Lake Michigan’s shoreline, vibrant lights fought to master the night sky, and eminent towers of steel and glass waved from the Loop. Thrusting with his legs, he lugged his body toward the lake’s edge. Less than ten feet away. Wet muck soaked his white shirt. His arms shoveled the ground, spoiling the blanket of green with deep, muddled brown lines. His hands sank into the soil, molding balls of dirt and grass in each fist. A muffled chuckle echoed from behind. The man who’d shot him stepped closer. Dermot Walsh always knew it would end like this—a lifetime of countless crimes had inscribed his name on a great number of bullets, but each had missed him. Till now. Maybe this disturbing feeling wasn’t exactly fear, but a sick curiosity about the person who’d end his days. He tried to roll his body over. The bullet burned, twisting in his gut. But the pain couldn’t hold him back. He had to see his executioner. He pushed his body up and finally turned. Pitch darkness consumed Burnham Park. Scattered pale lamps barely lit the hulking hitman who was approaching slowly, gun raking in his left hand. His chest suffocated in the tightly fitted suit—the buttons ready to hurl and his buff arms almost tearing the fabric apart. “Who are you?” Walsh tried to ask. The blood had filled his throat, and he coughed some of it over his chin. The hitman kneeled over him. His face lacked color, and hair including eyebrows or a beard. He was just a soulless, fey, creepy figure shrouded in the shadows. “Mr. Walsh.” The ghost’s voice was clear, steady. “We gave you everything, but you wanted more. For years we’ve waited to repay your vanity.” What? Those words … how could they be true? In his thoughts, a single name popped up--Jason. Something happened. The hitman raised his head, then scurried off, somewhere into the park. Walsh’s bleary vision offered nothing more than faint images: his BMW parked nearby. Through the half-opened, smashed rear door, the last member of his personal security detail was hanging, attempting to grab the gun in front of him. The other two were already corpses. Who was he? Walsh wondered. Harry? Jorge? It was impossible to recognize the man under the mask of dripping blood. “Ha, ha, naughty little piggy,” the bald hitman snickered, marching over to the bloody-faced man. Confused about what he’d just heard, Walsh thrust a hand into his jacket pocket, searching for his cell phone. He grasped it. He tried to--ugh, he didn’t have the strength. Unable to pull it completely from his pocket, he struggled to type the message. The screen was barely visible. His eyes were burning. All he could see was a white fog. He touched the screen with his fingers, but he couldn’t feel anything. He couldn’t even say if he was typing or if this whole attempt was just an illusion of his frigging mind. He strived to focus, but with each passing second, his senses surrendered to the cold hug of death. He had to make it. This was his only shot at naming his murderers. The mouth of the hitman’s gun made a dull sound as he pulled the trigger, taking the life of the bloody-faced man. Walsh didn’t have any more time. He hoped he’d keyed and sent the drafted message, though he feared he hadn’t. Steps gouged the ground as the hitman was pacing toward him. Walsh directed his eyes toward the lake. Its special beauty had always been a comfort to him, and now its peaceful waters were calling him with their serene song of silence. Gritting his teeth, he funneled every scintilla of his remaining strength into moving his damn hand. He couldn’t flex it, so he stretched it all the way to the right till it touched the cold water. He felt the need to groan, but air refused to enter his lungs. He plunged his hand into the water and opened his palm wide, praying that the cell phone had actually reached the lake, carrying the faith that the night wouldn’t end with his death. Instead, his death would be the beginning … Jason. The hitman stood before him, winking and aiming his gun mockingly. Then a thick cloud enveloped Walsh’s body.
GIVEAWAY! Revenge is Sweet
-- EXCERPT: “I thought I told you to go away,” I grumbled. “I’m hungry.” Miles chuckled. I snorted but turned around to see him leaning that long body next to me, amusement brightening his eyes. “You invited me to dinner, and I didn’t eat lunch in anticipation of a delicious meal.” “You heard Uncle Harry. He’s right, you know. You should be long gone by now.” “I did hear him. I know he loves you and knows you better than almost anyone. And it’s nothing I didn’t already know and say to myself as I was contemplating canceling meeting you tonight.” He folded his arms. “But I also heard you this week. I know you loved Dan and how badly he hurt you. And maybe you didn’t have that swoony type of love for Lindsey, but you knew her a long time. I’m sure you cared for her, and you were friends. It’s like losing a piece of yourself when you’re blindsided by someone you’ve known and cared about for so long.” He blinked rapidly, his eyes shiny and the brightest blue I’d ever seen. Was he crying? For me? That rocked me to the core. No one had ever shed a tear over my feelings. Scott, much as he cared, while angry over Dan’s cowardice, was pragmatic and matter-of-fact about the broken engagement. Even Uncle Harry, who I knew loved me, was easily able to put that aside and count my faults out one by one like jelly beans. Only Miles seemed to understand how broken and lost Dan’s behavior had left me. He took it to his own heart and felt my pain. And somehow, despite my outburst, my plan hadn’t gone awry. It wouldn’t take much to get Miles in my bed, and I grew hard, imagining what I could do to him. How I would wreck him for anyone else. I brushed at my lashes, surprised to find them wet. Damn, I was a better actor than I thought. “It’s so hard. Thank you for understanding. I don’t like how angry this has left me.” “I believe you. And I didn’t want to leave you, knowing how alone you must feel right now.” He hung his head. “I-I know what it’s like to be used.” His words cut through my dirty fantasy of having him naked in my bed. Curious, I tipped up his chin. “What happened?” He pushed away from my touch. “It doesn’t matter. It was in college. A long time ago.” My lips thinned. “My parents fucked Scott and me over left and right while we were kids. If it’s Tuesday, it must be home with Mother. If it’s Saturday, it’s time to be with Father. Oh, wait. He didn’t show. Back to Mother’s, but she’d already gone away with her new husband, so off to Uncle Harry’s we go. It was long ago, and yet I still think about coming home to find it empty, no one there, not even the housekeeper.” It struck me then that all my life, the people who should’ve stayed had left me. Over and over again. And Dan’s leaving me was the hardest to take of all. “That must’ve been hard on you and Scott.” Sympathetic big blue eyes met mine, and I wanted to kiss him. Not because of any plan of revenge or to make him fall for me. I wanted to kiss him because he was sweet and caring and understanding. He was Miles, and I wanted to kiss him, but I shocked myself by not following through because it didn’t feel like it would be right for him. I wanted him to want me. Steadier now, I managed to insert the key and open the door. “About that dinner. They can send it here. If you still want to eat with me.” His smile transformed the sadness in his face into shy happiness. I guessed it was a rare occurrence because in all the years I’d known Miles, I’d never seen it. It beamed from him like a torch lighting the darkness. And I liked it. “Yes. I do.” “Good. Come on in.” He gazed around my spacious office that had a large sectional couch, a big flat-screen television, and a dining table in the far corner. It was set up like a studio apartment, and there were many late nights before the wedding when I’d fallen asleep on the couch. “So is this what people mean when they say they’re entering the lion’s den?” Miles joked. “Should I be afraid?” I grinned. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”
GIVEAWAY! Hearthstone Queen
-- EXCERPT: “Corbyn Bruschard, you get your ass back in here.” “Sorry, babe, can’t do that right this second,” he called back. Oooh, he sounds so freaking smug! Glaring holes into the wall between them, Reyna crawled off the bed and found that her thigh muscles were attached to the weakness keeping her miserably needy. She’d just had an explosive, albeit interesting, orgasm. So, why did her body feel like it was still hanging on the brink? Reyna chalked it up to lingering effects that would eventually fade and began searching for her clothes. She ground her teeth every time she moved wrong and sent more tingling pulses of yearning through her core. Once she slipped her panties on, she felt a little better. Then, she slid into Corbyn’s dress shirt and buried her nose in the collar for a deep inhale as she left the room. Wandering into the kitchen, she pushed on one of the refrigerated drawers and smiled when it turned out to be the right one. Bypassing the beer, Reyna grabbed a bottle of water, impressed to find it was glass rather than plastic. Corbyn was an Eco-conscience architect. The man never stopped surprising her, and she was beginning to look forward to that. Reyna turned and jumped to find him standing at the end of the island counter watching her, his hands tucked into the pockets of gray, drawstring pajama pants. “Do you have to do that?” she complained with a hand over her racing heart. Her gaze traced Corbyn’s inked muscles and the mouthwatering cut of his hips that disappeared into the low ride of his pants. The only hair on his torso was the faint dusting of dark gold starting just under his navel, and her mouth flooded because she knew precisely where it led. The ache between her legs intensified. He was so damn yummy. “Yes,” he answered, a slight smile playing at the corners of his sexy mouth. Her observation had been a quick sweep. Corbyn’s gaze seduced her. That was the only way to describe the slow, nearly tangible study he took of her entire body. Reyna’s skin shivered, and her nipples beaded under the crisp fabric of his shirt. “Enjoying yourself?” she asked, attempting haughtiness. “Immensely.” He smiled. “I’m certainly enjoying the way you look in my shirt. Then again, I doubt there’s anything you couldn’t make appear inappropriate. Like it came from a sex shop instead of a tailor.” Reyna’s neck and cheeks heated. Damn him. Corbyn stepped closer, invading her space while daring her to move away. “Ever been inside of a sex shop, Reyna?” Her face blushed even brighter. Fold, girl, give up. You’re no match. “No.” His hands remained in his pockets, yet she felt the tease of him, nonetheless. “They’re remarkably enlightening.” “I bet.” Corbyn grinned, running his bottom lip through his teeth as he studied her with something close to smugness in his eyes. “How are you feeling?” Reyna shouldn’t have been surprised to hear him admit to leaving her needy on purpose, but she almost narrowed her eyes and demanded that he fix it. Instead, she shrugged, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. “Fine,” she lied, taking a sip of her water. Reyna tilted the bottle toward him since he’d watched her movements. “Thirsty?” Accepting it, Corbyn downed half the contents without taking his eyes off her. “Mmm, thanks,” he said, licking and sucking on his lips as if it had been liquid ambrosia instead. Handing it back to Reyna, he kissed her on the forehead. “I’m starving.” Reyna’s vision blurred as he stalked past her. She imagined strangling him and kissing him, but not necessarily in that order. “Hungry?” he asked. Yes. “Not really.” The hollow ache between her legs was almost unbearable, causing her thigh muscles to flex. If she could just squeeze her legs together really tight… Reyna almost gave in to that idea until she realized how ridiculous it would look, on top of giving Corbyn exactly what he was watching for. And he was watching. I’m going to kill him. Wait, I’ll jump him first, then I’ll kill him. The thought brought a smile to her face. “Something you’d like to share?” “Nope.” She quirked a brow at him in amusement, and that’s when she noticed what he was dishing up. “Ooh, ice cream?” “You said you weren’t hungry—” “I’m always hungry for ice cream,” she cut him off, her tone mildly chastising as if he should already know that. With a chuckle, he shook his head. “So, I heard,” he said, moving to the cupboard to get another bowl. “Though, we should discuss your habit of stealing others’—” “Thanks.” She flashed a sweet smile over her shoulder as she left the kitchen with the bowl he’d already dished up for himself. Reyna had to swallow her laughter at his shocked expression as he looked from her to the counter where his bowl had just been.
GIVEAWAY!
Shadows of Nightshade
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Kobo -- EXCERPT: I wasn’t sure why he thought he deserved any special rights to my time, but it was obvious that he believed he could do whatever he wanted. How did he become so arrogant? I opened my mouth to respond—which would probably have ended with me embarrassing myself—but nothing escaped. I stared at him, my heart racing, as I stood speechless. Then laughter—close enough for me to pick up—drifted over from the next row. The sound shattered the enchantment cast over me—how could I have forgotten our position—and my face burst with heat. How would this scene appear to anyone passing by? Damen’s eyes glinted mischievously. He must have had the same realization. “Let me go,” I hissed. But my whispered venom only encouraged him, and he smiled. My traitorous heart began to beat faster. “Someone might see us!” “Really?” His grin grew wider. This was the expression he’d had when we first met. “Then it’s fine if we don’t get caught? Consider it noted.” “No!” I was internally screaming, even though my words were a weak protest. “You can’t play around with students anyway.” Not that it mattered there’d be no games between us—ever. “You’re basically a professor.” “Ah.” He ran his finger down my cheek and I shivered. “But you’re not my student. I can’t help it.” His lips dipped slightly, and he tilted his head as his gaze continued to hold mine. “You’ve taken root in my mind.” How idiotic. I would bet my shoes that he said that to everyone. “Why are you so annoying?” I gritted out. Plus, what even was that line? It sounded like something from a cheesy romance novel. I’d be shocked if that ever worked for him in the past. Finn’s stupid, horny brother. He could go flirt with someone else. I didn’t even remember why I wanted his help anymore, because no matter how much I wanted to lean into his touch or melt under his scorching gaze, I wanted to poke him in the eyes that much more. What a quandary.
GIVEAWAY! One Bossy Offer
-- EXCERPT: “But I have to say, you’re scaring me, Cromwell.” I cock my head, searching her eyes. “You’re making me think you might have a heart bigger than a raisin.” I raise a brow. “Why would you say that? We were doing so well.” “Because you’re still a liar. You obviously loved Gram’s cheesecake. Why can’t you just admit it?” “Benson. Not me,” I bite off, turning away as my face heats behind my shadow of a beard. “I’m grateful for the heart-to-heart. Really. But all of this could have waited until tomorrow. You didn’t have to drag yourself over here so late,” she says. “The hell I didn’t.” The conviction in my voice surprises me. “I’m just glad I got here before Ace started working on your wiring.” I know I’m risking her throwing me out. I don’t care. When her eyes soften, I’m surprised. She scrapes her teeth against her bottom lip and moves closer. “And what if he does?” Her chin tilts up. Her face is already red as it comes as close to mine as it was on my boat that night I should have taken her lip with my teeth. I missed my chance once. Never again. Before I can ground myself, I grab her and throw her against the wall. My lips chase hers like a hunter. My tongue flicks against her soft lips ravenously, forcing her mouth open. I don’t have to try hard. She melts like her grandmother’s honey, all willing sweetness. Fuck, I’ve never tasted anything so sweet. And if I could ignore the hurt in my cock, the braising sting to take more, to take everything, I might never come up for air. I’m sure she’s caught in the same delicious pain. Her arms curl around my neck, pleading for more. I kiss her until I can’t, tearing myself away with a scorched breath. “Tell Ace to fuck off, kitten. No one—no one but me—ever touches you.” Every word makes me more delirious. I don’t recognize who or what the fuck I am saying this, spouting jealous demands I’ve never made to any other woman. But her eyes burn back into mine, green witchfire enchanting my soul. She nods, her nails dragging through my hair, urging my mouth back to hers. This time, it’s incandescent, a slow burn with a building hunger. Her tongue explores mine, and I meet her urgency, groaning into her mouth, filling her with the voice of my need because I can’t fill her with anything else. Not fucking yet.
GIVEAWAY! Every Bit a Cowboy
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- EXCERPT: Carley gestured to the kitchen island where she’d set out mini quiches, fruit, yogurt, and a mimosa bar. “Before we get started, you all make yourselves some plates. And I’ve orange juice and champagne if you all want mimosas.” “I’m down for that,” the third bridesmaid, who Carley didn’t recognize, said, as she strode into the kitchen and grabbed the bottle of alcohol. Already gorgeous, with her long blond hair pulled up in a ponytail, she wore a bright teal Western-cut shirt, jeans tucked into tall, embroidered cowboy boots, and a rhinestone-studded belt held together by a large, shiny rodeo championship buckle. “I may not be able to make fancy invitations or frost a million cupcakes, but I make a mean mimosa that will either land you on your butt or in the lap of a hot cowboy, and I’m making one for all of you.” Chloe nudged Carley. “That’s Stacey, Colt’s cousin. She’s a barrel racer, and the rumors you’ve heard about them are true.” “But you love me anyway,” Stacey said then let out a whoop as she popped the champagne cork. “Yes, we do,” Chloe agreed, laughing with her. “But I’ve already got my cowboy, and the last thing I need is to land on my tush at the wedding tonight, so make mine light on the champagne.” Carley laughed, even as she couldn’t help thinking about how she wished all it would take was a mean mimosa to land her in a certain hot cowboy’s lap. “I want you all to have a good time this morning. I’ll do Quinn’s and Tessa’s hair first, then work on the bride’s, and then finish with Stacey’s.” “Perfect,” Chloe said, accepting one of the mimosas Stacey was handing around. “Here’s to the bride,” Stacey called out, holding up the last glass. “Now, let’s get this party started.” An hour later, Carley was just starting on Chloe’s hair when the front door opened, and Knox walked in. He held up two boxes of Twinkies. “Who needs a little sugar?” “Oh my word,” Stacey squealed as she bolted off the sofa and charged towards him. “Chloe, you little devil. You got us a stripper.” She circled around Knox looking him up and down as she went. “And da-amn, is he ever a good-looking one.” She gestured to his service weapon. “Hey handsome, are you going to show us your big gun? Is it already cocked?” “What? No…I mean…this is a real gun,” Knox sputtered, putting his hand protectively over his holster. “I’m sure it is, baby,” Stacey crooned, leaning forward and giving him a little shimmy. “How much extra for a lap dance? Because I’ve got an hour still to get my hair real mussed up, and I’ve got money to burn.” “Stacey. Stop it,” Chloe said. “He’s not a stripper.” “Good try,” Stacey said. “Look at those muscles. I know a stripper when I see one.” She gave Knox the “Matrix come forward” gesture with her fingers. “Come on, baby, show us what you got.” Knox looked at Carley, as if hoping she’d save him. She’d never seen the deputy so tongue-tied, but he seemed completely flummoxed as he held up the cardboard boxes. “I just brought some Twinkies.” “We know. And we want to see ’em.” Stacey hooted then let out a long wolf-whistle. “Listen now,” Knox tried again. “I’m a deputy sheriff, and this is my official uniform.” “Great,” Stacey said. “Now take it off. Then can I touch your gun?” “What did I tell you?” Chloe said, shaking her head. “Barrel racers. You can’t take ‘em anywhere.” “Sorry ladies,” Carley heard herself say as she stepped around Chloe and in front of Knox. “This one’s mine.” Mine? Since when did she consider this man hers? Apparently as soon as some hot barrel-racer started flirting with him. Knox stepped forward and wrapped his arm around her waist. Either her declaration or the steadiness of his hand holding her hip must have given him some of his composure back because his voice changed back to his normal charming tone. “Yep, that’s right. I belong to this one. Sorry ladies. Carley’s the only one I’m stripping for.” He grinned down at her. “Too much?” he asked quietly, before turning back to Stacey. “And she’s the only one who gets to touch my gun.” Carley barked out a laugh then covered her mouth. “I knew I shouldn’t have had a mimosa.” “I haven’t had nearly enough,” Stacey said, heading toward the kitchen. “I’m making another round. You in for one, Mr. Official Deputy Sheriff?” Knox shook his head. “No thanks. I just stopped by to bring you all some snacks and to offer to help.” Carley’s heart melted a little. “Aww. That’s so nice of you.” “I was worried you would be having a rough time being out of your normal element and thought maybe I could do something. You already know my skills at washing hair. Do you need me to shampoo anyone?” “No thanks,” Carley said. “I appreciate the offer, but updos work best when you start with dirty hair.” “I’ve got dirty hair,” Stacey piped up. “In fact, I’m real dirty. So, you can shampoo all of me.” “Stacey, seriously dude, you have to stop,” Chloe scolded. “Knox is Carley’s fiancé. He is not a stripper.” “What?” Aunt Sassy asked from behind them as she pushed through the door of the bunkhouse. “You all got a stripper? I didn’t know you were getting a stripper. I would’ve skipped my dentist appointment entirely and come straight here if I’d known. Did he start yet?” She snapped open her handbag. “I know I have some cash in here. Do I need one-dollar bills, or do you think he can make change?” Chloe raised an eyebrow at Stacey. “See what you started?” Then she called out to the other woman. “Sorry, Aunt Sassy, there is no stripper.” “Dang,” she said, snapping closed her purse. “Is it too late to get one?”
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