Release Day Blitz + Excerpt: Sky’s the Limit by Elle Aycart

 

 

 

 

 

Tired of waiting for her big break in the fashion industry, Sky Gonzalez, eternal part-time student and overworked retail drone, quits her job, sublets her New York apartment, and embarks on a semester abroad study program in Paris. Paris! Time to throw caution to the winds and jump-start her dreams. What’s the worst that could happen?

How about getting sent to the wrong Paris? As in Paris-frigging-Minnesota?

Bye-bye career dreams. Bye-bye glamour and haute couture. Hello flannel shirts, mind-numbing cold, zero bars on the cell phone, and socially challenged mountain men with tons of unruly facial hair.

So yeah, let the truck barreling her way hit her, please. Less painful.

Logan should have dodged the little lost waif and kept on driving. Who in their right mind walked in the middle of the road, dressed in white from head to high heels, during a snowstorm? Clueless city girls, that’s who. Sky is all that Logan has gladly left behind: stylish, cosmopolitan, and a massive pain in the butt. He wouldn’t trade a single day in his quirky little corner of the woods for all the high-maintenance beauties the city can offer.

Too bad this beauty has been deemed a health hazard and quarantined in his house. Damn his doomsday-prepper neighbors and their paranoid emergency protocols. Now he has to keep Sky in and the pandemic squad out until the roads are clear. The question is, will that happen before or after Sky realizes she’s under house arrest?

Ah, the best-laid plans…

 

This was so not happening. “Are you serious?” Sky choked out.
“I’m afraid so. I’ll make it up to you later, I swear. Get dressed.” Logan reached for the keys, unlocked one cuff, freed her from the headboard, and jumped off the bed. “Dark clothes. Camo if you’ve got it.”
She snorted, sitting up. “You’re joking, right? The closest I’ve gotten to camo was watching—with contempt, I might add—an episode of Duck Dynasty.”
“Black sweatpants then.”
Sure, like she had packed that for Paris. The only sweatpants she had were gold and pink. Prada, spring collection.
“Where’s the key for the cuffs?” she asked, looking around.
“I left it on the bed,” Logan shouted from the closet.
Sky patted the bedsheets but no luck. “Can’t find it.”
Logan came back carrying a big rucksack. He left it on the floor and lifted the bedcovers. No key. “Maybe it fell on the floor?”
Sky pointed at the rucksack, ominously similar to the ones she’d seen the 10K participants carry. “Don’t tell me. Bug-out bag?”
“Bug-out bag. We need to hurry. They time these drills. If we mess up their schedule, we won’t ever live it down. Get ready. I’ll search for the key.”
Where had she gone wrong? She’d had a nice, comfortable city life. Friday meant cosmopolitans, sexy clothes, and a fancy date with dinner and dancing. Hot sex if she was lucky. Now? She was in the middle of nowhere, getting ready for an evacuation drill, her mascara down her chest, her hair a mess, and her clit hurting like a bitch from not coming. No dinner. No dancing.
She heard the front door opening and a woman yelling, “Logan! Move it! Where are you?”
“My sister got tired of waiting outside.”
“Forget the key and go meet her downstairs,” Sky urged him. “Before she gets in here. Or worse, before Arnie attacks her.”
“Fuck.” Logan grabbed the bag and dashed out of the room. “We’re coming! Go back to the car. Give us a minute.”
“You got thirty seconds,” was the annoyed reply.
Sky pulled the first long-sleeved-shirt she could find over herself, hoping to cover the cuffs hanging from one wrist. It was Logan’s, so it went down to her knees. Whatever. She ran to her room and put on the pink-and-gold sweatpants and the black-and-red rubber boots. Jesus Christ, talk about hillbillying it.
She dashed downstairs. Logan was holding the front door for her. Outside, the horn on a big, black truck was blaring.
“About time,” said the driver, a gruff man dressed in camo, as they jumped in the vehicle. A woman with pixie-cut hair, also wearing camo, was riding shotgun. Megan, Logan’s sister, Sky presumed.
“If you batshit wackos would schedule your damn drills at a more reasonable hour, or let us know beforehand, this wouldn’t happen,” Logan snapped back.
“It wouldn’t be much of an emergency evacuation drill if we gave notice beforehand, would it?” the pixie lady said.

 

 

 

After a colorful array of jobs all over Europe ranging from translator to chocolatier to travel agent to sushi chef to flight dispatcher, Elle Aycart is certain of one thing and one thing only: aside from writing romances, she has abso-frigging-lutely no clue what she wants to do when she grows up. Not that it stops her from trying all sorts of crazy stuff. While she is probably now thinking of a new profession, her head never stops churning new plots for her romances. She lives currently in Barcelona, Spain, with her husband and two daughters, although who knows, in no time she could be living at the Arctic Circle in Finland, breeding reindeer.Elle loves to hear from readers!

elleaycart@gmail.com

 

 

Cover Reveal: The Beau & the Belle by R.S. Grey

We are so excited to reveal the stunning cover of R.S. Grey’s next release, THE BEAU & THE BELLE! This romantic comedy releases February 1st. See the cover and find out more about THE BEAU & THE BELLE below!

 

About THE BEAU & THE BELLE

Beau Fortier starred in most of my cringe-worthy teenage fantasies.

I met him when I was a junior in high school, a time that revolved exclusively around bad hair, failed forays into flirting, and scientific inquiries into which brand of toilet paper worked best for stuffing bras.

That is, until Beau moved into the small guest house just beyond my bedroom window.

A 24-year-old law student at Tulane, Beau was as mysterious to me as second base (both in baseball and in the bedroom). He was older. Intimidating. Hot. Boys my age had chicken legs and chubby cheeks. Beau had calloused hands and a jaw cut from steel. Our interactions were scarce—mostly involving slight stalking on my end—and yet deep down, I desperately hoped he saw me as more of a potential lover than a lovesick loser.

Turns out, I was fooling myself. My fragile ego learned that lesson the hard way.

Now, ten years later, we’re both back in New Orleans, and guess who suddenly can’t take his eyes off little ol’ me.

My old friend, Mr. Fortier.

But things have changed. I’m older now—poised and confident. My ego wears a bulletproof vest. The butterflies that once filled my stomach have all perished.

When I was a teenager, Beau warned me to guard my heart.

Let’s hope he knows how to guard his.

Add THE BEAU & THE BELLE to your Goodreads list here!

THE BEAU & THE BELLE releases February 1st – you’ll be able to preorder your copy for .99c starting January 29th!

Keep an eye on R.S. Grey’s Facebook page for the link!

About R.S. Grey

R.S. Grey is the USA Today bestselling author of thirteen novels, including THE FOXE & THE HOUND. She lives in Texas with her husband and two dogs, and can be found reading, binge-watching reality TV, or practicing yoga! Visit her at rsgrey.com

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Release Day Blitz + Excerpt + Giveaway: Most Likely To Score by Lauren Blakely

 

 

From #1 NYT Bestselling author Lauren Blakely, comes the hot, new sports romance, MOST LIKELY TO SCORE! A sexy, standalone forbidden romance about a sports star and the woman who’s off limits, MOST LIKELY TO SCORE is now available on all retailers! Get your copy delivered now!

 

 

✮✮✮ MOST LIKELY TO SCORE is here! Grab your copy today! ✮✮✮

A sexy new forbidden romance from #1 NYT Bestselling Author Lauren Blakely…

It should have been a simple play…

She needed a football player to step up and be the star for a charity calendar. I needed a sharp and savvy publicist to manage a brand-new sponsorship deal. I scratched her back. She scratched mine. And oh hell, did Jillian ever drag her nails down my back on one hell of a hot night. Okay fine, it was several hot nights on the road.

Now we’re back in town and it’s time to set the play clock back to when we were simply player and publicist. Given the way the last few years have gone, I can’t risk this deal, so it’s hands off for us once again. Trouble is, I want more than than just another night with her.

What’s a guy to do when he’s always been most likely to score, but the woman he’s falling for is just out of bounds?

I don’t date players.
And I definitely don’t sleep with players.
And I absolutely don’t fall for a certain player when I get to know him and learn he’s more than just sexy — he’s clever, funny and has a heart as big as his . .. well, you get my drift.

But my job is at stake, and I can’t afford to lose that as well as my heart. The problem is, I think I’ve already lost that game.

What’s a girl to do when the clock is running out, but the man she’s falling for is off limits?

MOST LIKELY TO SCORE is a brand new standalone sports romance written in dual POV!

 

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✦The audiobook is narrated by Zachary Webber and Andi Arndt! ✦
Audio on Amazon http://amzn.to/2AA78cG
✦Audible http://adbl.co/2B6axB5


 

 

 

 

Add it to Goodreads here!

 

 

EXCERPT:

~JONES~

“Love it,” Christine says emphatically, her lips and that metal hoop in the bottom one the only parts of her face visible since the lens covers the rest. “How about a little tough-guy look now?”

Because tough guys hold footballs in front of their junk.

“This is my best badass pose,” I say, narrowing my eyes and staring at the camera like I’d stare at the secondary of the Miami Mavericks.

“Oh yes, more of that, right, Jillian?” Christine shouts to the other person here in the studio with us.

That person is Jillian, and she hasn’t looked my way since I strolled in here and dropped my drawers. Damn shame.

From her spot leaning against the far wall, the team publicist answers in a crisp, professional tone I know well. “Exactly. We love his tough-guy face.”

She doesn’t even look up from her phone.

I keep working it for Christine, doing my best to make sure my blue eyes will melt whoever is looking at the picture when the magazine hits newsstands and Internet browsers in another few weeks.

It’s an evergreen kind of issue, since the body edition is one of the most popular. Gee, I wonder why. I’ve no doubt this shot of me with a football for my skivvies will quickly surpass the previous most-searched-for image of yours truly—the game-winning catch I made in the end zone in the Super Bowl two years ago.

But, to be fair, there’s another shot of me that’s searched for maybe a tiny bit more. I like to pretend that shot doesn’t exist.

“The camera loves you,” Christine croons as the snap, snap, snap of the lens keeps the rhythm.

“The feeling is entirely mutual,” I say, pursing my lips in an over-the-top kiss.

Christine laughs. “You are my favorite ham in all of sports, Jones. That’ll be a perfect outtake for our website.”

“That’s a brilliant idea,” Jillian chimes in. “Make sure to send me a copy for social, please.”

“Absolutely,” Christine answers.

I sneak a peek at the dark-haired woman by the wall, that silky curtain of sleekness framing her face as she smiles a bright, buoyant, outgoing grin at the photographer then drops her head back down.

Damn.

Jillian Moore is one tough nut to crack.

I’m nearly naked in front of her, and she hasn’t once looked my way.

As the woman behind the lens shoots another photo with my favorite ball covering my favorite balls, Jillian doesn’t even spare another glance.

I’m going to need a whole new playbook to get this woman’s attention.

 

 

Don’t miss the first sizzling standalone sports romance from Lauren Blakely, MOST VALUABLE PLAYBOY, now on sale for the first time! Get your copy for $2.99 for a limited time only!

 

 

Hands down, my favorite thing in the world is to score. Touchdowns.

Don’t let the fact that I’m the leading pick in the MOST LIKELY TO SCORE charity auction fool you. These days, I’m only a player on the field. I’ve kept my pants zipped all season long — and it has been long — because nothing’s more important than leading my team to victory every week. Except maybe escaping from the team owner’s recently-widowed and handsy-as-hell sister who’s dead set on winning more than a date with me.

Enter Violet and a well-placed Hail Mary.

She’s my best friend’s sister with a smile as sweet as cherry pie and a mind that runs quicker than the 40-yard-dash. After Violet saves the day with the highest bid, I don’t even give her a two-minute warning before I kiss her in front of the whole crowd and then announce that she’s my girlfriend. Which would be fine except my agent tells me we have to keep up the act while he’s negotiating my contract.
Violet takes one for the team and pretends to be mine, but our boyfriend-girlfriend scrimmage quickly turns into a full contact sport, and I want it to go into overtime. The problem is — I’ve been riding the bench for years.

How can a guy like me, who finally has a chance to prove his worth on the field, convince the girl she’s most valuable to his heart?

MOST VALUABLE PLAYBOY is a brand new standalone sports romance written in the guy’s POV!

 

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✮✮✮ Enter to win this amazing MOST LIKELY TO SCORE GIVEAWAY! ✮✮✮

Lauren’s MOST LIKELY TO SCORE Girls Day Out Package! This bundle is valued at $398.00 and includes a Cherry Red Kate Spade Purse ($298 value) and a $100 Gift Card to Your Favorite Store to go Shopping!

https://laurenblakely.com/likely-score-giveaway/

 

 

A #1 New York Times Bestselling author, Lauren Blakely is known for her contemporary romance style that’s hot, sweet and sexy. She lives in California with her family and has plotted entire novels while walking her dogs. With fourteen New York Times bestsellers, her titles have appeared on the New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal Bestseller Lists more than 85 times, and she’s sold more than 2 million books. In March she’ll release WANDERLUST, a breathtaking new romance that will sweep you away. To receive an email when Lauren releases a new book, sign up for her newsletter! laurenblakely.com/newsletter

 

 

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Chapter Reveal + Pre-Order: Sky’s the Limit by Elle Aycart

Tired of waiting for her big break in the fashion industry, Sky Gonzalez, eternal part-time student and overworked retail drone, quits her job, sublets her New York apartment, and embarks on a semester abroad study program in Paris. Paris! Time to throw caution to the winds and jump-start her dreams. What’s the worst that could happen?

How about getting sent to the wrong Paris? As in Paris-frigging-Minnesota?

Bye-bye career dreams. Bye-bye glamour and haute couture. Hello flannel shirts, mind-numbing cold, zero bars on the cell phone, and socially challenged mountain men with tons of unruly facial hair.

So yeah, let the truck barreling her way hit her, please. Less painful.

Logan should have dodged the little lost waif and kept on driving. Who in their right mind walked in the middle of the road, dressed in white from head to high heels, during a snowstorm? Clueless city girls, that’s who. Sky is all that Logan has gladly left behind: stylish, cosmopolitan, and a massive pain in the butt. He wouldn’t trade a single day in his quirky little corner of the woods for all the high-maintenance beauties the city can offer.

Too bad this beauty has been deemed a health hazard and quarantined in his house. Damn his doomsday-prepper neighbors and their paranoid emergency protocols. Now he has to keep Sky in and the pandemic squad out until the roads are clear. The question is, will that happen before or after Sky realizes she’s under house arrest?

Ah, the best-laid plans…

Somewhere in the back of beyond, Minnesota

SOS. Car broke down. Stuck in snowstorm. Check my location and alert troopers.

Sky Gonzalez pressed Send and threw her cell in the air as high as she could. There was nothing but trees and snow around, no cell coverage to be had where she was standing. Maybe another six feet up, the situation was different.

She caught the phone on its way down. Checked the screen. Nope. Jesus Christ, the whole country was infested with butt-ugly, fake-tree cell towers, and she had to get lost in a place where all the damn trees were real.

Turning against the gusts of wind and brushing flakes away from her face, she gave it another go, tossing as far as she dared. Which wasn’t far, really, because she wasn’t the most coordinated person in the world. If she dropped the phone and it smashed into a million pieces, or she lost sight of where it landed, that was it for her last lifeline to the outside world. She’d never find her cute, sparkly cell again—slick and thin and white.

In hindsight, going for that color had been a very poor decision.

Still no dice. Squinting, she tossed the device up again. Hopefully her message would eventually go through, and Lola would contact the authorities. After all, it was Lola’s fault Sky was in this bind. Of all the crazy shit her sister had pulled over the years, this stunt trumped every one of them.

Every. Single. One.

She caught her cell a third time. Nothing. Well, practice made perfect, right? Besides, she didn’t have much else to do except throw that stupid phone into the sky and continue walking. The road must lead somewhere. Sooner or later she’d arrive there. Or she’d get lucky and her cell would catch a signal. Or she’d freeze to death and become a cautionary tale to stupid girls. Whatever came first.

She looked back to where her car was being buried under a steady fall of big flakes. Steam was still coming from the hood. How a car could overheat in the middle of a snowstorm, she didn’t know. That annoying little red light on the dashboard that had flashed at her for the last twenty miles might have had something to do with it. Not that she could have done shit about it, seeing as the last person she’d crossed paths with was at a gas station a hundred miles away. Or so. She wasn’t great at calculating distances or reading maps.

Orienting herself wasn’t one of her fortes either, evidenced by the embarrassing fact that her destination should only have been about fifteen miles from the regional airport and she’d still managed to miss it. She’d tried backtracking, but she’d only succeeded in getting more lost. And that was hours ago. The car’s GPS had stopped working right after she left the airport, and her cell had been without a steady signal for a long while before the car itself died. For all she knew, she’d crossed state lines. Heck, she might be in Canada. Or in frigging Alaska.

Great way to kick off the New Year. Best first of January ever.

Eyes on her airborne cell, she tripped and fell flat on her face, the useless device landing on the back of her head.

Coordinate colors? Forecast fashion trends? Put together a knockout outfit from a thrift shop? All that she could do, no problem. But apparently, throwing an object up in a straight line and catching it on the fly were not in her skill set.

Aggravated, she got up, patted the snow from her pants, and burrowed her hands under her jacket. The wind wasn’t too strong, but the constant bee stings of flakes on her skin, along with her shitty clothes, made her feel like she was freezing. The extremely fashionable hand-me-downs from her boss were not designed for off-road snow trudging.

Then again, she should have been strolling around Paris’s Golden Triangle of luxury boutiques and haute couture labels. Or sitting in a cute little café, watching the sun set over the Champs Elysées, enjoying the mild chill of the French winter—which this year was supposed to be warmer than usual—sipping red wine, and munching on a baguette slathered in gooey cheese. For that, she was perfectly dressed.

Thank God she’d gotten that ridiculous white bunny-ear hat at the airport, ugly as it was, and the white bunny-paw mittens. The snowstorm must have caught other travelers off guard, because those had been the only winter garments in the tiny store. High heels and a bunny hat. Hell of a fashion statement. On the plus side, she was color coordinated down to her underwear. White pants. White jacket. White boots. White hat.

She should have stayed in the broken car. No heat and a cramped space were a thousand times preferable to walking in the open, but she was so tired, she couldn’t afford to sit idle. She’d fall asleep in a second and wake up a Popsicle. Or, more to the point, not wake up at all.

That she’d been awake thirty hours and counting wasn’t helping. But why would she have wasted her last night in New York City sleeping when she thought she had a transatlantic flight ahead of her? Eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. Sky was infamous for drifting off in the weirdest places and the most impossible positions. Tourist class, no leg room, screaming babies? Bring it on. Heck, once she’d zonked out in a jumper seat and snored there for hours, back in the day when she flew standby, courtesy of a friend’s industry-discount tickets.

Looking forward to a cozy nap in coach, she’d gone partying with friends instead of resting—and checking her flight details. Now she was stuck in the middle of nowhere, sleep-deprived, knee-deep in snow, freezing her butt off, and probably catching the mother of all flus.

Minnesota. Where the heck was Minnesota? She was an East Coast person through and through. She hadn’t been this far west since that time she took the wrong train and ended up in Newark. That had been traumatic enough, thank you very much.

She glanced around. It was beautiful, though. Perfect snowflakes poured out of the sky, blanketing the whole landscape in white. Very… Christmassy. Too bad it wasn’t Christmas, and she was lost, alone, and irremediably soaked. Her hair and makeup were ruined. And let’s not talk about her brand-new manicure. Hansel and Gretel dropped bread crumbs. Her? She was dropping fake nails all over the place.

Damn the countryside. Not a single soul around to ask for directions. Where were aggressive taxi drivers when one needed them? Rude walkers, honking cars, hotdog vendors, a Starbucks on every corner—there was nothing like that here. No landmarks she would recognize.

Just snow, trees, and a back road, poorly delineated and with worse signage, all of it getting fuzzier by the second.

And that was the view in the middle of the day. She shuddered to think how all this would look when it started getting dark. Were there wolves in Minnesota? Bears? Because if her high-heeled boots were shit walking in the snow, just wait until she had to climb a tree.

Sky was about to toss the cell up again, but she stopped. Sighed. Who was she kidding? She’d need a rocket launcher to make it past the treetops. She might as well put her phone to better use before the battery died or it got buried in the snow, Fargo style, until the end of time. She pressed the recording function and started talking. “This is the last will and testament of Sky Gonzalez. This message is addressed to my sister Lola. I leave you, Lola, all my belongings, which you’ll find in a car buried under a ton of snow somewhere in the middle of Minnesota, where you sent me!” she yelled into the device. “Know that I blame you for everything, and I will haunt you from the afterlife for freaking ever! You’ll never have a good night’s sleep, I guarantee you. Damn your presbyopia! Yes, you’ve hit forty. Yes, you need glasses. Own it, for Christ’s sake!”

Screaming seemed to help, marginally. To vent her frustration, if nothing else. She knew she shouldn’t be mad at Lola. After all, it wasn’t completely her sister’s fault. Never mind how busy she’d been, Sky should not have asked her sister to fill out her application for the semester-abroad program. At the very least, she should have suspected something was fishy when the secretary in the placement department had been so glad about Sky’s choice of location, she not only arranged the flight for her, but also informed her that the position came with a voucher for a car rental. Big red flag if Sky ever saw one.

“I don’t need a car,” she’d told the woman. Why would she? Public transportation was a far better option in European cities.

The secretary had sounded confused. “Uhh, believe me, you’ll need a car. Any preferences?”

In all her years as a part-time undergrad at that school, taking classes here and there whenever she could afford it, Sky had never heard the old hag be so nice to anyone. So she went for broke. “Okay, if I can choose, a cute little Mini would work.” Driving in style trumped trunk space any day. Besides, parking would be at a premium in Paris.

“A what?”

She’d gone too far. “If it’s too much, I can—”

“No, no,” the secretary had hurried to interrupt. “It will be arranged.”

Probably she’d thought Sky was going to pull her application if she didn’t get her preferred car. Which she would have. In a heartbeat. Not because of the car, but because she had thought she was going to Paris, France. Not Paris, Minnesota. Who in her right mind would choose an internship in Minnesota when Europe was available?

Sky Gonzalez, apparently.

Entering the semester-abroad program had been an ill-omened idea. She should have accepted her destiny as an eternal student and sales clerk turned personal shopper’s assistant. Dressing in castoffs from her boss and living vicariously through others people’s pics on Instagram. Making ends meet, a big smile on her face, happy and satisfied with her lot.

But traveling to Europe in the hopes of becoming a buyer for a classy continental retailer? Not in the cards for a Gonzalez.

Sky blew warm air over her frozen fingers. Manipulating her cell with the mittens had been a no-go, so she’d stashed them in her jacket. Time to fish them out, or she was going to lose more than her nails. Rummaging in her pockets produced only one mitten. Oh, shit. She must have dropped the other one. Fantastic. Getting better and better. Her teeth were chattering. The storm didn’t look like it was lightening up anytime soon, so she put on the one mitten and picked up her speed.

She pressed Record again and spoke into the phone.“I left Arnie at the dog hotel, so you are getting your sorry ass over there and picking him up, Lola. To hell with your allergies.”

Arnie hated it there. Ungrateful mutt. Much as it pained Sky, she couldn’t take him with her overseas. She’d dished out an indecent amount of money, money she couldn’t afford, to that first-class kennel, and he’d looked at her as if she were dumping him into the pound. “If I freeze to death… which at this stage is a very strong possibility, because the clattering sound you’re hearing is my teeth… I expect you to care for him. The expensive doggie treats he likes. His massage and spa days. The whole shebang, Lola. Do not cut corners with my baby. You owe me.”

When Sky stopped yelling into the phone, she realized the screeching she was hearing wasn’t coming from her. It sounded like brakes locking. She turned around in time to see the shiny grill of a black monster truck barreling her way.

Her eyes opened wide. Holy shit.

It was a damn good thing she couldn’t feel half her body anymore, because this was sooo going to hurt.

* * *

The second that Logan saw a flash of long red hair and something resembling human eyes, he wrenched the wheel, sending the truck spinning to the shoulder, barely missing the tiny figure in the middle of the road. Jesus Christ. Who in her right mind wore white from head to toe in a blizzard? The truck screeched to a halt, the passenger side a mere half an inch from the woman. He jumped down and ran around the front. She had fallen to the ground. Fuck, had he hit her? “You okay?”

“You… almost… ran… me… over,” she said, her teeth chattering. From fear or cold, he couldn’t tell. Well, he could. It had to be cold. Her clothes were flimsy at best. Flashy, but not warm at all.

“Are you crazy? Standing in the middle of the road, all in white? I could have killed you.”

He saw a gleam of defiance in her eyes. “White’s… trendy… this… year.”

Right. “There’s nothing ‘trendy’ in this part of Minnesota, lady. Where’s your car?”

“There.” She pointed in the direction Logan had come from. “Or there,” she corrected herself, pointing in the opposite direction. “Not sure now. It all looks… white.”

No shit.

He tried to help her stand, but her legs buckled, so he lifted her in his arms. “Let’s get you somewhere warm, shall we?” After placing her on the passenger seat, he cranked up the heat.

“Can’t leave… without… my bags.”

He stepped outside and scouted the ground a little.

Her footsteps indicated she’d been walking in the same direction he’d been driving, which meant he must have passed her vehicle and missed it. “What car are you driving?”

She sneezed, the useless synthetic-fur hood on her jacket flopping over her bunny-eared head. Out of the whole stupid outfit, that bunny-eared hat was the most sensible piece. “A Mini.”

Great. Wherever she’d left the car, it was probably buried now.

“We’ll come back for it tomorrow,” he decided, jumping back in and revving up the engine.

“My Manolos are in there.”

Manolos. Oh, boy, wasn’t that a blast from the past? Another shoe whore. Just what he needed. “They’ll still be here tomorrow, believe me.”

She was going to object, but a sudden sneeze derailed her. And another and another. He opened the glove compartment, took out a wad of napkins, and offered it to her. “Why did you leave the car?”

“Stopped working,” she answered, grabbing a napkin and wiping her nose. “And when I began walking… it wasn’t snowing so much.”

“You aren’t from anywhere around here, are you?” Her dumb clothes were a dead giveaway. Her actions too. She shook her head, placing her hands in front of the air vent. “New York City.”

It figured.

She narrowed her dark eyes on him. “Why?”

The heat had kicked in. She must have finally felt it, because her teeth weren’t chattering as hard. She was even getting some color back in her face.

He looked resolutely forward and edged the truck into motion. “For your information—next time you decide to take a stroll in the Minnesota countryside, you need better shoes. And clothes. You don’t assume the weather conditions will improve. And you never leave your vehicle. Ever. Under any circumstances. You don’t stand in the middle of the road without wearing reflectors. And—”

A sudden move from the passenger side caught his attention. He gave her a quick glance and saw, flabbergasted, that her head had lolled to the side.

“Lady, you okay?”

A light snore was all the answer he got. “And you don’t get into a stranger’s ride and proceed to check out,” he muttered. Jesus fucking Christ. Talk about a lack of common sense.

After a colorful array of jobs all over Europe ranging from translator to chocolatier to travel agent to sushi chef to flight dispatcher, Elle Aycart is certain of one thing and one thing only: aside from writing romances, she has abso-frigging-lutely no clue what she wants to do when she grows up. Not that it stops her from trying all sorts of crazy stuff. While she is probably now thinking of a new profession, her head never stops churning new plots for her romances. She lives currently in Barcelona, Spain, with her husband and two daughters, although who knows, in no time she could be living at the Arctic Circle in Finland, breeding reindeer.

Elle loves to hear from readers!

elleaycart@gmail.com

Release Blitz + Excerpt + Giveaway + 5-Star Review: Stud In the Stacks by Pippa Grant

 

Title: Stud in the Stacks
Author: Pippa Grant
Genre: Sexy Romantic Comedy
 Release Date: January 5, 2018
Blurb
When it comes to women, I know what they want. And all day long, I give
it to them. Dark, broody, and sexy? You got it. Need to laugh? I’m your guy.
Desperate for something to put you in the mood? You’ve come to the right place,
kitten.
Every morning when my library opens, there’s a line around the block,
the ladies flocking to me in need of their next book boyfriend. I’m that dude.
The one who knows his way around the romance section. And if you think that
hasn’t gotten me plenty of action over the years, you’d be wrong.
But I’ve made a few miscalculations, and now my reputation has my job
in danger. If I can’t prove to my boss that I’m more than a playboy who
recommends romance in the hopes of getting some hanky panky in the stacks, I
can kiss my job goodbye.
Stud in the Stacks is a sexy, hilarious, sometimes
embarrassing romantic comedy told in both points of view, complete with tacos,
romance novel love, and unicorn parties with no cheating or cliffhangers.

 

 

Purchase Links
AMAZON US / UK / CA / AU
Free in Kindle Unlimited
Excerpt
Even though it’s been six years since I stripped for a
roomful of women, I’m pleased to report my loincloth still fits in all the
right places. Tad more snug in front than I remember, but if I had to grow,
might as well be in the junk.
I give the elastic one last test as the producer signals
that I’m up. Spider-Man gives me a fist bump. Thor smacks my ass. They’re the
last two bachelors going up on the block after me in tonight’s superhero-themed
auction.
There are some who might say Tarzan isn’t a superhero, but
Jane would beg to differ.
And I fucking own this costume.
Plus, if no one else bids on me, my Nana’s right up front,
ready to throw down the hundred bucks I slipped her before the show.
I’m hoping for a little higher than that though. Batman just
went for a cool five grand.
Batman was a dick, which I assume my Nana didn’t know when
she started the bidding on him. A grade-A, condescending asshat who thought
just because he had a few million bucks in the bank, he could call people gay
like that’s an insult and take a metaphorical shit on my favorite books.
I fucking want to beat Batman.     
Tracey’s Review
***5 Magical Unicorn, Taco Loving, Love Amongst the Books Stars***

What did I love about STUD IN THE STACKS by author Pippa Grant? The better question is, what didn’t I love about this book? With a heroine who’s less awkward than she thinks she is, a main man that is smart, sexy, and, oh, yes, he loves books, and so many laugh-out-loud funny moments that I embarrassed myself in various locations around town while reading, this is a book that instantly stole my heart.

I think that it is awesome that Pippa, a writer of romance novels herself, has no problem taking the oft-times maligned genre and running with it. From giving a nod to other romance writers (by name and title, mind you!), capturing the fan base so very wonderfully, and even hitting on recent current events within the community, she has done a stellar job of giving we readers exactly what we want, a book for romance lovers about romance lovers, with fabulously zany characters and a plot line that makes this one of the most riotously satisfying reads that I can remember.

Pippa has, thankfully, brought back all of my favorite characters from MR. MCHOTTIE, her first book, and given us even more fun with the introduction of Parker’s brothers. I mean, laughing so hard that I couldn’t breathe funny, these kooks are just everything in this book. And, while I love Chase and Sia from the first book, Knox and Parker (and Nana, oh, my gosh, we can’t forget Nana) are one of my most favorite book couples ever.

STUD IN THE STACKS is sitting pretty atop my list of books that fans of the romance genre, or anyone that wants to snort their beverage out of their nose while reading, really, should shove to the top of their TBRs right this very minute. As rom-coms go, you’d be hard-pressed to start your year off with anything better, and I obviously couldn’t recommend it any more highly.

 

Author Bio
Pippa Grant is a stay-at-home mom and housewife who loves to
escape into sexy, funny stories way more than she likes perpetually cleaning
toothpaste out of sinks and off toilet handles. When she’s not reading,
writing, sleeping, or trying to prepare her adorable demon spawn to be
productive members of society, she’s fantasizing about chocolate chip cookies.
Author Links

 

Cover Reveal: Baby Daddy by Kendall Ryan

We are thrilled to bring you the cover for the brand new hot and hilarious standalone from New York Times bestseller Kendall Ryan.

BABY DADDY releases on February 27th!

 

 

 

 

A hot and hilarious new standalone from New York Times bestseller Kendall Ryan.

 

We met in a trapped elevator.

 
Emmett was on his way to work, sophisticated and handsome in his tailored suit and tie.

I was on my way to the sperm bank. Awkward, right?

At thirty-five, my life hadn’t taken the path I thought it would and I was tired of waiting—I wanted a baby. And I was ready to take matters into my own hands to make it happen.

After our ill-fated elevator encounter, Emmett insisted on taking me to dinner—he also insisted on something else—that I ditch my plan involving a turkey baster and let him do the job. He would be my baby daddy. He was a wealthy and powerful CEO with little interest in diapers or playdates. And since he didn’t want kids, I’d be on my own once his bun was in my oven, free to go my own way.

But once his baby was inside me, it was like a switch had been flipped, and I got a whole lot more than I ever bargained for.

This full-length standalone contains a hot, swoonworthy hero, lots of playful banter and some hot baby-making ! Enjoy.

 

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A New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today bestselling author of more than two dozen titles, Kendall Ryan has sold over 1.5 million books and her books have been translated into several languages in countries around the world. She’s a traditionally published author with Simon & Schuster and Harper Collins UK, as well as an independently published author. Since she first began self-publishing in 2012, she’s appeared at #1 on Barnes & Noble and iBooks charts around the world. Her books have also appeared on the New York Times and USA Today bestseller lists more than three dozen times. Ryan has been featured in such publications as USA Today, Newsweek, and InTouch Magazine.

Visit her at: www.kendallryanbooks.com for the latest book news, and fun extras

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Cover Reveal: The Upside To Being Single by Emma Hart

 

 

 

If anyone asks, I knew better than to flash my boobs for Mardi Gras beads.

I still don’t know why I did it.
Maybe it was the dare from my two best friends.
Maybe it was the guys on the balcony saying they’d throw Fireball shots with the beads.
Or maybe it was the quiet guy in the corner of that same balcony with piercing gray eyes, wavy dark hair, and a smile so tempting I wanted to climb up there and lick it off his face.
Maybe it was because I never thought I’d see them again.
Not that it matters. Not today.
Because the hotel I manage was finally bought—and the guy who walks in and introduces himself as my new boss is Mr. Tall, Dark, and Silent.

There are many upsides to being single.
Your new boss knowing what your boobs look like?
Not one of them.

 

ADD TO GOODREADS

 

Amazon US | Amazon UK | Amazon AU | Amazon CA | Nook | iBooks | Kobo

 

 

 

By day, New York Times and USA Today bestselling New Adult author Emma Hart dons a cape and calls herself Super Mum to two beautiful little monsters. By night, she drops the cape, pours a glass of whatever she fancies—usually wine—and writes books.

Emma is working on Top Secret projects she will share with her followers and fans at every available opportunity. Naturally, all Top Secret projects involve a dashingly hot guy who likes to forget to wear a shirt, a sprinkling (or several) of hold-onto-your-panties hot scenes, and a whole lotta love.

She likes to be busy—unless busy involves doing the dishes, but that seems to be when all the ideas come to life.

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