Julia Kent's Blog, page 4
October 30, 2021
Shopping for a Turkey – Read Chapter One
Shopping for a Turkey features Scottish football player Hamish McCormick and Amy Jacoby as they navigate unusual cultural norms around American Thanksgiving, new traditions, and the undeniable attraction between these two characters who have been featured as minor players in Julia Kent’s New York Times bestselling Shopping series.
CHAPTER ONE
I’m sorry, Hamish, but the contract’s broken with Towelz2Teamz. No photo shoot, no ad campaign, no media appearances.”
My agent’s voice has a cringing tone, as if he thinks I’ll blow.
Might as well prove him right.
“WHAT? Why?” I scream into the useless glass screen of my mobile. I’m in a hotel room on the thirty-third floor in New York City after a three-day modeling shoot for a new kind of kinesiology tape, and check out is in forty minutes.
“Turns out the chief financial officer was embezzling from the company. Hid all the money in cryptocurrency. The Feds are sorting it out and T2T has decided to end all contracts.”
“Yer kidding!”
“Nope. I never kid about money. You know that. You get to keep the kill fee, though.”
“Kill fee?”
“They have to pay you if they cancel the contract.”
“I get paid not to work?”
Jody chuckles softly. “Basically.” His low voice drops a bit, as if I’m supposed to know this already.
“Then sign me up fer hundreds of these contracts and let ’em cancel!”
“It doesn’t work that way.”
“Dinna tell me it doesn’t. They’re canceling and I’m being paid.”
“It’s not the full amount of the contract.”
“How much is it?”
He quotes a pathetic figure. Still, it’s a figure I’ve done nothing to earn.
“That’s bloody awful! And I’m stuck now.”
“Stuck?”
“I’m here in New York. There’s some stupid American holiday coming up. I’m in the airline app on ma phone and there’s nothing. Nae seats on flights home.”
“No seats at all, or no cheap seats? I do not understand your obsession with flying coach. For a guy your size, it’s like human origami.”
“If it’s ma own money, I fly economy. And I even looked at business class. Three thousand dollars fer a seat! And that’s just New York to London! If I’m spending three thousand on a seat, it better be a good shag and cook me breakfast in the mornin’.”
“It’s Thanksgiving weekend. Today is Tuesday. Everyone flies the Wednesday before. Good luck finding a seat in coach.”
“I’m giving thanks to nae one fer this, Jody. Get me home.”
“I can’t. Book first class.”
“The damn towel company should arrange fer ma ticket home to Scotland.”
“They aren’t required to.”
“Damn it, Jody! I told ye–”
“Cool your jets, Hamish.”
“I have nae jets! That’s the problem! Get me on a jet across the pond to where I belong!”
“It’s an expression. Means calm down.”
“Why the hell would I be calm right now when I just got screwed?”
“Before you blow a gasket, I also have good news. There’s another contract.”
“Well, why in bloody hell didn’t ye lead wi’ that? Ye start with the good to soften the blow from the bad.”
“It’s not the greatest offer. I knew if I started with it, you’d reject it.”
“But now that I have nae options, ye think I’m desperate enough to say yes to anything?”
Silence. I get nothing but silence from Jody.
My long sigh betrays me. “Jesus, ye know me well.”
“Right. It’s in Boston.”
“Nooooooo! Why is all the work up there?”
“What’s wrong with Boston? I thought you had relatives there.”
“I do. They’re all a bit crazy, though. Rich buggers, the lot of them. The minute ma uncle James learns I’m in town, he’ll be using me as his wingman.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“The guy’s older than Solomon and thinks he’s ma age.”
“Well, that’s the thing–the contract is because of James McCormick.”
“What?”
“He reached out. Said his company is looking for a spokesman for some of their properties. Boston is such a sports town.”
“Boston has nowt to do with football!”
Did ye know ye can hear a man choke on his coffee through a phone? Either that, or Jody swallowed his tie.
“Have you heard of a little football team called the Patriots, Hamish? Six-time Super Bowl champions?”
“That’s nae football. That’s a bunch of overpaid men in tights chasing a coohide turd.”
“Stephon Gilmore earned $13 million last year, plus bonuses, for chasing a turd in tights.”
“I’ll be damned. Maybe I’m playing the wrong kind of football. But mine isna misnamed.”
“Soccer, Hamish. It’s called soccer here.”
I make a sound.
It’s not a polite one.
“I know damned well what it’s called, but that doesna make it right. Just because ma gran called Da her baby doesna make him wee again.”
“The negative attitude doesn’t sell product, Hamish.”
“I’m never selling American football, Jody.”
“I’m not talking about endorsements. You’re the product you’re selling. Don’t forget that.”
“I thought I was selling ma football skills.”
We both laugh heartily at that.
“Speaking of your skills, there’s a nude photo shoot coming up for Peak Performance Magazine. You ready?”
“If by ready, ye mean have I plucked all the mutant escape hairs off ma body and done a bowel cleanse formulated with more precision than a chemical engineer uses at a pharmaceutical plant, then na.”
“No?”
“The shoot’s in two weeks. I’ll do a shred and cleanse before then.”
“Right. Makes sense. You’ll stuff yourself silly at Thanksgiving, anyhow.”
“Why?”
“Why?”
“Is there an echo, Jody?”
“People eat until they can’t fit in their pants, Hamish.”
“And then what? A post-prandial orgy?”
He sighs. “You really know nothing about our Thanksgiving?”
“Battle of Culloden.”
“Huh?”
“What do ye know about the Battle of Culloden?”
“Uh, nothing.”
“There ye go. Don’t be smug with me for no’ knowing about some day when ye all worship turkeys.”
“That’s not what Thanksgiving is about.”
“What, then?”
“It’s celebrating the settlement of the English colonies in America. We eat turkey, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, sweet potatoes, squash–”
“Ye go into the woods and find a big bird and kill it?”
“We buy them at the grocery store.”
“That’s no’ as exciting.”
He laughs. “Nothing’s ever exciting enough for you, Hamish. You’re an adrenaline junkie.”
“That’s just another term for footballer.”
“Absolutely.” A buzz in the background makes it clear he has a text on his other phone. Jody carries three. I half expect two are for wives he’s hiding from each other, and the third is for work. “Gotta go.”
“Right.” I sigh. “Nae way home?”
“Charter a jet.”
“Canna afford it.”
“Then take the Boston contract.”
“Fine. But James McCormick uses me as eye candy.”
Another silence ensues.
“Eye candy?”
“Aye.”
“Eye or aye?”
“Yer saying the same word, Jody.”
“E-Y-E or A-Y-E candy?”
“E-Y-E. The other doesna make sense.”
“Neither one makes sense. How does he use you as eye candy?” He begins to choke. “Is it–are you and he..?”
“DEAR GOD, nae!” I thunder out. “He’s ma uncle! And he’s ancient!”
“Right. Of course.”
“Besides, he’s no’ ma type.”
“You have a type when it comes to men?”
“Ha. Na. I like women. James is fine for an uncle, but he’s a bit of a priggish braggart.”
“Then how is he using you as eye candy? I thought you said he turned you into his wingman.”
“Same thing. He brings me around fer attention. I do draw a crowd, ye know.”
“You sure do, and I hope that continues forever. Your looks are moving the money needle in the right direction.”
“But it all starts with ma footwork.”
He coughs discreetly. “Of course.”
“I think James brings me places so he gets attention.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Nae one likes to be used.”
“Use him back. Take the contract.”
A flash of Amy Jacoby, that sweet young firebrand who’s the sister of my cousin’s wife, makes Boston more appealing.
“Fine. I’ll sign. Canna be worse than anythin’ else I’ve done.”
“I forgot to mention the hot dog costume.” His voice makes it clear he’s joking, but for the right price, I’ll wear damn near anything.
“A sexy dog? I’m no’ into fetish work, Jody. Ye know, even I have a line.”
Jody’s heavy sigh comes through loud and clear. “Good luck getting back to Scotland, Hamish. I’ll let McCormick’s people know it’s a go.”
The call ends and I go back to the airline app, running a frustrated hand through my damp hair. Fresh out of the shower, I was packing up when Jody called. Now I have to check out, find something to do and a way to get to Boston, and be in limbo while Jody talks to James’ people.
My stomach growls.
And I need lunch, too.
What I need more is a personal assistant.
Auburn hair a few shades darker than mine, attached to a snappy mouth and a fine, lush body, comes to mind.
I wonder what she’s doing now?
It’s the call no one ever wants to receive.
You know the one.
Where your father tells you your mother broke her leg while they were having wild sex?
Right. That one.
I’m at the gym, thirty minutes into a stair machine that’s destroying my glutes, and it feels so good. Burning off nervous energy from turning in huge projects for my MBA has become a ritual.
Group projects are the worst. Half the people don’t listen, everyone wants to be a visionary but not an implementor, and the posturing for status makes my teeth ache.
Cursed by an intuitive sense for optimization, I am usually left being visionary, implementor, and coffee deliverer.
And I can’t help myself.
So here I am, at the gym at one in the afternoon, just after the lunch rush, working out my stress hormones, feeling them leak out of my pores in the form of sweat, when an innocent ring tone upends everything.
“Amy, honey, before you worry, your mother is just fine. We’re at Metro Hospital. She’s being taken into x-ray. They’re pretty sure her leg’s broken,” Dad explains, sounding weirdly contrite.
“Dad? What? What happened? Broken? How?”
Silence. Dead silence. Creeping into my senses, my dad’s hesitation makes my skin prickle.
“We had an unfortunate accident.”
“Car accident?”
“No.”
“You… tripped?”
“No.”
“DAD!!”
“We were in bed.”
“In bed? How did Mom break her leg in bed–ohhhhhhhh.”
“It’s–I don’t want to get into it. But I need your help.”
“Okay.”
“I need you to call Marco Aleandro.”
“The carpenter?”
“Yep.”
“Why?”
“There’s a problem with the ceiling beam in our bedroom.”
“Wait. Whew. So, the beam fell on Mom while you were in bed sleeping?”
“Not quite.”
I don’t like the direction this conversation is taking.
“The beam cracked in half and fell on you two while you were watching television in bed?”
“Um… not quite that, either. And I need you to remove the swing before Marco arrives. The ceiling hook might have caused the problem.”
“Swing? I thought you said you were in your bedroom. What does the swing set in the back yard have to do with this?”
His pause feels like falling over a cliff into a black hole.
There’s nothing you can do about it, it’s endless, and you’ll never be the same again, no matter where you end up.
“Um,” he says, lowering his voice. “It’s actually a sex swing.”
“DAD!”
“The beam might be cracked, which is an expensive repair, and when we heard the creaking sound, your mother panicked and began twisting. Then I lost my footing and Marie pivoted and–” His voice cracks a little. “I didn’t know a penis could bend like that and not snap clean off.”
“ENOUGH!”
“Sorry, honey. But you asked.”
They say couples start to take on each other’s attributes over time. Mom is definitely rubbing off on Dad.
In more ways than one.
Excuse me while I go puke.
“Amy? I’m really sorry.” Dad sounds mortified, his voice hoarse, the ends of words dropping off into sighs. “But before you call Marco, get the swing off the hook and put it in the closet. He’ll let me know how bad the damage is. Plus, he’s a sheetrock guy, and there’s definitely some cracking in the ceiling. How close are you to home?”
“I’m at the gym.” I grab my keys and water bottle off the machine I’m standing on. Thankfully, it’s quiet here, and no one’s super close to me. This is a conversation best kept private.
“At the gym? Good for you. You always were disciplined, kiddo.”
Apparently, I was at the gym. I see how my afternoon is going to go.
Cleaning up my parents’ messes.
“Great! Five minutes away. Could you do this… now?”
“Of course.” I’m already halfway across the cardio floor, headed toward the glass double doors.
“And set up the pull-out couch.”
“Huh?”
“Your mother broke her femur. She won’t be able to use stairs for weeks. We’ll have to create a makeshift bedroom for her in the living room.”
“Poor Mom.”
“Yeah,” Dad says. “And can you let Shannon and Carol know? Just leave out the sex swing part.”
“Oh, I promise. Last thing I want to do is talk about your sex life with my sisters.”
His chuckle makes my stomach hurt.
“No one likes to think about their parents like… that.”
“No one likes to be asked to move their parents’ sex swing off a hook because they broke the house frame, Dad. You owe me for some therapy bills.”
“Add it to our tab. I think we’re up to the year 2076 for your sessions.”
“Fifty-four years isn’t enough.”
A long pause comes next, stretching like emotional taffy, the hesitation clear even though I can’t see Dad.
Then I realize what he’s about to ask.
It’s a big ask.
“Um, any chance you could stay with us at the house?”
“I am staying at the house, Dad.”
“I mean, through the entire long holiday weekend? I know you have your place in Amherst, but I could use the help.”
“It’s okay, Dad. I’m here anyhow. No problem staying until Sunday.”
Mumbling comes through on the phone, then Dad’s rushed voice. “You’re a doll. Gotta go. Thanks for handling this, honey.”
I stare at the phone for a second and then open my texts, creating a new message between Shannon, Carol, and me.
How do you even begin to describe this?
The direct route is best.
Mom broke her leg while she and Dad were having kinky sex. They’re at the hospital, I type and send.
Instantly, three dots appear. And then:
Mum and Da haven’t had sex in years, ye silly fool. Quit joking, Shannon replies.
Or at least, I think it’s Shannon.
What? I type back, staring dumbly at the reply.
The prank isna even guid, she answers. Try better. Grease a guinea pig and put it under the sink where Mum keeps the cleaning supplies.
Mum? Da? Why is Shannon writing so weirdly?
This isn’t a joke! I type back. Mom broke her leg while she was hanging from a sex swing in their bedroom. I now know way too much about how Dad’s penis bends, too.
Three dots appear. Oh, goody. What’s next?
Now ye’ve gone too far. Da has nae todger and ye know it. Mum keeps it tucked nicely in her sewing box wi’ her escape-the-marriage money.
Shannon must be drunk. That’s literally the only explanation I have for this. Todger? Come on.
Or Declan is punking me. Except he’s not the type. That wouldn’t be an efficient use of his time.
A red wall of pure rage fills me as I pull up the contact info from the text stream and call her. I hate this phone, something Mom got on a mystery shop. The font is huge, and the screen only shows last name, first initial.
The ring stops as the call is picked up, and I shout before she can say a word, “Are you drunk? What are you babbling about? Mom actually broke her femur and you’re going on and on and–”
“Who the hell is this? C’mon, Darren. Ye can do better. Ye got an American girl tucked in that hovel of a bedroom of yers and ye’re using her to prank me? I’ll tell ye what, pet, dinna look under his bed. The socks are balled up fer a reason. They died of sheer exhaustion.”
“SHANNON?”
A pause.
“Ma name is Hamish McCormick. Not Shannon. Are ye with ma brother Darren?”
“This is Amy. How the hell are you on the phone with me, Hamish? How did you get Shannon’s phone?”
“Hello, Amy. What’re ye nattering on about? Ye called me.”
Ding!
I look at the screen. Text from Carol.
I knew it would happen eventually, but I thought it would be Dad who died during kinky stuff. Meet you at the hospital as soon as I can. BTW that’s not Shannon’s number.
“Hamish?” I squeak, cursing this stupid phone. How did I call him?
“Aye. And who’re ye again? Amy? Darren has a new American girlfriend named Amy?”
“I have no idea who Darren is. This is Amy Jacoby. Shannon’s sister. Declan’s sister-in-law.” It seems silly to explain myself to him. We were paired in my sister’s wedding, walked down the aisle together as bridesmaid and groomsman. Before the wedding, Hamish booty-called me at three a.m. to talk about “how to use my hands on you.”
So if I’m overexplaining myself, it’s a purely defensive posture intended to distract him from the fact that I’m the idiot who accidentally called him.
“Aye. I know who ye are. Caller ID, ye know?”
“Then why did you pretend you didn’t know who I was?”
“Because it was more fun that way.”
“That’s rude.”
“In fact, I was just thinking about ye, Amy.”
“Really? It’s not three a.m., Hamish. Your timing’s off.”
Silence, then a burst of deep laughter that makes me hotter than an hour on the stair machine.
“So ye do remember.”
“And why would you be thinking about me right now, Hamish?”
I slide behind the wheel and shove the key in the ignition, but stop myself from turning it. Driving while talking to an egotistical jerk who I’ve just accidentally told a very private detail about our family is only going to get me into an accident. I don’t need to add yet another way that Hamish McCormick infuriates me.
His long pause is driving me nuts.
And then he says, “Oh, nae reason. And now I see it’s fate.”
“Fate?”
“Ye texted me about yer poor Da’s willie. It’s fate that it was me, and nae some stranger that would embarrass him even more.”
“Embarrass him?”
“Nae man wants his daughter running around talking about his todger.”
“I didn’t do this by choice!”
“And I’m sorry about Marie. Broke her leg?” I feel his shudder through the phone. “That’s the kiss of death fer footie players like me.”
“Then don’t have kinky sex and you’ll be just fine.”
“I’d rather give up ma leg than give up the kinky good stuff.”
The leer in his voice isn’t as sickening as it should be. In fact, it’s…
Making me blush.
Hamish McCormick represents everything I cannot stand in a man. He’s full of himself. Cocky. He approaches life with a blithe attitude that takes nothing seriously except pleasure.
What kind of life is that?
“I must say, Amy, that I’m surprised ye still have ma number in yer contacts. That says something, nae?”
Through gritted teeth, I answer, “All it says is that we were in Shannon and Declan’s wedding together and I added it for emergencies.”
“Sure,” he says, drawing the word out. “But the wedding was years ago, and ye kept it?” A suggestive tone in his voice, flirty and light, makes my skin tingle. I don’t want to like him. I truly don’t.
But he has a point. Why didn’t I delete him?
“Amy?”
“What?”
“Yer beamin.”
“Beaming?”
“Ach, what’s the word ye use? Blushing?”
“How would you know?”
“I can feel yer heat through the phone.”
“Shut up!”
His laugh makes heat rise from every pore of my skin. Maybe he did feel it.
“Ye clearly miscalled me. Who’re ye trying to reach?”
I put the phone on speaker, searching contacts.
Aha! I’ve mistyped Shannon McCormick as Hannon, the missing S putting her next to Hamish McCormick. I never should have accepted a free phone from one of my mother’s mystery shops. A simple font problem and bam!–I’m on the phone with a talking testosterone syringe.
I quickly correct my error. Like all humans, I make mistakes.
Unlike most humans, I make them once, learn from them, and never, ever make the same mistake twice.
“I had Shannon in my contacts without the S. You’re next to her, alphabetically,” I explain.
“Ach. Good. Because when I thought it was ma younger brother texting about Da’s todger, I figured he went on a bender.”
“I noticed.”
“But if it’s ye talking about a boaby, that’s an entirely different matter.” Voice dropping low and rich at the end, Hamish’s innuendo ignites parts of me that have been in hiding for years.
Some of them, forever.
I have two options here: stammer or attack. I go for the latter.
“You are nothing but an uncontrolled impulse on two legs,” I snap back. “Do you think about anything other than sex and soccer?”
There’s a brief pause.
“It’s football.”
“No one is that shallow.”
A throaty laugh, rumbling with the lilting tones of his Scottish accent, makes it that much harder to resist him. “If ye mean do I think o’ naught but sex and football, I am justly accused.”
“You are ridiculously infuriating.”
“So much passion in ye fer me, Amy. I like that. I like it verra much.”
I can practically hear him wink.
“There’s more to life than sex and football!”
“Is there? I hadna noticed. Right now, ye’ve an abundance of both.”
“WHAT?”
“Yer parents’ sex life, and me, the footie player.”
“You? There’s no abundance of you in my life!”
“We could change that.”
“Oh, no. No, no, no. I’m not falling for your lines, mister. I know what you are.”
“What am I?”
“Dangerous.” The word’s out of my mouth before I can stop it.
Hamish’s laughter fills my ear as I end the call.
Heart slamming in my chest, I press the phone against my breast.
It rings. I answer.
“I will never, ever, EVER sleep with you, so don’t even try your flirty bullshit on me,” I snap into the phone.
“Uh, sweetie? It’s me,” my dad says meekly.
Oh, hell.
“I–sorry, Dad! I thought you were Hamish.”
“Hamish McCormick?”
“Do we know any other Hamishes?”
“No. But…”
“I don’t want to talk about it. How’s Mom?”
“She has a cast, a lot of pain pills, and she’s muttering something about using cornstarch instead of flour when you make the gravy.”
I inhale sharply. “That’s blasphemy. Are you sure she didn’t have a brain injury when she fell? Mom never uses cornstarch!”
“I know.” He lowers his voice. “I think the accident has altered her somehow.”
“Jason!” I hear through the phone. “Who’s that?”
“It’s Amy,” he answers. A shuffling sound makes it clear I’m being handed off.
“Hi, honey,” Mom says, voice dreamy and a little slurred. “Your dad and I made a boo boo.”
“Right.”
“Can you take care of Chuffy? He needs to pee.”
“Of course.”
“Your dad hurt my chuff when we were playing trapeze, like in The Greatest Showman. You know the really bendy woman in that movie? Turns out I’m not like her.”
“Mom. MOM! I have to go. Love you!”
Pressing End Call never felt so good.
Bzzz
On my way in two minutes! It’s Carol. She started a new group text, this time with Shannon’s actual number.
This sounds bad. Let me guess: sex swing? Shannon texts.
How did you know? I reply. Dad asked me to remove it before anyone sees it.
Carol made a bet with me six years ago that one of them would die via sex swing, she types back.
Who bet on death? I ask, sidetracked.
Carol sends a thumbs-up emoji. You owe me $100, Shannon, she adds.
Nope! They’re alive. We said death, not dismemberment or broken limbs.
Cheapskate. Amy, I’ll clean up the house if you go to the hospital with Shannon and handle the Mom interface.
I pause.
And pause.
And pause for so long, Carol finally texts: Hello?
Still trying to decide which is worse, I finally answer: Sure.
The screen erupts with GIFs I don’t want to even try to describe, but most of them involve sex swings.
Leave it to my sisters to find those.
And every single one of them makes me think of Hamish.
Damn it.
Get your copy to keep reading and look for Shopping for a Highlander, coming in January!
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October 20, 2021
Ready to pull Hamish’s wishbone?
I’ve been cackling as I write Hamish and Amy’s “hate to love you” relationship. He’s a flirty hoot, she’s wound a wee bit too tight, and they’re perfect for each other.
Whether they realize it or not.
It’s my job to make them realize it, right? LOL.
Here’s a little sneak peek of what you can expect:
He’s been in his birthday suit on sports magazine covers. Done endorsements for regional breweries and energy bars. I know from Declan that he’s close to making it big.
He’s already big.
My eyes dart to his feet.
How big is he?
Heat fills me at the thought, a combination of self-loathing and desire. Which is nothing new for me when it comes to Hamish McCormick.
Why did he have to be here? Now? Of all times, when Mom has a broken leg, Declan’s brother Terry is filling in for her as yoga instructor, and we’re already in disarray? I’m finally finishing my MBA, working another co-op at a venture capital firm. My last one was disrupted by scandal after the high-profile associate gunning for partner turned out to be married to a massive conman. I think I might have gotten my new co-op just for my potential gossip supply.
But my life is smoothing out now. It took me eight years to earn my bachelor’s, but with Declan’s help, the MBA has been full time, which is so much easier. I’ve told him straight out I don’t want any favors, and I refuse to work for Grind It Fresh! Or Anterdec. No nepotism.
Though I’ll certainly network and accept help making connections.
I’m on the cusp of a new life, moving into adulthood at last. I finished a major project yesterday, excited for the Thanksgiving break. I was at the gym, fresh off submitting my group work to our professor, when Dad called about the –
Well. You know.
And now Mom and Dad broke her leg and half their bedroom, my sisters and I have to manage Thanksgiving dinner from scratch, and I can’t stop ogling Hamish’s backside.
That’s too much input.
“Let go of troubling thoughts,” Terry says in soothing, deep dulcet tones as we do triangle pose, our breathing syncing with slow movement. Hamish’s arms stretch out and down. He has muscles on top of muscles, with fine ginger hair all over his arms, darkening as it tapers to his wrists. When we all go into a partial squat, his hamstrings pop like cello strings under his skin, each tiny muscle and tendon in stark relief across a body I could watch forever.
Too bad he has the emotional maturity of a hedgehog.
And that might be giving him too much credit.
“Fine form,” Hamish whispers to Shannon, who blinks fast.
“Thanks. I’ve been doing yoga on my lunch breaks. Even fifteen minutes makes a difference.”
“Aye. People think it’s about doing long workouts but smaller amounts of time really do add up.”
Insane–they’re driving me insane. How can they just idly chat like that while every inch of my skin is on fire? Every breath turns into a proto-orgasm as I watch him stealthily.
Or maybe not stealthily enough. He turns around, catches me watching, and winks.
I hate this. I hate reacting to him like this. I hate that he knows he’s doing this to me, and he revels in it. I hate that he’s so smarmy and overconfident and…
Tantalizing.
I’m going to assume that when all the blood in my body rushes to the surface of my skin and between my legs, it means my IQ drops a bit; lack of oxygen to the brain is the only explanation I have for finding him so attractive. This is a purely physiological response, driven entirely by evolution.
This is not my fault.
He’s big and strong, and his physicality signals virility and protection. Biology is an amazing science, its processes optimized to drive us to reproduce.
My blushing, my throbbing, the zings running across my arms and legs–it’s just electrical impulses, a response shaped over hundreds of thousands of years to produce the right outcome: hot, sweaty, reproductive activity to repopulate the earth.
It’s really just that simple.
I don’t emotionally desire this guy. Not one little bit. My heart isn’t attracted to Hamish McCormick.
My eggs are.
Bad ova. Bad, bad ova.
Preorder your copy today!Amazon (all countries): https://geni.us/SFAT_AznALLApple Books: https://geni.us/SFAT_AppleKobo: https://mybook.to/SFAT_KoboNook: https://geni.us/SFAT_NookGoogle Play: https://geni.us/SFAT_GooglePrint: https://mybook.to/SFAT_AznPrintAdd to your Wish List on Bookbub: https://geni.us/SFAT_BookBubMark “Want to Read” on Goodreads: https://geni.us/SFAT_GoodreadsOctober 8, 2021
Seven Random Series titles now on audio
Powerhouse narrators Sebastian York, Andi Arndt, and Tad Branson are back, as books 5, 6, and 7 are in audiobook form now.
Random Acts of Yes came out last month, a short story that’s a proposal romance, with a funny case of mistaken identity thrown in ;).
Random Acts of Love and Random Acts of LA just released. In Random Acts of Love, Darla, Joe and Trevor break up as they face admitting who they really are to their parents, but when the guys chase Darla in Ohio to win her back and beg for a second chance, the story really deepens.
Plus, who doesn’t want to listen to the infamous “Darla glued herself to Josie’s bathroom wall during an unfortunate waxing incident” where she’s making a chocolate mold of her… nether regions?
Andi Arndt nailed that scene. <3 At one point, during recording, she emailed to ask me if she could read some of that on Clubhouse (an audio social network), and the results are amazingly fun.
Then there’s Maggie and Frown/Tyler, in book 7 in the series. Random Acts of LA is a roadtrip, enemies-to-lovers romance with some delicate themes around abuse.
Confession: it’s my favorite book I’ve ever written. Yeah, yeah, I know we’re not supposed to have favorites, but as a book, it’s my favorite.
(My favorite scene I’ve ever written was a tie between the infamous cell-phone-in-the-hoo-ha scene in Random Acts of Trust, Declan and Marie at his mother’s grave in Shopping for a Billionaire’s Fiancee, and a scene from a book I haven’t released yet).
You can find all seven Random books on Audible now, so get started.
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Audible UK: https://adbl.co/3al66Wo
June 24, 2021
ONE DAY ONLY – 450+ Free Romance Reads
I am so excited to share this ONE DAY promotion with readers. More than 450 bestselling and popular romance authors from all genres have come together to offer a plethora of freebies to readers. This is the one and only opportunity to load up that new ereader you bought during Prime Days and stuff your TBR list for summer.
Look for these freebies from Julia Kent, Meli Raine, and Diana Seere.
Random Acts of Crazy by Julia Kent
When Lilah Murphy started serving drinks at the exclusive Platinum Club, she never expected she would be on the menu.
Biotech billionaire Gavin Stanton had one taste of the new, curvy server and his craving could never be satisfied until he had her fully. Completely.
Eternally.
Fate brought them together, but a centuries-old secret could tear them apart, for the Stanton family holds a shifter legacy that no human has ever threatened.
Until now.
Gavin Stanton is the billionaire CEO of a Boston biotech firm. He’s also a werewolf, the son of a large, ancient family with roots in the British aristocracy. His work is his life. But then he feels the Beat—an irresistible urge to mate with Lilah, a beautiful human who inflames his passions like no other—and he abandons everything he thought he knew in his need to claim her.
Lilah Murphy is broke and desperate. All she wants is a job to support herself, her sister, and her ailing mother. The last thing she needs is to get involved with a rich, powerful guy who would discard her after a few hot nights together and get her fired at her new, high-paying job. But she, too, feels the Beat. She hears him in her mind, feels him in her soul, and the urge to answer the ancient call is undeniable. Is she strong enough to embrace his secrets—and her own?
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June 19, 2021
June Book Goodies – Freebies, .99, and New Releases
Baby, it’s hot outside! Record high temperatures are being reported from Montana to California and beyond. Curl up with your ereader in front of the A/C for an escape from the sizzle outside. Books from Julia Kent and Meli Raine are on sale for .99, plus I have awesome new releases to share.
Random Acts of Love from Julia Kent .99 for a limited time
The last ever-loving thing I ever thought I’d become is a hypocrite.
A big, fat one.
Joe doesn’t even want me to meet his parents. Trevor’s fine with it, but only if they keep thinking I’m his girlfriend. And only his girlfriend. He doesn’t want that pesky little thing called truth to get in the way.
Both of them are my boyfriends. Both.
So then my mama goes and gets engaged – the woman rediscovered her hoohaw! – and I have to head back home to meet my new stepdaddy and attend her wedding.
And she wants me to bring my boyfriend with me.
Um…which one?
This is where the hypocrisy thing comes in, because I’ve never told her what’s really going on with me and my boyfriends.
Funny how making that word plural ends with a hiss.
The easiest thing to do is to tell the truth, right? That’s what I’ve been telling Trevor and Joe for more than a year and a half, and now that the tables are turned on me, what do I do?
Break up with them and run back home.
I never dreamed they’d follow me from Boston back to my trailer park in Ohio.
And claim me for their own.
* * *
Random Acts of Love is the fifth book in the series that started with Random Acts of Crazy, the New York Times bestselling book that introduced readers to Darla, Trevor and Joe. When Darla has to face her own demons (and hypocrisy) by going back home, she learns that love means admitting who you really are to everyone — including yourself.
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How do I prove a negative?
I need to prove Jane is innocent, despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary.
Mirrors, smoke, and lies can conjure a truth that isn’t real. Money, bribes, and power can twist reality. What we call proof is all an elaborate magic act.
So is love.
How do you prove you’re in love? How can you know with unrelenting certainty that the person you can’t live without really loves you?
It’s all about what you believe. Who you believe. And I believe Jane. I love her. But it might be too late.
Or, worse – it might all be an illusion. If proof is just a magician’s sleight of hand, then we’re caught in a sick trick.
A deadly one.
One that doesn’t end with applause.
But with a bang.
Read the entire Shameless series now!
A Shameless Little Con (#1)
A Shameless Little Lie (#2)
A Shameless Little Bet (#3)
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Add the audiobook narrated by Virginia Rose and Aaron Shedlock
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Dree has been swindled, chased, heartbroken, conscripted, and kidnapped.
What on Earth could be worse than all that?
Don’t ask.
Don’t miss the exciting next book in the Maxence saga, ROYAL!
Is this the first Maxence book you’ve run across? Start the series with the first book, ROGUE.
Her ex-boyfriend was supposed to propose in Paris, but instead, he swindled her out of every penny she had. Now, the hottest man she’s ever seen has an indecent proposal to get her on her feet, and on her back, and on her knees.
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Whispersync the audio, narrated by Lucy Rivers and Shane East
Amazon Audio: https://mybook.to/oEM7
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Award-Winning Wall Street Journal bestselling author Kennedy Ryan launches a brand-new series with a Hollywood tale of wild ambition, artistic obsession, and unrelenting love.
One moment in the spotlight . . .
For months I stood by, an understudy waiting in the wings, preparing for my time to shine.
I never imagined he would watch in the audience that night.
Canon Holt.
Famous film director. Fascinating. Talented. Fine
Before I could catch my breath, everything changed. I went from backstage Broadway to center stage Hollywood.
From being unknown, to my name, Neevah Saint, on everyone’s lips.
Canon casts me in a star-studded Harlem Renaissance biopic, catapulting me into another stratosphere.
But stars shine brightest in the dead of night.
Forbidden attraction, scandal and circumstances beyond my control jeopardize my dream.
Could this one shot—the role of a lifetime, the love of a lifetime—cost me everything?
Nothing ever happens in Fort Crow, Scotland, or so Inspector Alec Brodie thinks. But when the body of a tourist is found in the woods, the detective begins to see that things aren’t all that they seem in the sleepy little town, especially when the murder is ruled as an accident. With raised suspicion, Alec now has to wonder, who is trying to cover up the killing of Grace Allan?
Realizing he can’t trust anybody, Inspector Brodie sets out to solve the mystery on his own, until he meets Rosie Allan, a woman determined to help catch her sister’s killer. Stubborn and set in his ways, Alec is reluctant to accept her assistance, but Rosie is persistent, not to mention beautiful, and he finds her impossible to refuse.
Together, they begin to uncover the dark secrets hidden within the small Scottish town, and with those secrets, they find answers. But can they solve the mystery without getting themselves killed—or worse, falling in love?
Amazon/KU: https://mybook.to/2CTBoEg
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June 1, 2021
Read Chapter One ~ In Your Dreams
Sometimes your wildest dreams really do come true…
Laura Michaels sat up in her dark, lonely bedroom, heart slamming in her heated chest, the dream so real she could still taste his mouth against hers, feel hands pressed into her soft curves, sense fingers exploring where she wanted them most in the lush territory of her abandoned body. Yet her bed was empty, as always.
Except for the three cats who thought they owned it.
And the empty ice cream pint, spoon jutting out like it was identifying her in a line-up.
Heart racing, she tried. She really did. She should have calmed down. She should have been able to shake the reverie. She should have let it all fade.
What kept her heart beating so fast, though, was one undeniable fact.
There had been four hands on her in that dream…
This prequel takes Laura, Mike and Dylan from the New York Times bestselling series Her Billionaires and offers a glimpse into their yearning for what was meant to be…
In Your Dreams, is a newly-revised and expanded prequel to the New York Times bestselling series, Her Billionaires. It was originally published in 2014 under the title Before Her Billionaires, but now has more than double the words, is fully re-edited, and has more of the men [image error] .
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The sound of her steady breath was the only way she could anchor herself as he pressed against her in the silk-covered bed, both of them half-dressed. Moonlight dripped into the room through sheer curtains that billowed in, pushed by a wind so eager to watch what Laura and her lover did under covers and in privacy that it made the cloth tickle her calves, eliciting a throaty laugh as his hands cataloged her, tugging lightly on her long, wavy hair.
He smiled, face in the shadows, thickly-muscled arms tending to her and only her. The muted sound of the city clamored outside, both immediate and distant, a background rumble that seemed necessary, like oxygen. It was there, it was noted, and it was forgotten, imprinted into her. What was new was him—his touch, his taste, his scent.
Him.
“You are perfect,” he whispered, a husky voice darkened by want echoing through the room. Mingled with her quickened breath, it made her feel whole. Richer and more mature somehow, tempered by her own driving, throbbing need. She felt changed, from a woman who felt lucky to be under his attentions to one who was wanted enough to be secure.
Who wanted more.
The shafts of light from the window teased her as they danced across his face, highlighting only the thick, blonde waves she could touch as she felt for his shoulders, fingers playing with his open shirt collar, the warm rush of skin and hair at the back of his neck like an invitation to bury herself there. She inhaled musk and a lightly-spicy cologne, orange and clove and something that staked her in place.
She never wanted to leave.
“And you are amazing,” she whispered in his ear, her hot breath a rasp of lust as he shrugged out of his shirt, wrists unbearably sexy and tight with muscle and tendons that popped as he unbuttoned his cuffs and soon – ah, yes.
Shirtless.
Broad shoulders covered with thick muscle made it impossible to tear her eyes away, the effect of just looking at him so startlingly arousing. Heart beating faster, skin simmering to a heated flush, she took him in with grateful eyes and a desperate pulse that wanted his touch more than anything in the world.
Needed it.
Would die without it.
“Dispense with this,” he commanded, wide, big hands under her shirt, pulling up with a delicate urgency. He unveiled her inch by inch, her bare skin pebbling as the idea of his dark gaze made her breath quicken. Under his watch, she was more than just mortal, the promise of delicious, naughty delights ricocheting through her blood like wildfire, skin flushing with fire.
Her unclothed legs savored the feel of his, the tingle of thick leg hair against her own smooth skin. He was long, muscled, a man who cared for his mind and body in equal measure, and confident as well.
The bed was his playground, and he set the rules.
Always.
A deep breath filled her chest, her throat, her senses with his scent, making her ache to have him inside her in so many more ways. While his musk lingered in the air she inhaled, his fingers made other parts of her shiver, the rush of heat between her legs both welcome and foreboding.
If the mere brush of fingers on her hip could produce such intensity, what would his mouth between her legs feel like? A shudder of anticipation ran through her as his lips made the delectable journey down the path of her torso, moonlight shining on his broad back that begged to be explored by her fingers, his tongue leaving a lazy trail that made her breath hitch, air flow coming in fits and starts as he went down, down, down…
Leaving no question she was about to learn the answer to what she had just wondered.
“Yes,” she murmured, the word unnecessary, her body one big yes.
Her hands plunged into his thick waves, the soft crush of hair in what became clenched fists maddening against the thin skin between her fingers. The texture of him, of his hair, his neck, the nuances of skin and beard and the nape of his neck, so masculine and yet so tender, made her yearn for this.
For more.
For all of it, as if she couldn’t grasp enough in the inadequate time they had to touch.
“Oh, there,” she encouraged, feeling a smile spread his lips as he parted hers. The way he touched her was unbelievable, magical and thrilling, but his full presence was more enticing than what he did to her. In this moment, no one else in the world mattered,
So many words bounced in her addled head, jumbled and incoherent as his tongue found the pulsing center of her sex. Gratitude. Mercy. Delight. Ecstasy. Joy. Abandon.
Home.
“God, you’re so…” she whispered as he tended to her with such care, like a virtuoso of a woman’s body, playing her as if she were a fine instrument only a handful of masters could manage.
“Mmmm,” he groaned against her, one hand cupping her ass and driving under her, up over her hip and onto her belly, lounging there as if it were waiting for something that it knew was coming. “You’re the one who is a goddess,” he said against her thigh, the wisps of air against her vulnerable, exposed flesh making her quiver. “A luscious, beautiful, amazing gift,” he continued, his words arousing her as much as his ministrations to her flesh.
One hand on her belly, one hand’s fingers in her, and then a third hand cupped the soft flesh of her ass, a fourth on her breast, tweaking the nipple where his mouth had just been.
And—wait a minute.
Four hands?
A new mouth kissed her, tasting like wine and spices, different from the earlier man, who’d carried a distinct minty flavor. Her body flushed and her eyes searched the dark room, seeking answers.
How could there be two men?
“We adore you,” said a new voice, deep and filled with a sensual growl that made her entire body shiver, the epicenter of this tectonic shift between her legs. Her hand groped to find the body attached to that voice, encountering hard, rigid muscle, arms with veins that stood out like a rope, like a lifeline she must grab and hold on to for dear life.
And just as her eyes found a shaft of light that illuminated the room just enough to see their faces, to focus on the very man (men!) who gave her so much pleasure, she woke up to a cold, empty room, her heart racing, pulse flying like a supersonic jet, a cold sheen of sweat soaking her breasts, her cleft, her soul.
“No!” she cried out into the chilly silence of reality.
Not again.
Pounding her fists on the unsympathetic mattress, she hit two, three, four times, her thin cotton nightgown stuck to her loose breasts, her hair flying with the force of her anger.
Again.
These dreams invaded her mind most nights, slinking in like a snake, a mist that moved and permeated, filling in the cracks of her subconscious. Heart pounding, clit throbbing, she burst into furious tears, starting an ugly cry that made her ribs ache, her throat hurt so much she thought she was choking, the sound of weeping as intimate as the touch of those warm hands from her dream.
But not nearly as satisfying.
She was so, so lonely. And the dreams were so, so real.
Too real.
It broke her heart every time she woke up, alone.
The glow of the red numbers from her alarm clock infiltrated her brain. 4:44 a.m. It was nearly the same time every night, like clockwork (ha ha). As she took in a shaky breath and her neck stopped spasming, she rubbed her eyes over and over, as if she could massage into them some sort of message that could permeate her brain.
What that message was, though, she didn’t know. Something. Anything. Indistinct and uncertain, it was a message, a subconscious communication that was trying to teach her a lesson. A warning.
A premonition?
The universe was trying to tell her something, and it involved two men, two mouths, four hands, and a lot of need.
All hers.
Sighing, she pulled the tangled sheets off her legs and looked down, pink painted toenails chipped, her feet wiggling with restlessness. A cup of chamomile tea would be her nighttime companion, it seemed.
And not those two men.
Two.
It started out as one, a guy who resembled her ex… boyfriend? Ex-cheater? Ex… something. Ryan had been the guy she’d dated, the guy she thought she would have a future with, the guy who turned out to be married.
Already married.
So was he a cheater, or was she? When he broke up with her he’d flung his marriage in her face, telling her it was her fault she had been with him, that she had made him stray, that she had been at fault for his infidelity. In the warped way that she allowed the world to work sometimes, she’d actually believed him for a short while. She’d apologized.
She’d begged him to forgive her.
If she’d known he was married, she never would have been involved with him in the first place. It broke her heart to know she’d accidentally slept with a married man. Ryan threw that in her face, too, claiming it was proof she didn’t really love him.
No matter what, she was always in the wrong.
Twisting her words, recasting the blame, Ryan had found a way to shame her for his behavior. The sting hung over her, her skin buzzing with it, every part of her marked by his words as if they’d been switches.
And even after her best friend, Josie, had spent a long weekend de-programming her and making her see what a manipulative asshole Ryan had been, she’d dreamed about him, too.
What a slippery animal the unconscious can be. It’s your best friend, your worst enemy, your confidante and your nemesis. The unconscious keeps you going at night and shapes your social instincts during the day.
And deep in the dark hours of the middle of the night, it arouses you to no end with dreams of a love life that would make anyone blush.
“This is crazy,” she muttered to the empty room.
That cup of chamomile wasn’t going to make itself. Heaving herself off the bed, she took a few steps on shaking legs, thighs rubbing together under the thin cotton of her nightgown. The throbbing between those thighs only intensified, a deeply irritating feeling that wasn’t going to abate.
Laura made a mental note to replace the batteries on her vibrator—it had stalled out on her the other night, sputtering to a dead halt just when she’d needed it most, making her cry out with a hoarse sound she’d last made during sex with Ryan, when he’d finished first and rolled over.
And you couldn’t just throw some new D batteries in Ryan and get him going again.
Too bad life didn’t work that way.
One of her cats, Frumpy, rubbed against her legs and purred, the cool feel of the fur brushing against Laura’s ankles with a disjointed sensuality. Gently nudging the cat away, Laura padded into the kitchen, filled the kettle, turned it on and dug out a can of cat food.
Miss Daisy and Snuggles decided to join in the food fest, generating a mewling sound that made Laura laugh.
“All right, all right, it’s coming,” she said, her voice cracking. Living alone meant not talking much when she wasn’t at work or hanging out with her best friend, and by the end of twelve hours of not saying a single word, she found her vocal cords in need of a little stretch. On long weekends she could go all day without saying anything, making the return to work a bit uncomfortable, as if she had to relearn basic social cues all over again.
Laura fed the cats, washed her hands, and set up the tea steeper, spooning her loose tea into the water reservoir. The kettle whistled at just the right moment, she poured the water in for steeping and shut the top—
And promptly burst into tears all over again.
She was a single woman living alone with three cats, making tea in the middle of the night. This was not how her twenties were supposed to be.
Closing her eyes, she willed the dream to come back, to feel the sensual heat of those hands. In her mind’s eye she remembered the forearm that was attached to one of those loving hands, the sandy hair that peppered the tanned skin, the twist of muscle under the taut skin. It was a man’s arm, muscled and tight, with tendons and veins rigid and clear under textured skin.
We adore you.
The man’s words whispered through her like the rush of hot wind on a summer’s night, right before a burst of sweet, steamy rain, the kind you run outside and play in, even as an adult.
You tip your face to the dark, cloudy sky and let the misty rain blanket you like it’s love.
She could feel the imprint of his palm on her thigh. If she weren’t firmly grounded in the world of logic, she’d think he was really here. Right now, in another room in her small apartment, off to the bathroom or back in her tousled bed, waiting for her, warming the sheets and reclined in full, drawn-out nude beauty.
Her hand reached down to touch the expanse of skin that burned from the memory of his touch. A laugh burbled out of her, unbidden and without any pretense. She snorted as her fingers brushed against her own creamy curves, her finger tips sliding from mid-thigh on up.
Quickly, she yanked her nightgown down. Now she just burned with a stupid sense of shame, a cold chill making her shiver as the tea darkened in the clear plastic cylinder she used for steeping.
“Good grief, Laura. Pull it together,” she muttered, as if admonishing herself would actually work.
Not like it ever did before.
What had she done to deserve a life where her only intimacy was her fingers, her battery-powered night-table boyfriends, her cats and these all-consuming dreams? Dream men were fine and all, but they couldn’t bite your nipple at just the right time.
He has to be real, she thought, the palpable change in her skin making her more certain than ever that whatever she had dreamed had been more than wishful thinking. He’s out there, somewhere. He’s real.
He has to be.
Don’t you mean ‘they’? a voice inside her hissed, the trickster who made her doubt, made her insecure and self-deprecating, asked in a disapproving voice.
They.
The second man had appeared with such stealth, yet such prowess, that she blended the two together in her addled mind. They weren’t the same, though. Distinct and heavenly, they were two separate men.
And both wanted her.
She inhaled slowly, fingers curling around the edge of the kitchen counter, her breasts flushed with the memory of how all four hands on her had made her ache.
In the dream, she’d known that ache would soon ease as they pleasured her to release. Too bad life didn’t imitate the mind’s-eye movie she’d invented in her sleep. If it did, she’d hire someone to hack her back into that moment and live out her wildest sexual fantasies.
Pouring her now-too-strong tea, she smiled at the thought. Fantasies. They’re all fantasies, right? The first sip of chamomile made her mouth twist from the concentration, but by her third she was calmer. More centered.
Less dreamy.
Thin strands of the reverie slowly faded away. She tried to conjure an image of the man’s forearm but couldn’t. Then his scent. Cardamon and freshly-cut grass? Mint and orange? Synapses in her brain struggled to put it all together to form the atmosphere in which she’d awoken.
By the time she finished her cup of tea all that remained was the barest hint of memory, of being touched. Of being loved.
Of being cherished.
The actual experience disappeared, though, as the sun made its slow ascent. As if sunlight chased her dream away.
All that remained was her frustration.
Miss Daisy meowed until Laura poured her a shallow dish of milk. Dawn made the sky outside turn a sickly shade of grey. Laura sighed and slumped on her couch, turning on the television to catch whatever was on at 5:11 a.m.
The early morning talk show featured a young woman she’d never seen before and a guy she vaguely remembered from some reality television show where he ate food out of dumpsters for a week as some kind of challenge. They chatted on a boring, beige couch in a studio that looked like something a hotel designer created.
“Bachelor auction!” the woman chirped, turning toward a screen behind them. A shirtless man in a construction outfit appeared, stripper music in the background.
“Can you imagine paying $5,000 for a date with one of those hunks?” the male co-host joked.
“Yes,” said the woman, licking her lips. “I can. He’s a catch,” she added, pointing to a man dressed like a doctor, walking down a fashion runway wearing a white lab coat, jeans – and nothing else.
“Catch? Once you catch him, what do you do with him?” the man asked.
The studio audience laughed.
Click.
Laura wasn’t watching that. First off, who had $5,000 for a date? And second, even if Laura had that kind of money for a charity auction, how awkward would that date be?
Hi, nice to meet you. I paid $5,000 after watching you gyrate shirtless on a stage. I’m Laura Michaels and don’t feel obligated to have sex with me.
She barked aloud at the thought, scaring Snuggles and making the cat hiss, then attack the spider plant that grew for what seemed like miles in a spiral around the living room.
“Sorry, Snuggles.” Even her tone carried a thick blanket of guilt. Laura rolled her eyes. Hot bachelors. Buying a date. If she could catch a guy like that, what would she do with him?
Probably shake with terror and worry he’d point at her and make fun of her.
She was so far out of the league of guys like that. It was like she played a different game in a different language on the wrong planet in a galaxy far, far away.
What would it be like to be with a man… like that? The kind with chiseled features, his chest a relief map of hot flesh? How would it feel to run her hands through his hair, to smooth her palm across a cobra back covered with muscle, to possess him and have full access to touch and tease and enjoy him whenever she wanted?
Even better—to be wanted by a man like that?
One who would burn for her, whose touch would be more sensual than sexual, more primal than functional, a man who couldn’t wait to be with her, to watch her, to touch her.
To own her.
Not just her body, not just her sex, but her heart—mind—soul.
Another smile played at her lips, but this one was wistful. Sad. Yeah, right. Like that would ever happen.
A girl could dream, though.
And, apparently, she had.
Big time.
Hefting herself up off the couch, she let herself indulge in a self-pity sigh, the kind that comes out in a long, slow, tortured outbreath with a little whine at the end.
The kind no one ever admits they do.
The closest she’d ever get to a man like the ones in the bachelor auction would be in her imagination. A shower was what she needed before she headed to work. A shower where her own hands could be those one man’s hands, the shower head could be the second set, and the hot water would help to wash away her tears.
And then she’d start the day fresh, clean, and mostly emptied of the memory of two men she didn’t even have the right to imagine would want her.
Yet she did.
GET YOUR COPY TO KEEP READING!
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May 24, 2021
Great savings on Random books from Julia Kent
Ready for laughs, love, and Mavis? Special prices for a limited time on the first three books in the Random series.
Random Acts of Crazy is FREE
I never intended to pick up a naked hitchhiker wearing nothing but a guitar. A guitar. Really. I don’t collect guys like that (don’t ask what kind of guys I do collect), but when you spot a blonde, tanned, sculpted man with a gorgeous smile and his thumb poking up and practically begging you to stop – you stop.
And I definitely never thought I’d be staring into the bright blue eyes of Trevor Connor, the lead singer for Random Acts of Crazy, an indie rock star I followed like the slobbering fileshare fangirl I am. How he came to be nude and lost six hundred miles from home is quite the tale, but how we fell in love is even more unreal.
Because someone like Trevor Connor, headed to Harvard Law next year, isn’t supposed to want someone like me, a rural Ohio chick majoring in Boredom at Convenience Store University who is all curves and frizzy blonde hair and manners so unpolished they have sharp edges that make you bleed.
But he did.
When his best friend, Joe Ross, the bass player for Random Acts of Crazy and a man who makes Calvin Klein models look like Shrek, drove eleven hours through the night to rescue him, though, it got real complicated. It’s one thing to like two different guys and be torn.
What do you do, though, when maybe – just maybe – you don’t have to choose?
Amazon ALL: https://mybook.to/RAOC_AznALL
Apple Books: https://mybook.to/RAOC_AppleBooks
Kobo: https://mybook.to/RAOC_Kobo
Nook: https://mybook.to/RAOC_Nook
Google Play: https://mybook.to/RAOC_GooglePlay
Whispersync the audio narrated by Andi Arndt, Sebastian York, and Tad Branson
Amazon Audio: https://mybook.to/RAOC_AznAudio
Also available on iTunes and Audible
Random Acts of Trust just 2.99
Giving up is hard…but giving in is even harder.
When did my life become a demented episode from The Mindy Project?
Moving to Boston to begin grad school meant I was supposed to start a new life — not dig through a past I thought I’d left behind four years ago. But when I saw the poster for Random Acts of Crazy, all I could think about was the drummer, Sam Hinton, the boy I’d loved in high school and who disappeared with my heart.
Who knew I’d become the living version of Magic Mike?
Seeing Amy Smithson at my gig and watching her win a kiss from my bandmate, Liam, was a gut punch. Four years ago we squared off in a high school debate that had higher stakes than we ever imagined, and here I was…wanting what I’d walked away from. Are there too many secrets between us to allow her to trust me again?
And can I trust myself?
The second book in the Random series after the wildly successful New York Times and USA Today bestseller Random Acts of Crazy, Random Acts of Trust is a New Adult romantic comedy that explores the love between one man, one woman, and ends with one Happily Ever After (and no cliffhangers or chickens!). Fate took their lives by storm four years ago and put an unbreachable gulf between Sam and Amy. This 87,000 word/346 page book asks: Can time really heal all wounds…or are some scars too deep?
Amazon ALL: https://mybook.to/RAOT_AznALL
Apple Books: https://mybook.to/RAOT_AppleBooks
Kobo: https://mybook.to/RAOT_Kobo
Nook: https://mybook.to/RAOT_Nook
Google Play: https://mybook.to/RAOT_GooglePlay
Whispersync the audio narrated by Andi Arndt and Sebastian York
Amazon Audio: https://mybook.to/RAOT_AznAudio
Also available on iTunes and Audible
Random Acts of Fantasy just 2.99
You ever really think that you’ll win the lottery? Meet Mr. Right? How about two Mr. Rights?
Somehow the universe is handing me everything I want (except for that lottery part…), and I don’t like it. Not one little bit. Because just when you get all your dreams handed to you on a silver platter, that’s when an airplane dumps its sewage on your house. Or your mama’s diabetes takes a bad turn. Or your mobile phone gets stuck in your hoohaw.
(What? It happens…)
Boring old average me got everything I wanted already, moving from small-town Ohio to big-city Boston to follow my heart. So when the fancy invitation offering me a pile of money to come with the band, Random Acts of Crazy, to perform on an island resort and be their manager arrived, I thought it was a cosmic joke. Enough money to help my mama get what she needed, five days in sunny paradise, and a shot at greatness for the band? Unreal. One big shoe was waiting to drop. On my head.
Just like no one really ever finds a naked man wearing only a guitar standing by the side of the road hitchhiking and ends up falling in love with him and his friend and moving halfway across the country for true love, no one gets an invitation to come to what turns out to be a resort where people make what me and Joe and Trevor do together look like a chaste peck on the cheek. But…
Well.
I guess these things do happen.
To me.
Amazon ALL: https://mybook.to/RAOF_AznALL
Apple Books: https://mybook.to/RAOF_AppleBooks
Kobo: https://mybook.to/RAOF_Kobo
Nook: https://mybook.to/RAOF_Nook
Google Play: https://mybook.to/RAOF_GooglePlay
Whispersync the audio narrated by Andi Arndt, Sebastian York, and Tad Branson
Amazon Audio: https://mybook.to/RAOF_AznAudio
Also available on iTunes and Audible
May 23, 2021
What I’m Reading: Reel by Kennedy Ryan
Top of my TBR list is my ARC for Kennedy Ryan’s upcoming release, Reel. It’s something new and different, and I’m so lucky I don’t have to wait for release day. Reserve your copy today!
𝗥𝗲𝗲𝗹, 𝗦𝘁𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗮𝗹𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗕𝗼𝗼𝗸 𝟭 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗛𝗼𝗹𝗹𝘆𝘄𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝗥𝗲𝗻𝗮𝗶𝘀𝘀𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝗦𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀
𝗥𝗲𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲 𝗗𝗮𝘁𝗲: 𝗝𝘂𝗻𝗲 𝟴
𝘼𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙙-𝙒𝙞𝙣𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙒𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙎𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙚𝙩 𝙅𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝘽𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧 𝙆𝙚𝙣𝙣𝙚𝙙𝙮 𝙍𝙮𝙖𝙣 𝙡𝙖𝙪𝙣𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙨 𝙖 𝙗𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙣𝙚𝙬 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙖 𝙃𝙤𝙡𝙡𝙮𝙬𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙙 𝙖𝙢𝙗𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣, 𝙖𝙧𝙩𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙘 𝙤𝙗𝙨𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙪𝙣𝙧𝙚𝙡𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚.
𝙊𝙣𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙥𝙤𝙩𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩.
For months I stood by, an understudy waiting in the wings, preparing for my time to shine.
I never imagined 𝘩𝘦 would watch in the audience that night.
Canon Holt.
Famous film director.
Fascinating. Talented. 𝘍𝘪𝘯𝘦.
Before I could catch my breath, everything changed.
I went from backstage Broadway to center stage Hollywood.
From being unknown, to my name, Neevah Saint, on everyone’s lips.
Canon casts me in a star-studded Harlem Renaissance biopic,
catapulting me into another stratosphere.
But stars shine brightest in the dead of night.
Forbidden attraction, scandal and circumstances beyond my control jeopardize my dream.
Could this one shot—the role of a lifetime, the 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 of a lifetime—cost me everything?
𝗚𝗿𝗮𝗯 𝗬𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗖𝗼𝗽𝘆 𝗧𝗨𝗛-𝗗𝗔𝗬!
➜ Apple: https://geni.us/ReelApple
➜ Amazon: https://geni.us/REELAmazon
➜ Kobo: https://geni.us/REELKobo
➜ B&N: https://geni.us/ReelBN
➜ Google Play: https://geni.us/ReelGP
➜ Amazon Paperback: https://amzn.to/2RpXgAe
➜ Barnes and Noble Paperback: https://bit.ly/3nsKKf
Audiobook Alert: subscribepage.com/audiolisteners_reel
➜ Add on Goodreads: https://bit.ly/REELGR
May 19, 2021
Check out these 0.99 deals and other book goodies
Are you missing any titles from your Julia Kent or Meli Raine collection? Not sure? Download my printable book list to make sure. If you haven’t yet read Completely Complicated or Revenge, both are on sale this week for 0.99.
Already enjoyed these books? No worries. I have a few recommendations to share.
Completely Complicated by Julia Kent for 0.99[image error]
The adventures of Laura, Mike, Dylan, Josie and Alex from the Her Billionaires series continue as Laura, Mike and Dylan adjust to new life with a baby. Meanwhile, Josie and Alex learn that love may not really mean never having to say you’re sorry, but it sure does involve a great deal of commitment and honesty.
With strong cameos from Darla, Trevor and Joe from the Random series, and plenty of scenes at the neighborhood diner, Jeddy’s, Completely Complicated is 500+ pages that takes the gang further than they ever expected on their journey to love.
Amazon ALL: https://mybook.to/CompComplicated_AznALL
Apple Books: https://mybook.to/CompComplicated_Apple
Kobo: https://mybook.to/CompComplicated_Kobo
Nook: https://mybook.to/CompComplicated_Nook
Google Play: https://mybook.to/CompComplicated_GP
Everything I know about my life is a lie. The more I dig into my father’s death the more I find myself in peril.
Mark turns out to be a liar, someone I thought I could trust. He’s not what he seems, and worst of all, a part of me can’t let go.
My boss might be an international drug lord disguised as a dean at one of the top five universities in the country.
Like anyone’s going to believe me if I try to out him?
But I can’t help myself. I should learn to keep my mouth shut.
Someone’s decided to do that for me.
Make me quiet once—
And for all.
Amazon ALL: https://mybook.to/Revenge_AznALL
Apple Books: https://mybook.to/Revenge_AppleBooks
Kobo: https://mybook.to/Revenge_Kobo
Nook: https://mybook.to/Revenge_Nook
Google Play: https://mybook.to/Revenge_GP
Add the audio narrated by Savannah Peachwood for a few dollars more!
Amazon Audio: https://mybook.to/Revenge_AznAudio
iTunes: https://mybook.to/Revenge_iTunes
Audible: https://mybook.to/Revenge_Audible
The boy who always felt like mine is now the man I can’t have…
Dig a little and you’ll find photos of me in the bathtub with Ezra Stern.
Get your mind out of the gutter. We were six months old.
Pry and one of us might confess we saved our first kiss for each other.
The most clumsy, wet, sloppy . . . spectacular thirty seconds of my adolescence.
Get into our business and you’ll see two families, closer than blood, torn apart in an instant.
Twenty years later, my “awkward duckling” best friend from childhood,
the boy no one noticed, is a man no one can ignore.
Finer. Fiercer. Smarter.
Taken.
Tell me it’s wrong.
Tell me the boy who always felt like mine is now the man I can’t have.
When we find each other again, everything stands in our way–secrets, lies, promises.
But we didn’t come this far to give up now.
And I know just the move to make if I want to make him mine.
Amazon: ALL: https://mybook.to/niRwtr
Apple Books: https://apple.co/2QsI9pG
Kobo: https://bit.ly/3uYCgzy
Nook: https://bit.ly/3ypjDH5
Google Play: https://bit.ly/3oAQQLq
Time for your MAY Freebie! Dare Me Tonight by Carly Phillips is available FREE to Billionaire Book Boyfriend Club members only through June 14th.
Download your free book here: http://www.billionairebookboyfriend.com/freebook
Sign up for the book club here: www.billionairebookboyfriend.com
April 29, 2021
Special 99¢ Preorder on ‘In Your Dreams’
How does a lonely young woman looking for one decent guy end up with two hot billionaires? If you ever wondered about the story behind Laura, Mike, and Dylan’s committed threesome, preorder your copy of In Your Dreams.
The special 99¢ preorder price is good for three days only and then it goes up to $2.99!
Sometimes your wildest dreams really do come true…
Laura Michaels sat up in her dark, lonely bedroom, heart slamming in her heated chest, the dream so real she could still taste his mouth against hers, feel hands pressed into her soft curves, sense fingers exploring where she wanted them most in the lush territory of her abandoned body. Yet her bed was empty, as always.
Except for the three cats who thought they owned it.
And the empty ice cream pint, spoon jutting out like it was identifying her in a line-up.
Heart racing, she tried. She really did. She should have calmed down. She should have been able to shake the reverie. She should have let it all fade.
What kept her heart beating so fast, though, was one undeniable fact.
There had been four hands on her in that dream…
This prequel takes Laura, Mike and Dylan from the New York Times bestselling series Her Billionaires and offers a glimpse into their yearning for what was meant to be…
In Your Dreams, is a newly-revised and expanded prequel to the New York Times bestselling series, Her Billionaires. It was originally published in 2014 under the title Before Her Billionaires, but now has more than double the words, is fully re-edited, and has more of the men 
.
Releasing June 1, 2021
Amazon ALL: https://mybook.to/IYD_AmazonALL
Apple Books: https://mybook.to/IYD_AppleBooks
Kobo: https://mybook.to/IYD_Kobo
Nook: https://mybook.to/IYD_Nook
Google Play: https://mybook.to/IYD_GooglePlay
Add it to your Goodreads TBR list: https://mybook.to/IYD_Goodreads
Add it to your BookBub wishlist: https://mybook.to/IYD_BookBub
