New Release + Release Blitz: Wild Card by Lila Monroe

 

 

‘The Wedding Date’ gets a sexy twist in the new hilarious rom-com from Lila Monroe!
Is there anything worse than playing maid-of-honor to your bitchy college nemesis? Try it when she’s marrying your DAD! Olivia Chambers doesn’t know what she’s done to deserve this karmic retribution, but she needs a date to the wedding from hell – and fast. She’s used to matchmaking billionaires, but now she needs a Prince Charming of her own. Someone handsome and famous enough to make bridezilla and her minions drool with envy…

Someone like hottie ex-NFL star Ryan Callahan.

Ryan is looking for love. Well, the fake kind. He needs the perfect woman on his arm to woo investors for his superstar new business venture, but nobody is scoring that touchdown… until elegant, sophisticated Olivia comes to him with a proposition. She’ll play his perfect date – if he’ll play hers.

The deal is simple! Or is it? Take one week in the Florida Keys, a dose of sizzling sexual tension, a madcap wedding, and some seriously humid frizzy hair, and Ryan and Olivia have the recipe for disaster… or maybe the time of their lives.

But can Olivia let down her guard long enough to let Ryan sweep her off her feet? And will Ryan take his eyes off the (business) prize long enough to see what’s right in front of him?

Find out in the hot, delicious new novel from Lila Monroe!

BILLIONAIRE BACHELORS SERIES:
1 Very Irresistible Playboy
2 Hot Daddy
3 Wild Card (June 2018)
4 Man Candy (Aug 2018)

AVAILABLE NOW

iBooks AmazonAmazon UKAmazon AU KoboB&NGoogle Play

 

 

 

 

About the Author

Combining her passions for books, sex, and well-fitted suits, Lila Monroe wrote her first romantic comedy, The Billionaire Bargain, in 2015 and hasn’t stopped since. She loves writing about smart alpha men, and the strong and sassy women who try to tame them.

Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Website | Amazon Author Page | Newsletter

Excerpt Reveal + Pre-Order: Wild Card by Lila Monroe

 

 

‘The Wedding Date’ gets a sexy twist in the new hilarious rom-com from Lila Monroe!
Is there anything worse than playing maid-of-honor to your bitchy college nemesis? Try it when she’s marrying your DAD! Olivia Chambers doesn’t know what she’s done to deserve this karmic retribution, but she needs a date to the wedding from hell – and fast. She’s used to matchmaking billionaires, but now she needs a Prince Charming of her own. Someone handsome and famous enough to make bridezilla and her minions drool with envy…

Someone like hottie ex-NFL star Ryan Callahan.

Ryan is looking for love. Well, the fake kind. He needs the perfect woman on his arm to woo investors for his superstar new business venture, but nobody is scoring that touchdown… until elegant, sophisticated Olivia comes to him with a proposition. She’ll play his perfect date – if he’ll play hers.

The deal is simple! Or is it? Take one week in the Florida Keys, a dose of sizzling sexual tension, a madcap wedding, and some seriously humid frizzy hair, and Ryan and Olivia have the recipe for disaster… or maybe the time of their lives.

But can Olivia let down her guard long enough to let Ryan sweep her off her feet? And will Ryan take his eyes off the (business) prize long enough to see what’s right in front of him?

Find out in the hot, delicious new novel from Lila Monroe!

BILLIONAIRE BACHELORS SERIES:
1 Very Irresistible Playboy
2 Hot Daddy
3 Wild Card (June 2018)
4 Man Candy (Aug 2018)

PREORDER NOW

iBooks AmazonAmazon UKAmazon AU KoboB&NGooglePlay

 

Chapter One

 

When you’ve lived in New York as long as I have, you start to accept the fact that there are certain undeniable truths about life in this city.

1) Carrie Bradshaw never could have afforded that apartment on a journalist’s salary.

2) Unless your idea of Sunday Funday is a teary three p.m. orange-juice hangover, unlimited mimosa brunch is never a good idea.

And 3) this city—and, let’s face it, basically the whole world—is set up for couples. Everything is easier if you’re one half of a pair. Rent is cheaper. Battling the mobs at the grocery store on a weekend is less soul-crushing. And the odds of dying one of those grim, Daily News-type deaths where nobody knows you’re gone until the neighbors start to notice a funny smell from down the hallway? Way less likely when there’s someone around to catch the stench and stop kitty from eating your face.

Most of us try to find our other half the old-fashioned way: looking for true love. A partner to fill our lives with joy—or, at the very least, someone to slump in front of Netflix with on a Friday night and stop us from eating a whole block of cheese alone. (Not that I’ve done that. Not at all.) But what happens if that hasn’t worked out for you just yet, but you still need someone on your team?

Well, if you’re wealthy, and connected enough to know the number—you call me.

The Agency specializes in matchmaking . . . of the fake variety. I’m not aiming to find my clients true love (although, that seems to be a side benefit for a few of them these days), just a true partner-in-crime. Need a fake fiancée to get your interfering relatives off your case? I’m your woman. Old-school workplace treating you like a brazen hussy because you’re not coupled up? I’ll find a partner for that work retreat that your boss will adore. I’m discreet, professional, and I have a knack for finding just the right match to get your through that tough spot. After all, everyone deserves someone to have their back, even the weirdos.

Especially the weirdos.

“So, I think I’ve got all the information I need,” I say now, smiling across my desk at today’s client. Jason is the newly-flush CEO of a tech startup that was just bought out by Google, and he needs a date to bring to a company-wide retreat in the Berkshires. Though most my clients are just too busy—or too famous—to find themselves the right date, with Jason I’m pretty sure it’s got more to do with his twenty-dollar haircut and his habit of peppering every conversation with arcane trivia from Star Trek. “I should be able to find someone with an advanced degree in a STEM field and an interest in . . .” I double-check my notes. “Traditional Latvian folk music.”

“That’s great,” Jason says, smiling eagerly. He can’t be more than twenty-two, and the fact that he has no idea how to handle his newfound fortune is achingly obvious. At our very first meeting, he parked his brand-new Maserati in a tow zone in front of my office and had to take a cab all the way to Coney Island to get it back.

“In the meantime, I want you to go see my friend Lucas down at Bergdorf’s,” I tell him. There’s no way I’m about to send this guy out into the world in his Pac-Man T-shirt and Birkenstocks, no matter how rich he is. After all, I’ve got a reputation to protect. “And I’ve had my assistant Alice make you an appointment at a great salon.”

“Sounds good,” Jason says, nodding like a bobblehead. Then his face clouds. “There is one more thing I’m looking for in a date,” he says, suddenly nervous. “And I think it might be a little . . . unorthodox.”

“Oh?” I try to keep my face neutral. I have to explain to new clients, gently but firmly, that I’m not running that kind of agency. In fact, I have strict rules about romantic activities—they’re totally forbidden.

Jason takes a deep breath. “I’m looking for someone with experience as a Dungeon Master.”

Oh, yikes. “Unfortunately that’s not part of the suite of services we offer here,” I say carefully, “but I’d be happy to give you the card of an extremely discreet dominatrix who operates a private club on the Lower East Side, and I’m sure she’ll be able to—”

All at once Jason sits bolt upright in his chair. “Wait wait wait,” he interrupts, turning the color of a late-summer tomato. “A dominatrix? What are you talking about?”

I frown. “Isn’t that what you just—?”

“A Dungeon Master,” he says witheringly. “Like, for Dungeons and Dragons.”

“Oh. Oh!” I feel my face flush to match his. “Of course. I didn’t realize—”

“Jeez,” he interrupts, looking at me like possibly I’m the perv here. “What kind of operation are you running?”

I spend the next twenty minutes reassuring him that we’re on the up and up, then show him out and turn to my assistant, Alice, who’s sitting behind the reception desk typing away at her computer, her dark hair in a tidy Audrey Hepburn topknot at the crown of her head. “How was that?” she asks, raising her eyebrows.

“Oh, you know.” I stretch as Thor, our cranky ginger cat hops down off the filing cabinet and prowls across the Persian rug. I bend down to scratch him behind his mangy ears. “Just another day in the coal mines. You can knock off early,” I say, straightening up and smoothing my pencil skirt. “I’ve got a lunch across town, and then I’m just going to take the rest of the day.”

Alice tilts her head to the side. “Hot date?” she asks.

“I wish,” I say, plucking my jacket off the brass coat rack in the corner. “My dad’s in town.”

I’m running late, so I take a car across town to the Palace Hotel, where my dad likes to stay every time he’s in New York. My phone rings while we’re stopped in traffic, and I grimace when I see the caller ID.

“Hi, Ryan,” I say, hoping the eye-roll isn’t too obvious in my voice. Ryan Callahan is one of my most difficult, demanding clients. And not because he isn’t attractive. The polar opposite, actually. He was a star quarterback for a pro football team until an injury to his Achilles tendon cut his career short three years ago. Since then he’s had his hand in all kinds of different businesses—sports drinks, fitness apps, even a sneaker line—and his combination of brains and brawn should make him an easy match—if I was just looking for a real date. But the guy needs someone to help him schmooze with investors, and he’s ridiculously picky. He’s auditioned nearly my entire roster, but nobody is good enough. Ryan may be rich and handsome—OK, he’s hot as all get out, with the kind of broad, hard body you want to climb like a mountain—but he’s proving to be a Kilimanjaro-sized pain in my ass.

“Hey, Olivia,” he says, his easygoing voice hiding what I know is an iron will. “We need to talk.”

“Of course,” I reply. “I’m glad you called. Tell me more about why you didn’t like Amy?” And Tessa, and Claire, and Erin, I silently add.

“It’s not that I didn’t like her, exactly,” Ryan says as the car pulls up in front of the hotel. I scoot out of the backseat, smiling at the doorman as I slip through the revolving door and head for the lobby. The Palace is quintessential old New York, with marble floors and crystal chandeliers, the smell of lilies heavy in the air. “She was fine,” Ryan continues. “But I need the perfect wingwoman, you know? This investor meeting is a huge deal.”

“No, I know it is,” I promise, wanting to head him off at the pass before he launches into his pitch—again. He’s trying to raise capital to launch a chain of health food kiosks, and his potential investor is an old-school finance guy, so to make a good impression he needs someone smart and sophisticated. Which, for the record, all my girls are. But none of them have passed muster with Captain America over here. And the truth is I’m starting to run out of options.

“There’s a woman named Lauren I want you to meet,” I tell him now, climbing the wide carpeted steps that lead to the lobby. “She’s an executive assistant at a gallery downtown—very smart, very culturally savvy. I’ll have Alice make you a dinner reservation for this weekend.”

“If you say so,” Ryan says, sounding uncertain. “I just think . . .”

I lose the rest of his sentence in the loud buzzing that suddenly fills my ears as I turn the corner into the lobby—and catch sight of a familiar woman strolling across the plush oriental rug.

Shit,” I blurt, stopping in my tracks and scooting behind a massive floral arrangement before she can see me. My heart jackhammers violently against my ribs as I peek out and check I wasn’t just hallucinating.

But nope. There she is. Vanessa Simpson, my psycho college roommate in the flesh. A lot of flesh. She’s sashaying through the lobby in a flimsy sundress with a Birkin bag slung over one arm.

Ryan breaks off. “Olivia?” he says. “Are you OK?”

“Um, yup,” I promise distractedly, darting behind a bellman pushing a loaded luggage cart across the lobby. “Completely. I’m listening.”

He keeps talking, but I peek through a couple of garment bags to watch Vanessa, who’s stalking across the lobby like she thinks it’s a runway. She was my roommate freshman year and made my life a living hell. There were the normal roommate annoyances, sure—the clothes-stealing, the messiness, the loud hookups so I had to sleep with earplugs and an eye mask in case she came stumbling back at two a.m. with a guy and stripped naked right up against the door. (Twice.)

And then there were the next-level stunts, the kind that took her from “selfish and spoiled” to “psycho in the making.” Like casually wiping my finals papers from my laptop because, whoops, she couldn’t figure out how to download the new Housewives episodes. Or the time I got a particularly gnarly zit on my lip and she told everyone on our floor I had mouth herpes. It took me a week to figure out why the RA kept offering to escort me to the health center.

If there was one silver lining to living with a raging She-Demon like Vanessa, it was her big brother Tristan, who was at school down at Princeton and took the train up to visit sometimes. He always invited me out to dinner with the two of them, asking me about my classes and what books I was reading. To say I had a crush on him was an understatement—the truth is, I would have hitchhiked to New Jersey in a pair of crotchless panties if he’d ever shown one tiny glimmer of interest. As it was, I settled for stalking—ahem, scrutinizing every post he made on social media and dreaming up elaborate fantasies in which he rode up on a fiery steed—or a Toyota Corolla, whatever—and rescued me from undergraduate hell.

But that was then. The minute freshman year was over, I switched dorms and kept my distance from Vanessa. I haven’t seen either one of them since graduation, and I fully intend to keep it that way.

I skulk past the lobby and into an alcove, then drag my focus back to the conversation. Ryan is a big, important client, and I’m determined to find him someone who ticks all the boxes. “Ashley will be perfect,” I tell him. “I think you two will really hit it off.”

I hang up with Ryan and peek around the corner to check the lobby. All clear. Vanessa is mercifully gone—off to have her broomstick re-bristled, maybe, or to steal candy from a small child with a terminal illness. I let out a sigh of relief and head into the restaurant, where my dad is already seated at a table by the window, a glass of Basil Hayden on the rocks sweating in his hand.

“Hi, Dad,” I say, bending to kiss him on the cheek.

“Hiya, sweetheart.” My dad retired down to Key West a few years ago and spends his days relaxing on the beach and taking friends out on his fishing boat. But he’s still a Northeasterner at his core and he makes his way back like a homing pigeon every few months. “How you doing?”

I order a drink and we spend a few minutes catching up. “Should we order?” I ask finally, glancing down at the menu.

“In a minute,” my dad says. “First, I’ve got news.”

I raise my eyebrows, I can’t help it. Suddenly I know exactly where this is going. “Let me guess,” I deadpan. “You’re getting married again?”

My dad makes an exaggerated who, me? face. “Well, hell, Livvie,” he says, sounding a little hurt. “When you say it like that you make it sound as if I’ve got a new bride every week.”

Every couple of years, more like. My mom died when I was in high school, and ever since then my dad has gone through wives like other men go through undershirts. Whoever this woman is, she’ll be new stepmom #4. I try not to let it get to me—it’s his life, after all, and I want him to be happy, even if it does mean having to pretend to be interested in some daffy stranger’s rare doll collection just because she happens to be married to my dad.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I tease, “so you’re not getting married again?”

“Well, yes,” my dad admits sheepishly. Then he brightens. “But this one’s a winner. Really, Livvie, it’s someone I’m sure you’ll like.”

“Oh yeah?” I ask, taking a sip of my prosecco. “What’s she like?”

“You already know her,” my dad says, visibly pleased with himself. “In fact: you’ve lived together.”

“We’ve—wait, what?” I set my glass down on the table.

There’s a horrifying moment where I start to put two and two together, but

it’s like I can’t force my brain to finish the thought before two hands with long pink nails like talons land on my shoulders.

“Surprise!”

I whirl around and there’s Vanessa suddenly looming over me like a Disney villain, as if she’d appeared in a puff of smoke. “Guess what, Livvie,” she trills, baring her teeth in a wide, white smile. “I’m going to be your new mom!”
 

 

About the Author

Combining her passions for books, sex, and well-fitted suits, Lila Monroe wrote her first romantic comedy, The Billionaire Bargain, in 2015 and hasn’t stopped since. She loves writing about smart alpha men, and the strong and sassy women who try to tame them.

Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Website | Amazon Author Page | Newsletter

New Release + Blog Tour + Excerpt: Hot Daddy by Lila Monroe

We are pleased to take part in the blog tour for HOT DADDY, the second book in the Billionaire Bachelors series by author Lila Monroe. This story will steal your heart, so grab your copy today!

 

 

HOT DADDY (Billionaire Bachelors #2)

By Lila Monroe

Releasing April 2nd – all platforms

Standalone

 

Playboy CEO, Cal McAdams, lives life in the fast lane: hot women, hotter deals, and… a fake fiancee? I signed on to help reform his reckless image and win custody of his god-children, but I wasn’t expecting to come face-to-face (and mouth-to-mouth) with my wild Vegas hook-up from three years ago.

AKA, 6”3 of tanned muscle, sharp suits, and ‘undress me’ eyes.

AAKA, the best thigh-clenching, bed-shaking sex of my life.

AAAKA, the man who couldn’t be more off-limits if he had a uranium belt wrapped around his, um, assets. 

I’ve never been one to break the rules, but Cal has me wanting to rip them up – and roll around naked on the scrap paper. But with just three weeks to turn this bachelor into a DILF, can we keep our crazy chemistry from derailing his plans? Or will gold-digging relatives, rambunctious pre-teens, and a little thing called love leave us both crashed out of the race? 

Find out in the new sexy, hilarious romantic comedy from Lila Monroe!

Amazon US: https://amzn.to/2uOhMz6

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/2ojNU7V

Amazon AU: http://amzn.to/2HCsHhl

B&N: http://bit.ly/2FltmmD

Kobo: http://bit.ly/2sFT82z

iBooks: https://apple.co/2Gxy1BE

Google Play: http://bit.ly/2ELLTvq

 

 

EXCERPT

CAL POV

I bring the rest of the dirty dishes over to the sink, and we work in companionable silence for a few minutes, Jules rinsing plates before handing them to me to set in the dishwasher.

See? Nothing sexy about dirty dishes.

“Great stacking, Cal,” she says, looking surprised.

“What, you think I don’t know how to load a dishwasher?” I make a face. “I’m not completely useless.”

“Well, no,” she allows, tilting her head to the side. “Not completely.”

“Oh, you think you’re funny,” I say, reaching over to dip my fingers in the suds before flicking them in her direction.

“I am,” she says, flicking me back. “And don’t start.”

“Start what?” I ask, reaching over and splashing more. But this time, the water hits her square on, soaking her T-shirt so the thin cotton goes translucent. Clinging to her curves, and the outline of her bra.

Okay, so apparently dirty dishes can get sexy, after all.

Jules clears her throat and grabs a hooded sweatshirt from the back of a chair and pulls it on—zipping all the way to her chin. “You good to finish in here?” she asks, looking flustered.

I nod. Down, boy. “You go put your feet up.”

“You don’t have to ask twice.”

Jules exits the kitchen, fast, and I sigh. Kissing her back at HQ was a massive mistake . . . which left me with a massive hard-on for the rest of the afternoon. I couldn’t help it. Something about Jules is dangerously kissable.

And lickable.

And definitely fuckable.

I scowl at the dishcloths. I’ve never had a problem keeping my hands to myself before, and if I wanted to get a workout, I have plenty of options. I may not be living the wild playboy lifestyle anymore, but that doesn’t mean I’m a monk.

But Jules is off limits.

Which is probably why I’m going crazy over here trying not to notice the way she bites her lower lip when she’s thinking . . . or how her jeans fit way too well.

And if I even let myself start to remember how she felt in Vegas, bucking against me, begging for more—

Fuck, I’m going to need a damn cold shower twice a day at this rate.

 

 

 

ALSO AVAILABLE NOW – VERY IRRESISTIBLE PLAYBOY (Billionaire Bachelors #1)

 

 

Amazon US: https://amzn.to/2IyOoii

Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/2BdWoWt

Amazon AU: http://amzn.to/2D3uKJj

B&N: http://bit.ly/2DnW6tj 

Kobo: http://bit.ly/2Dv9Y4D

iBooks: http://apple.co/2klpyZy 

Google Play: http://bit.ly/2BkwSdm

 

 

 

New Release + Release Blitz + Excerpt: Hot Daddy by Lila Monroe

 

 

Welcome to the Billionaire Bachelors series, where the sexiest men in the city are about to meet their match…

Playboy CEO, Cal McAdams, lives life in the fast lane: hot women, hotter deals, and… a fake fiancee? I signed on to help reform his reckless image and win custody of his god-children, but I wasn’t expecting to come face-to-face (and mouth-to-mouth) with my wild Vegas hook-up from three years ago.

AKA, 6”3 of tanned muscle, sharp suits, and ‘undress me’ eyes.
AAKA, the best thigh-clenching, bed-shaking sex of my life.
AAAKA, the man who couldn’t be more off-limits if he had a uranium belt wrapped around his, um, assets.

I’ve never been one to break the rules, but Cal has me wanting to rip them up – and roll around naked on the scrap paper. But with just three weeks to turn this bachelor into a DILF, can we keep our crazy chemistry from derailing his plans? Or will gold-digging relatives, rambunctious pre-teens, and a little thing called love leave us both crashed out of the race?

Find out in the new sexy, hilarious romantic comedy from Lila Monroe!

 

Amazon | Amazon UK | Amazon AU | iBooks | Kobo | B&N

 

 

 

 

I’ve been stranded at the hotel bar in Vegas alone for exactly twenty seconds before a guy sidles in beside me. “Buy you a drink?”
I glance up. He’s at least twenty years my senior, with pleated khakis and an obvious comb-over. I shake my head and smile tightly. “Got one, thanks.”
“Aw, come on now,” he says, plunking himself down in the empty seat beside me. “You in town for the conference?” Then, in spite of the fact that I haven’t asked: “Medical devices.”
His name is Greg, he continues; he sells surgical equipment and has a hundred dollar per diem he hasn’t blown through yet today, if I want to rethink that drink offer. “I’ll spring for nachos too,” he says magnanimously. “I’m a generous guy.”
I’m sweeping the room for the closest exit, contemplating an escape worthy of Danny Ocean himself, when a hand lands on the back of my barstool. “Hey babe,” a deep voice says casually. “Making friends?”
I whip around. This guy would look right at home with Clooney and Pitt. He’s tall and dark-haired, wearing a shirt rolled halfway to his elbows and an expression that clearly says, just go with it. “I got my ass beat at roulette,” he continues with a sheepish grin. “There goes private school for the kids, right?” He sticks his hand out to medical device guy. “Cal. The husband.”
I almost choke on my paloma. Still, something about the sheer ballsiness of this particular play–and, okay, how hot this guy is–has me playing along. “Hey hon,” I say, laying a hand on his pleasantly solid bicep. “Greg here was just telling me all about the free swag at the medical device conference in town.”
Greg’s gaze darts from me to Cal, then back again. “I guess I’ll leave y’all to it, then.”
“Good to meet you,” I lie, smiling my cheeriest smile.
Once he’s gone I turn to Cal. “So, on a scale of like, one to Disney Princess, how badly did I look like I needed rescuing?”
Cal tilts his head to the side, considering. “I mean, your undisguised expression of misery kind of gave it away.”
“Maybe that’s just how my face is!” I protest, laughing in spite of myself. “Resting miserable face.”
“Eh. Maybe.” Cal shrugs, all confidence as he settles himself onto Greg’s recently vacated barstool. “You don’t look so miserable now.”
Right away I feel my cheeks flush. It’s been a long time since I flirted—or, more accurately, since I was competently flirted with. “So how many kids do we have, exactly?”
“Not too many,” he reassures me, nodding at the bartender for another beer. “Like six or seven, max.”
“Six or seven!” I snort. “And here you are just gambling their lunch money away like some kind of degenerate.”
Cal nods gravely. “I’m a real scoundrel,” he agrees.
“Clearly.” I stick my hand out. “Jules Robinson.”
“Nice to meet you, Jules Robinson.” He gives good handshake, firm but not bone-crushing, all long fingers and the faintest scrape of callus on his palm. His eyes are a deep, friendly brown. “So what brings you to Vegas?” he asks.
“I’m with a girlfriend,” I explain. “Or I was, anyway. At the moment she’s out on an… exploratory mission.”
Cal grins. “Sounds exhilarating.”
“Oh, I’m sure it is,” I assure him. “What about you? What are you doing in town?”
“Auditioning for Thunder from Down Under,” he says immediately. Then, off my laugh: ”Callback, actually. I aced the first round, they couldn’t get enough of me.”
“Right, no, obviously.” The ads for the all-male revue were plastered all over the strip when we got here this afternoon: beefy, longhaired guys in bow ties, cummerbunds, and not much else. “So what’s your character?” I ask, rattling the ice in my mostly-empty glass. “Sexy fireman, sexy cop…?”
“Sexy medical device salesman,” he deadpans. “See, you’re laughing, but I have a whole bit I do with the x-ray machine. It’s a real crowd pleaser.”
Casino bars don’t ever really empty out, but this one is taking on a distinct after-hours vibe, low light and quiet conversations; the Bud-guzzling bachelor party bros are long gone. When I finally check my phone to see if Kelly’s texted—she has, she’s safe, and she’s having a truly epic time with her mountain man—I realize it’s after one. “Holy shit,” I blurt. “How’d it get to be so late?”
Cal raises his eyebrows. “Keeping you up?”
“What? No!” I blurt, immediately embarrassed by how eager I sound. “We just had an early flight out this morning, that’s all. I’ve been up for like twenty hours.”
“I’m teasing you, princess.” He smiles at me then, slow and easy. It’s the most intimate smile of my entire life. It’s a smile like sitting in front of a campfire in October and reading the paper in bed on Sunday morning; it’s a smile, frankly, like getting good and fucked by a man who knows you down to your most essential particles. “You wanna get out of here?” he asks.
I knew it was coming but still there’s something bracingly scandalous about the idea, being propositioned by a total stranger. I’m imagining it now, I can’t help it: that broad chest pressed against mine and his capable-looking mouth on my neck, long fingers reaching down between my legs and—
“Tempting,” I tell him truthfully, laying a palm against my flaming face. “But I probably shouldn’t.”
To his credit Cal keeps smiling, a little rueful; he doesn’t try to convince me, either, just touches my arm and catches the bartender’s eye to settle up. “Fair enough,” he tells me, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket. “Well, it was really nice to be married to you for five minutes, Jules Robinson.”
“Yeah,” I agree, feeling my whole body get warm. “It was nice to be married to you for five minutes, too.”
I’m surprised by the sharp pang of longing behind my ribs as I watch him go a moment later, the strange sense that I’ve somehow given up more than just a roll in starchy white hotel sheets. Still, it’s not like I’m about to just get up and follow him out of here. He probably does this every night, sure. But I’ve never had a one night stand in my entire life.
I’ve never had a one-night stand in my entire life.
The thought stops me—after all, I’m a grown-ass woman with a newly minted law degree, aren’t I? I’ve got nobody to answer to but myself. And this is Vegas. What happens here, et cetera. I swallow down the rest of my tequila, set the glass back down on the bar. “Hey Cal!” I call, slinging my purse over my shoulder and hopping down off my barstool as quickly as my tiny dress allows. “Wait up.”

 

 

 


VERY IRRESISTIBLE PLAYBOY (Billionaire Bachelors #1) – available now.

Amazon | iBooks | Amazon UK | Amazon AU | Kobo | GooglePlay

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

About the Author

Combining her passions for books, sex, and well-fitted suits, Lila Monroe wrote her first romantic comedy, The Billionaire Bargain, in 2015 and hasn’t stopped since. She loves writing about smart alpha men, and the strong and sassy women who try to tame them.

Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Website | Amazon Author Page | Newsletter

Excerpt Reveal: Hot Daddy by Lila Monroe

 

Welcome to the Billionaire Bachelors series, where the sexiest men in the city are about to meet their match…

Playboy CEO, Cal McAdams, lives life in the fast lane: hot women, hotter deals, and… a fake fiancee? I signed on to help reform his reckless image and win custody of his god-children, but I wasn’t expecting to come face-to-face (and mouth-to-mouth) with my wild Vegas hook-up from three years ago.

AKA, 6”3 of tanned muscle, sharp suits, and ‘undress me’ eyes.
AAKA, the best thigh-clenching, bed-shaking sex of my life.
AAAKA, the man who couldn’t be more off-limits if he had a uranium belt wrapped around his, um, assets.

I’ve never been one to break the rules, but Cal has me wanting to rip them up – and roll around naked on the scrap paper. But with just three weeks to turn this bachelor into a DILF, can we keep our crazy chemistry from derailing his plans? Or will gold-digging relatives, rambunctious pre-teens, and a little thing called love leave us both crashed out of the race?

Find out in the new sexy, hilarious romantic comedy from Lila Monroe!

 

PREORDER NOW

Amazon | Amazon UK | Amazon AU | iBooks | Kobo | B&N

 

I’ve been stranded at the hotel bar in Vegas alone for exactly twenty seconds before a guy sidles in beside me. “Buy you a drink?”

I glance up. He’s at least twenty years my senior, with pleated khakis and an obvious comb-over. I shake my head and smile tightly. “Got one, thanks.”

“Aw, come on now,” he says, plunking himself down in the empty seat beside me. “You in town for the conference?” Then, in spite of the fact that I haven’t asked: “Medical devices.”

His name is Greg, he continues; he sells surgical equipment and has a hundred dollar per diem he hasn’t blown through yet today, if I want to rethink that drink offer. “I’ll spring for nachos too,” he says magnanimously. “I’m a generous guy.”

I’m sweeping the room for the closest exit, contemplating an escape worthy of Danny Ocean himself, when a hand lands on the back of my barstool. “Hey babe,” a deep voice says casually. “Making friends?”

I whip around. This guy would look right at home with Clooney and Pitt. He’s tall and dark-haired, wearing a shirt rolled halfway to his elbows and an expression that clearly says, just go with it. “I got my ass beat at roulette,” he continues with a sheepish grin. “There goes private school for the kids, right?” He sticks his hand out to medical device guy. “Cal. The husband.”

I almost choke on my paloma. Still, something about the sheer ballsiness of this particular play–and, okay, how hot this guy is–has me playing along. “Hey hon,” I say, laying a hand on his pleasantly solid bicep. “Greg here was just telling me all about the free swag at the medical device conference in town.”

Greg’s gaze darts from me to Cal, then back again. “I guess I’ll leave y’all to it, then.”

“Good to meet you,” I lie, smiling my cheeriest smile.

Once he’s gone I turn to Cal. “So, on a scale of like, one to Disney Princess, how badly did I look like I needed rescuing?”

Cal tilts his head to the side, considering. “I mean, your undisguised expression of misery kind of gave it away.”

“Maybe that’s just how my face is!” I protest, laughing in spite of myself. “Resting miserable face.”

“Eh. Maybe.” Cal shrugs, all confidence as he settles himself onto Greg’s recently vacated barstool. “You don’t look so miserable now.”

Right away I feel my cheeks flush. It’s been a long time since I flirted—or, more accurately, since I was competently flirted with. “So how many kids do we have, exactly?”

“Not too many,” he reassures me, nodding at the bartender for another beer. “Like six or seven, max.”

“Six or seven!” I snort. “And here you are just gambling their lunch money away like some kind of degenerate.”

Cal nods gravely. “I’m a real scoundrel,” he agrees.

“Clearly.” I stick my hand out. “Jules Robinson.”

“Nice to meet you, Jules Robinson.” He gives good handshake, firm but not bone-crushing, all long fingers and the faintest scrape of callus on his palm. His eyes are a deep, friendly brown. “So what brings you to Vegas?” he asks.

“I’m with a girlfriend,” I explain. “Or I was, anyway. At the moment she’s out on an… exploratory mission.”

Cal grins. “Sounds exhilarating.”

“Oh, I’m sure it is,” I assure him. “What about you? What are you doing in town?”

“Auditioning for Thunder from Down Under,” he says immediately. Then, off my laugh: ”Callback, actually. I aced the first round, they couldn’t get enough of me.”

“Right, no, obviously.” The ads for the all-male revue were plastered all over the strip when we got here this afternoon: beefy, longhaired guys in bow ties, cummerbunds, and not much else. “So what’s your character?” I ask, rattling the ice in my mostly-empty glass. “Sexy fireman, sexy cop…?”

“Sexy medical device salesman,” he deadpans. “See, you’re laughing, but I have a whole bit I do with the x-ray machine. It’s a real crowd pleaser.”

Casino bars don’t ever really empty out, but this one is taking on a distinct after-hours vibe, low light and quiet conversations; the Bud-guzzling bachelor party bros are long gone. When I finally check my phone to see if Kelly’s texted—she has, she’s safe, and she’s having a truly epic time with her mountain man—I realize it’s after one. “Holy shit,” I blurt. “How’d it get to be so late?”

Cal raises his eyebrows. “Keeping you up?”

“What? No!” I blurt, immediately embarrassed by how eager I sound. “We just had an early flight out this morning, that’s all. I’ve been up for like twenty hours.”

“I’m teasing you, princess.” He smiles at me then, slow and easy. It’s the most intimate smile of my entire life. It’s a smile like sitting in front of a campfire in October and reading the paper in bed on Sunday morning; it’s a smile, frankly, like getting good and fucked by a man who knows you down to your most essential particles. “You wanna get out of here?” he asks.

I knew it was coming but still there’s something bracingly scandalous about the idea, being propositioned by a total stranger. I’m imagining it now, I can’t help it: that broad chest pressed against mine and his capable-looking mouth on my neck, long fingers reaching down between my legs and—

“Tempting,” I tell him truthfully, laying a palm against my flaming face. “But I probably shouldn’t.”

To his credit Cal keeps smiling, a little rueful; he doesn’t try to convince me, either, just touches my arm and catches the bartender’s eye to settle up. “Fair enough,” he tells me, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket. “Well, it was really nice to be married to you for five minutes, Jules Robinson.”

“Yeah,” I agree, feeling my whole body get warm. “It was nice to be married to you for five minutes, too.”

I’m surprised by the sharp pang of longing behind my ribs as I watch him go a moment later, the strange sense that I’ve somehow given up more than just a roll in starchy white hotel sheets. Still, it’s not like I’m about to just get up and follow him out of here. He probably does this every night, sure. But I’ve never had a one night stand in my entire life.

I’ve never had a one-night stand in my entire life.

The thought stops me—after all, I’m a grown-ass woman with a newly minted law degree, aren’t I? I’ve got nobody to answer to but myself. And this is Vegas. What happens here, et cetera. I swallow down the rest of my tequila, set the glass back down on the bar. “Hey Cal!” I call, slinging my purse over my shoulder and hopping down off my barstool as quickly as my tiny dress allows. “Wait up.”

 


VERY IRRESISTIBLE PLAYBOY (Billionaire Bachelors #1) – available now.

Amazon | iBooks | Amazon UK | Amazon AU | Kobo | GooglePlay

 

About the Author

Combining her passions for books, sex, and well-fitted suits, Lila Monroe wrote her first romantic comedy, The Billionaire Bargain, in 2015 and hasn’t stopped since. She loves writing about smart alpha men, and the strong and sassy women who try to tame them.

Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Website | Amazon Author Page | Newsletter

New Release + Blog Tour + Excerpt: Very Irresistible Playboy by Lila Monroe

 

 

LMVeryIrresistablePlayboyBookCover6x9_HIGHWelcome to Billionaire Bachelors Inc, where the sexiest men in the city are about to meet their match…

Hot bachelor Max Carlisle is heir to a media empire, tabloid catnip, and… wants to hire me to be his fake fiancee. I know what it takes to keep a billionaire in line, but signing up for seven days in close quarters with this Very Irresistible Playboy? It’s just asking for trouble. The kind of thrilling, reckless trouble I could use a little more of since my career is currently ass-backwards in a mud bath with six shih-tzus (don’t ask).

So do I:
a) Take the job, and bicker wildly every step of the way?
b) Embark on a mad-cap treasure hunt to claim his billion-dollar inheritance?
c) Try my hardest not to fall head-over-heels in love with him and wind up having the best sex of my life?
d) All of the above?

Something tells me I’m about to be way out of my league… and under the most handsome, infuriating man I’ve ever met. But with a fortune on the line, can we beat out his crazy relatives to win the prize? And will our fake relationship be game over at the finish line?

Find out in the new sexy, hilarious romantic comedy from Lila Monroe!

ADD TO GOODREADS

 

Amazon US | Amazon UK | Amazon AU | iBooks
B&N | Kobo | Google Play

 

BILLIONAIRE BACHELORS SERIES
1 VIP (Jan 2018)
2 Hot Daddy (April 2018)
3 Wild Card (June 2018)
4 TBC (Aug 2018)

 

 

 

Max sets me down gently, and brushes a strand of wet hair from my face. His eyes are stormy blue in the darkness, and his fingertips hot against my face.

My breath catches. My eyes drift to his mouth, and then just like that, he’s pulling me close again, into a hot, reckless kiss.

Ahhh.

God, I’ve been dying to taste him again. His mouth is hard and possessive, claiming mine, and a shudder of lust rolls through me at the feel of him. His hands are all over me, molding me against him as the fire between us blazes hotter, and I forget everything. Like my rules, and our arrangement, and the fact I’ve sworn off men like him . . . None of it matters, not with Max’s tongue doing wicked things to mine, and his body so hard against me.

Very hard.

Hello.

 

 

About the Author

Combining her passions for books, sex, and well-fitted suits, Lila Monroe wrote her first romantic comedy, The Billionaire Bargain, in 2015 and hasn’t stopped since. She loves writing about smart alpha men, and the strong and sassy women who try to tame them.

Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Website | Amazon Author Page | Newsletter

Release Blitz + Excerpt: Very Irresistible Playboy by Lila Monroe

 

 

LMVeryIrresistablePlayboyBookCover6x9_HIGHWelcome to Billionaire Bachelors Inc, where the sexiest men in the city are about to meet their match…

Hot bachelor Max Carlisle is heir to a media empire, tabloid catnip, and… wants to hire me to be his fake fiancee. I know what it takes to keep a billionaire in line, but signing up for seven days in close quarters with this Very Irresistible Playboy? It’s just asking for trouble. The kind of thrilling, reckless trouble I could use a little more of since my career is currently ass-backwards in a mud bath with six shih-tzus (don’t ask).

So do I:
a) Take the job, and bicker wildly every step of the way?
b) Embark on a mad-cap treasure hunt to claim his billion-dollar inheritance?
c) Try my hardest not to fall head-over-heels in love with him and wind up having the best sex of my life?
d) All of the above?

Something tells me I’m about to be way out of my league… and under the most handsome, infuriating man I’ve ever met. But with a fortune on the line, can we beat out his crazy relatives to win the prize? And will our fake relationship be game over at the finish line?

Find out in the new sexy, hilarious romantic comedy from Lila Monroe!

ADD TO GOODREADS

Amazon US | Amazon UK | Amazon AU | iBooks
B&N | Kobo | Google Play

 

BILLIONAIRE BACHELORS SERIES
1 VIP (Jan 2018)
2 Hot Daddy (April 2018)
3 Wild Card (June 2018)
4 TBC (Aug 2018)

 

 

 

EXCERPT:

“I think we should establish some ground rules,” I announce, as we drive along the curving ocean road. Palm trees are swaying, the ocean is glittering aquamarine blue, and it’s all so gorgeous and romantic, I need to cling to some semblance of professionalism.

Max groans. “Do we have to?”

“Yes,” I say firmly. “We’re pretending to be in a relationship, so things could get . . .”

Hot . . . Tempting . . .

“Complicated,” I finally decide.

“OK.” Max sounds amused. “What did you have in mind?”

“No touching below the waist,” I say. “No PDA except holding hands and quick kisses. No tongue. And no talking about our imaginary sex life.”

I’m a little too hot and bothered just imagining we have an imaginary sex life.

“Fine.” Max grins. “I promise not to ravish you in front of my entire family.”

 

 

About the Author

Combining her passions for books, sex, and well-fitted suits, Lila Monroe wrote her first romantic comedy, The Billionaire Bargain, in 2015 and hasn’t stopped since. She loves writing about smart alpha men, and the strong and sassy women who try to tame them.

Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Website | Amazon Author Page | Newsletter