Monday, July 31

*** CHAPTER REVEAL *** So Good by Nicola Rendell

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Coming August 7th
 
 
 
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On the roof of a house outside Truelove, Maine, master carpenter Max Doyle looks down through a skylight and sees the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on. She’s naked, she’s gorgeous, and everything about her is perfect, down to the ball-busting tattoo of a rose that wraps around her hip. But it isn’t just any woman making his knees buckle. It’s his best friend, Rosie Madden. And as he stands there, mesmerized and precariously close to toppling off the roof, he knows he’ll never, ever be able to look at her the same way again.

Rosie can’t help but notice that Max is suddenly acting very strange—lots of long stares, totally tongue-tied, and not at all like the slightly cocky hunk she’s proud to call her best friend. She can’t figure it out, until later that night when Max rescues her from the world’s worst date, challenges her to a game of pool, and shows her just exactly what she’s got him thinking about. Repeatedly.

But life is complicated. Rosie’s cat, Julia Caesar, wants to eat Max’s dog Cupcake for an afternoon snack. A dream job threatens to pull them apart. And another glance through the skylight changes everything, one more time. Yet try as they might, they can’t go back to being just friends, because falling in love with the one you’ve always adored?

It feels so good.
 

1
Max

I wasn’t planning to see her naked—I swear to God, I wasn’t. The day was a scorcher, one of those godforsaken New England summer days that makes a guy wonder how he ever said fuck you to winter. I stood on the roof her house, three stories above the Maine woods, with a far-off view of the ocean. It was pretty, yeah, like the kind of shit real estate companies put on complimentary calendars. But in that heat, it was like standing on top of a goddamned toaster, turned all the way to burnt. I could feel that shit in my socks, straight through my work boots. At my feet was a stack of shake shingles, old school, to replace the ones that were missing. Her house had a few slow leaks, and one over her bathroom that made the ceiling look like a huge Rorschach test. She said it definitely looked like a rose in bloom, I said it definitely looked like Batman. But I told her hidden meanings wouldn’t make shit for difference when the ceiling collapsed into the tub, so there I was. Fucking miserable work, but I was glad to do it. Glad to do anything for her—anything she needed at all.
In the forest on every side around the cottage, the cicadas screeched. It sounded like a needle squeaking off a record player. I knelt down by the stack of shingles, using my utility knife to score a line through one to fit a nearby gap. I snapped it with my hands and tossed the scrap end off the edge of the roof. A trickle of sweat ran down my forehead, and I wiped my face with my forearm. One droplet got away, sparkling in the sun. It caught my eye, and I watched it fall, as it landed on the skylight window with a splat.
And that was when it happened. Boom.
There she was, right under me. She couldn’t have been more than six feet away, but she felt even closer. I had a direct line of sight down into her gorgeous, soft cleavage, bright and pure in the sunshine. Maybe it was the heat, or maybe it was the surprise of seeing her, but at first I didn’t really process that it was Rosie at all. My dude brain said, I want that woman.
Then my regular brain said, Don’t be an asshole, man. It’s Rosie. Have some respect.
Respect I definitely had, but of course I’d thought about seeing her naked before. She was so fucking beautiful that any man would have thought about it. Sometimes, like right then looking down into her dress, I couldn’t fucking help it. Sometimes we’d be out doing something ordinary, like eating dinner, or I’d be changing her oil, or she’d be teaching me to do shit I should have learned at some point in the last 34 years, like iron a dress shirt without screwing up the collar, and I’d catch myself watching her cleavage rise and fall as she breathed, or thinking how nice her legs were, and I’d think, Holy hell.
Now she was directly underneath the skylight. The angle of the sun cast my shadow down the roofline, away from the skylight, so I didn’t give myself away. Like that, I watched her. I gave in to my dude brain and just took her in. Her light brown hair glinted, and a beam of light caught the curve of her shoulder.
That was when the goddamned striptease started, beginning with the left strap of her sundress.
Her movements were graceful, sexy, sassy—the sway of her hips, the shake of her shoulders. I realized I might be in real fucking trouble, because I loved that sexy sass. It wasn’t normal Rosie-cute. It was naughty, like nothing I’d ever seen her do before. I liked it so much, I couldn’t look away. She shimmied out of her sundress, and it fell to the floor in a pool at her feet. No big deal, I tried to tell myself. I’d seen her in her bikini a thousand times. This was no different from that.
Except it was, because then she reached around to undo her bra. Before I could tell myself Don’t look, dude. It’s Rosie, don’t look, it was too fucking late. The straps slid down off her shoulders, and for one perfect second got caught on her nipples, swinging in the air before falling to the floor.
Holy…
I pressed my clenched fist to my mouth and groaned into my hand. All my blood was leaving my head. The roofline was getting wobbly.
It wasn’t like I didn’t know her curves; we’d spent whole summers on the beach—I knew her shape and her softness, I knew her lines and her freckles. Every curve of Rosie Madden was sacred in my book. Fucking douchebags on the beach giving her eyes had to answer to me and my eyes, right behind her. She did that to me—I was one punch away from defending her honor, always. But this? This was different. Seeing your best friend in a bikini at a clam bake is one thing. Protecting your best friend from assholes with wandering eyes is part of the guy-girl best friend creed. But seeing your best friend, absolutely naked in her bedroom, without knowing she can see you? That was a different deal.
…Shit.
Part of me knew I should keep my eyes off of her. She thought she was in private, I had no business spying. Anyway, I didn’t want to be that guy. I hated that guy. But the other part of me, fuck. The other part of me was nothing but want.
Then she bent at the hips, and time slowed down, like some kind of stop-motion Jackie Chan kung fu sequence. All the cicadas went silent, at least in my head they did. The wind stopped blowing through the trees. It was just her, and her perfection, in the sunshine underneath me. I felt like I was on one of those glass-bottomed boats, looking at a world I never knew existed.
She tossed her bra aside, and it landed on her neatly made bed. She shimmied out of her panties, shaking her ass as she did. I growled into my fist, and that’s when I went down into a crouch.
Because as she shimmied I saw it in a V above her ass. My kryptonite. A skimpy thong.
All these years, all these decades, I’d had her pegged for cute cotton panties—pastel polka dots, thin stripes, shit that was sweet and sensible. But I was so fucking wrong. Black. Strappy. Tiny. Not sensible at all. Now it was in a rolled-up ball at her ankles. Using her toes, she plucked her panties from the floor, and caught them on one finger.
Fucking A.
She was completely naked, not a thread on her. Every thought I’d ever had got sucked out of my brain, like dishwater down the sink drain. What was left was only one true thing, and it wasn’t about her ass, or her skin, or her breasts. It was the one thing I think I’d always known but never let myself feel. Until that moment.
She is the most beautiful woman in the world.
Part of the reason I thought that was, yeah, obviously, she was fucking stunning, every inch of her straight out of a dream. Not just my dream, either. Guys would slow down on Main Street to give her the elevator stare, and I’d quietly crack my knuckles and give them don’t-you-fucking-dare stares. But the other part, the part that wasn’t in my gut but that was in my heart, was that I fucking adored her. Adored her so hard it hurt.
She crouched down to pick up her dress, lifting the delicate straps with her small, sweet fingers. She pivoted, so I had a view of her other side of her body for the first time. There it was.
The tattoo.
I groaned again. I wasn’t prepared for this shit; three stories up, that body was dangerous. It was a rose tattoo, snaking around her hip, on the milk-white skin that was always under her bikini bottoms. The part of her I’d never seen. It was serious ink, real art, not some namby-pamby temporary tattoo or some amateur shit she might’ve gotten in an hour at a tattoo parlor on a dare on a cruise to Puerto Rico. It was complicated, detailed, and artful. Multiple visits to some tattoo artist, touching that creamy skin—goddamn.
It took every fucking ounce of strength I had, but I did manage to look away. I felt as disoriented as if I’d been sucker punched. Not cotton—lace. Not cute—hot. Not my friend—my fucking fantasy.
She was so important to me, such an integral part of my world, that I’d never let myself think of her as more than what she was. She was like running water, or electricity, or the sunshine itself. She was one of those things that was perfect exactly as it was, and one of those things only an idiot would want to change. I never looked at her and thought, I wish I could have more of her than I do already. That would be like thinking, I wish I could turn that cold glass of water into a swimming pool. Or, I wish electricity came through the air. Fuck that noise. Perfect things are perfect things, and Rosie Madden was a perfect goddamned thing, from the tips of her toes to the freckles on her nose. And that rose, holy fuck, that rose.
I was strong, but not that strong, and I let my eyes move down again. She’d disappeared from view, mostly, except for the edge of her ass. I watched her rifle through her closet, and a few dresses fluttered onto her bed. On her bedside table, I caught a glimpse of the picture she always kept there, of the two of us together. The memories flew back at me like a runaway train. The first time I’d ever seen her was the day my parents and I moved to Truelove, at the start of middle school. The first time I ever saw her, she was volunteering at the community gardens. She had a smudge of dirt on her cheek, and I thought she’d looked super badass. I’d helped her dig up carrots and had been too fucking tongue-tied to say a goddamned word.
That’s how I felt, all over again times a thousand.
I’d never made a move. She’d cried on my shoulder through a line of guys who were never good enough for her. Jocks and pricks and a brief and seriously unfortunate stint with a guy who was a drummer for a reggae band who I hated so much it made me grind my teeth. But I never said shit about it. She was perfect even when she made mistakes. Tips of her toes. Freckles on her nose.
Never mind that rose. Like Banksy took on a temple.
One more time, I glanced down. Now she was sitting on her bed, and I saw that dark V shadow between her thighs. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. I watched her put on a pair of red panties. Equally skimpy, equally not-sensible, equally ball-busting. They were only tragic because they hid the parts of her I’d never seen before.
Christ. All. Mighty.
As the world started to spin, I realized fixing the shingles could wait. I’d been working on old houses long enough to know that if you found yourself on a dangerously sloping roof and felt like you might be less than 100% on the ball, you needed to reconsider your game plan. I needed to get my shit together—that body had me totally fucking derailed. So I made my way down the roof, basically bouldering down backward. I focused on my grip, and my steps, like a climber coming down from Everest without enough oxygen. When I got to the gutter, I worked my way around the corner, standing on the eave, and hooked my leg over my ladder, making sure to put one foot after another and keep a tight grip on every rung.
When I stepped off the ladder, I grabbed a bottle of water that she’d left for me and filled up my palm and then splashed my face. My sweat stung my eyes through the droplets of water, and I rubbed away the tears. I heard the hinges on the screen door creak. “All done?” she asked.
I opened my eyes. They stung like hell, but I didn’t give a fuck. There she was, in a dress I’d seen before. Striped and sweet. But now I knew the secret. There were red panties under there. Red. Cherry red. My eyes fell on that part of her hip that I knew was inked.
“Max?”
I managed somehow to snap out of it. “Sorry. Getting there. Spotted something weird with the skylight.”
Rosie cocked her head. “Were you up there? Above my room?”
Awesome, dude. Smooth. “Just noticed it out of the corner of my eye.”
“I don’t like you being on the roof.” She pursed her lips. “Too steep. Promise you’ll get some ropes up there or something? Promise?” She reached out and put her hand to my arm, her fingers with their short pink nails pressing into my tanned skin. I had a quick but totally unavoidable image of her gripping my forearm in a very different situation. I want that. So fucking...
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
When I didn’t answer—I knew that if I opened my mouth the first words out would be You. Me. Right Now.—she looked up at the roof and squinted into the sun. She peered suspiciously up at me and shifted her nose, kind of like a bunny. Adorable. She wasn’t very tall, so whenever she looked at me she had to lift her chin, which used to be cute. But now looked…like everything I’d ever wanted. “Have you had too much sun?”
I was vaguely aware that she’d said some words, but I wasn’t hearing them because I realized that I couldn’t see her bra straps, so that had to mean she was she was wearing a strapless…
Knock. That. Shit. Off. “I’m good.”
“Mmm.” She nodded and furrowed her delicate eyebrows, which had never looked so pretty as they did at that moment. I didn’t even know eyebrows could be pretty. They’re eyebrows, for fuck’s sake. But suddenly I felt like for the last ten years, I’d been looking at her through a standard definition television, with a shitty cable connection. Now someone had handed me an HDMI cable, and she was in 1080 dots per inch. Christ.
“Lemme make you a sandwich. You’re acting strange.”
Rather than answer her, I dumped the remaining half a bottle of water over my head, like Andre Agassi used to do between break points at the French Open.
“Ham? Or turkey? I’ve got both. Or chicken salad!” She clapped her hands together, compressing her cleavage. “Do you want a pickle?”
She means an actual pickle, you fuckwit. “Surprise me,” I told her, and dragged my eyes off the curve of her cleavage. I grabbed the bottom of my T-shirt and pressed it to my eyes. I had to get out of there. I needed a cold shower, or a call from my tax guy, or an unexpectedly urgent trip to the DMV—anything to stop myself seeing her stark naked every goddamned time I looked at her. Anything to get my mind off that ink.
As I wiped my face, she cleared her throat, and I dropped my shirt. “What?”
She pressed her lips together and rocked back on her sandals. “Nothing!”
I followed her eyes and glanced down at my fly, but the stallion was still in the barn. “Come on,” I said, finding myself smiling right along with her. “What are you looking at?”
“Just…” She swallowed hard. “Looking good there, champ.” She glanced at my stomach, where I’d shown her my bare abs. She made a fist and gave me a mock punch, soft and sweet. “That P90X is working great for you.”
Here we go again with the fitness videos. For everything else she was—beautiful, smart, funny—she was also a fucking ball-buster sometimes. She’d worked up this whole narrative that I spent my nights with Tony Horton on my houseboat, getting cut and doing reps while I drank protein shakes with a straw straight from the blender. It was her only explanation for why I didn’t have a girlfriend. P90X it had to be, she’d said. Or maybe, she’d whispered like a co-conspirator, “Jazzercise.” Now, though, I had a better idea than ever about why I was so picky: not a single woman held a candle to her. I’d been fucking blind to it, but now the mist had burned right off. “I’ve never even seen the opening sequence. Never have. Never will.”
“They’re streaming now!”
“Christ.”
Rosie snorted and made a long wheeeeee. “Sure. Surrrrrrre,” she said, stifling her giggle. “One ham-and-turkey, coming right up.” She spun on her sandals and disappeared into the house. Hips swinging. Red panties invisible, but not to me.
Not anymore.
 
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Nicola Rendell writes dirty, funny, erotic romance. She likes a stiff drink and a well-frosted cake. She is at an unnamed Ivy and prefers to remain mostly anonymous for professional reasons. She has a PhD in English and an MFA in Creative Writing from schools that shall not be named here. She loves to cook, sew, and play the piano. She realizes that her hobbies might make her sound like an old lady and she’s totally okay with that. She lives with her husband and her dogs. She is from Taos, New Mexico.
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*** BLOG TOUR & REVIEW *** Thieves 2 Lovers by K. Webster and J.D. Hollyfield

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Thieves 2 Lovers

by K. Webster and J.D. Hollyfield 2 Lovers Series #3 (May be read as standalone) Publication Date: July 25, 2017 Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romantic Comedy
Purchase: Amazon | Barnes & Noble
Best friends aren’t supposed to kiss. But these best friends did. He can’t get the taste of her lips off his mind. She can’t let go of the guilt from her mistake. He wants to be good enough for her. She wishes life were different. He’s the bad boy reject. She’s the girl next door. When opposites attract, they collide and create an explosion that can’t be ignored. Is it possible to be madly in love with your best friend? Love follows no rules because love is a rebel. Her: We should talk about what’s happening… Him: It’s about damn time.

My Review 

4 "Best Friends" Stars

A hilarious and heartwarming friends to lovers romance. These two kept me on my toes and a smile on my face. Plus the addition of seeing all my favorite characters again left me feeling all nostalgic. This series is a great rom com from two talented ladies. 

Hate 2 Lovers

by K. Webster and J.D. Hollyfield 2 Lovers Series #2 (May be read as standalone) Publication Date: April 4, 2017 Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romantic Comedy
She hates him and his big head. He likes her and her big t*ts. She hates him because she somehow ends up naked every time she sees him. He likes her because she somehow ends up naked every time he sees her. She hates him because the big oaf knocked her up with his kid. He likes her because she’s carrying his child. She hates the way he gets inside her head. He likes the way she lets him see glimpses of her heart. Andie: I hate you. Roman: I know…but I’m going to change that. ***This is book two in the series. It is best if you read book one first to fully understand this couple’s story.***

Purchase: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | iBooks
It’s the start of nothing good. I fired off a storm of raunchy text messages…to the wrong number. And he replied. Him: Show me a picture. Him: Tell me your name. Why does the lure of anonymity have me craving to indulge a stranger? It’s the start of everything right. I received a slew of text messages…when everything in my life was wrong. And she made me laugh again. Her: You’re probably a creeper. Her: Possibly a stalker. Why do I have the overwhelming need to find this stranger who saved me and make her mine? Him: Take a chance with me. Her: This is crazy. Him: I need to see you. Her: What are we doing? Him: We’re about to find out. Her: PHOTO ATTACHED Him: PHOTO ATTACHED

About K. Webster

K Webster2 K Webster is the author of dozens romance books in many different genres including contemporary romance, historical romance, paranormal romance, and erotic romance. When not spending time with her husband of twelve years and two adorable children, she’s active on social media connecting with her readers. Her other passions besides writing include reading and graphic design. K can always be found in front of her computer chasing her next idea and taking action. She looks forward to the day when she will see one of her titles on the big screen. You can easily find K Webster on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Pinterest, and Goodreads! Website: www.authorkwebster.com Newsletter: http://eepurl.com/bllgoP

About J.D. Hollyfield

Author JD Hollyfield Creative designer, mother, wife, writer, part time superhero… J.D. Hollyfield is a creative designer by day and superhero by night. When she is not trying to save the world one happy ending at a time, she enjoys the snuggles of her husband, son and three doxies. With her love for romance, and head full of book boyfriends, she was inspired to test her creative abilities and bring her own story to life. Life in a Rut, Love not Included is her Debut Novel. J.D. Hollyfield lives in the Midwest, and is currently at work on blowing the minds of readers, with the additions of her new books and series, along with her charm, humor and HEA’s.
 

Sunday, July 30

*** RELEASE BLITZ & REVIEW *** Mr. Right-Now by Lila Monroe

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Title: Mr. Right-Now
Author: Lila Monroe
Genre: Romantic Comedy
Release Date: July 30, 2017
Blurb
“I’m face-down in forty glorious inches of well-endowed cake, seriously reassessing my life choices, when suddenly I hear it. The voice that launched a thousand teenage boy-band dreams. My #1 crush, Drew Delaney himself.”
Ten years ago, Drew was boy-band royalty: the subject of a million teenage fantasies - and the guy next door. He was so far out of my league, I couldn’t see him for stars, but now I’m back in town for our high-school reunion, guess who I run into but Mr. Right-Now himself…
Older. Hotter. And still sexy enough to make me forget about the glittery white frosting currently smeared across my chest.
Sparks are flying, and so are my panties, and soon, our trip down memory lane has taken a detour to ‘oh my god, don’t stop!’. Population: me. 
But can I turn Mr. Right-Now into Mr. Forever? Or will crazed fans, vicious yoga moms, and three dozen c#ck-sicles (don’t ask) doom our romance to the ‘Where are they now?’ section of MTV’s greatest hits? 
You’ll be begging for a taste of Lila Monroe’s new sexy, laugh-out-loud summer romance!
Purchase Links
99c for a limited time
AMAZON US / UK / CA / AU
Free in Kindle Unlimited
Review
Mr. Right-Now is a perfect summer time rom com read. It's sweet, sexy and so funny. Lila Monroe is one of my favorite rom com writers for a reason. Her make-you-feel-good romances always leave me with a smile on my face and a lightness in my heart. Maggie and Drew are no different. Their growing romance was swoon-worthy and giggle-worthy all at the same time.
Reviewed by Paige

★★☆ 4 "Fantasy" Stars ☆★★

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Author Bio
Combining her love of writing, sex and well-fitted suits, Lila Monroe wrote The Billionaire Bargain. Lila enjoys writing, as it gives her a flexible schedule to spend time with her kids and a wonderful excuse to avoid them. She lives in Los Angeles with her husband, who strips out of his well-fitted suits nightly.
Author Links

*** BLOG TOUR & REVIEW *** The Darkest Sunrise by Aly Martinez

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Today we are sharing the release for The Darkest Sunrise by Aly Martinez. It is the first book in a contemporary romance duet, and is it available to read for FREE on KindleUnlimited!

Be sure to follow Aly's newsletter for exclusive news about the duet.

     

The Darkest Sunrise (The Darkest Sunrise Duet, #1)

Buy it Now

Amazon US | Amazon UK | Amazon CA | Amazon AU


Synopsis:

Sticks and stones will break my bones, but words will never harm me. Whoever coined that phrase is a bald-faced liar. Words are often the sharpest weapon of all, triggering some of the most powerful emotions a human can experience. “You’re pregnant.” “It’s a boy.” “Your son needs a heart transplant.” Sticks and stones will break my bones, but words will never harm me. Lies. Syllables and letters may not be tangible, but they can still destroy your entire life faster than a bullet from a gun. Two words—that was all it took to extinguish the sun from my sky. “He’s gone.” For ten years, the darkness consumed me. In the end, it was four deep, gravelly words that gave me hope of another sunrise. “Hi. I’m Porter Reese.”
  REVIEW Heartbreaking. I mean I kinda guessed. The story continued to unfold and I was like, well I guess I was wrong. Then BOOM! Nothing can prepare you for this. Nothing. Phenomenal. Just absolutely phenomenal.  I was pulled in from the start. My heart broken in a totally and completely unexpected way. As the story played out and we heard the words, "Hi, I'm Porter Reese" I was an absolute goner.  This duet is going to be one of my favorites. I just know it because this book is going to be one of my most favorites. Bravo Ms. Martinez. You have done it again you evil genius you. Reviewed by Paige   ★★☆ 5 "Parenthood" Stars ☆★★  Buy it Read it Love it
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The Brightest Sunset (The Darkest Sunrise Duet, #2)

Coming July 27th

Pre-order it Now

Amazon US | Amazon UK | Amazon CA | Amazon AU

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You won't want to miss this amazing series!

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AUTHOR INFORMATION:

Originally from Savannah, Georgia, USA Today bestselling author Aly Martinez now lives in South Carolina with her four young children. Never one to take herself too seriously, she enjoys cheap wine, mystery leggings, and baked feta. It should be known, however, that she hates pizza and ice cream, almost as much as writing her bio in the third person. She passes what little free time she has reading anything and everything she can get her hands on, preferably with a super-sized tumbler of wine by her side.    
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Friday, July 28

*** COVER REVEAL *** The Wild by K. Webster

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The Wild

by K. Webster Publication Date: August 7, 2017 Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance, Taboo
I brought them to the wilderness because we couldn’t cope with our reality. The plan was to make a new life that didn’t include heartache. No people. No technology. No interference. Just us. A chance to piece together what was broken. But the wilderness is untamed and harsh. Brutal and unforgiving. It doesn’t give a damn about your feelings. Tragedy lives there too. No escaping the truths that won’t let you go. All you can do is survive where love, no matter how beastly, is the only thing you can truly count on. Confusing. Wrong. Twisted. Beautiful. Sick. Love is wild. And we’re going to set it free. Warning: The Wild is an extremely taboo story. Most will find that the themes in this book will make you incredibly uncomfortable. This book is only for the brave, the open-minded, and the ones who crave love in even the most dismal of situations. Extreme sexual themes and violence in certain scenes, which could trigger emotional distress, are found in this story. If you are sensitive to heavy taboo themes, then this story is not for you.

About K. Webster

K Webster2 K Webster is the author of dozens romance books in many different genres including contemporary romance, historical romance, paranormal romance, and erotic romance. When not spending time with her husband of twelve years and two adorable children, she’s active on social media connecting with her readers. Her other passions besides writing include reading and graphic design. K can always be found in front of her computer chasing her next idea and taking action. She looks forward to the day when she will see one of her titles on the big screen. You can easily find K Webster on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Pinterest, and Goodreads! Website: www.authorkwebster.com Newsletter: http://eepurl.com/bllgoP

*** RELEASE BLITZ & REVIEW *** Alex in Wonderland by Max Monroe

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Blurb: From New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Max Monroe comes a new, sexy, and exciting twist on fairytales. I’m Matt Hadder.  I’ve been called ruthless, savage—even brutal—by the men and women who work for me. And I’ve earned my reputation. Wonderland Inc., a party planning organization for every major player in the world, is Oz, and I’m its Wizard. I can make anything—drugs, prostitutes, deals—appear for a night and disappear just as quickly. This doesn’t make me good or bad—it makes me essential. Wonderland Inc. was my life, until a beautiful contradiction of innocence and impurity, obedience and rebelliousness named Alex Little stepped in and turned both of our worlds upside down. Welcome to Wonderland, Alex.  A place where everything appears normal.  But we’re all mad.
Disclaimer: Exercise caution while reading. Evidence shows that Matt Hadder's vibrant sexiness and alpha manner may lead to confusion, arousal, and questioning the necessity of one's own moral code.  *Authors may not responsible for any subsequent illegal activity.
BUY LINKS: iBooks: https://goo.gl/LzhaXL AMAZON: https://goo.gl/ptgvCx AMAZON UK: https://goo.gl/JS1rqH AMAZON AU: https://goo.gl/fyN787 AMAZON CA: https://goo.gl/PWeogP Kobo: https://goo.gl/UwJg5f Nook: https://goo.gl/ACjMsX Google Play: Coming soon!
My Review 

#ManMonroeTwistedFairytales are my new favorite thing. 
So I love #MaxMonroeRomComs. I also really love the their stuff that makes me think (as well as laugh) - Sex Says - and I now find that they can write anything apparently because their dark minds might just be my favorite yet with Alex in Wonderland. This had some laughs, definately dark undertones and was seriously sexy. The build up to the actual event was some of the best non-sex sexytimes I've read in a long time. And the story was just as phenominal. It kept me on the edge of my seat but gave me the romance I crave.  Matt Hadder is at the top of the figurative food chain. He owns Wonderland Inc which is a money making and deal brokering organization that operates outside the law mascarading as a party planning company. He's ruthless with a reputation to go with it. That is until he meets Alex Little. She's the kind of desperate that does things purely for survival. That's how she finds herself at a low point in her life entertaining ungrateful children at a celebrities birthday party and running into Matt. When he offers her a job she knows nothing about, she takes it. Because she doesn't really have any other options. And what she finds opens her eyes. Good and Bad start to blur but falling in love with her boss might just be the stupidest things she's ever done. Or it could be the very best.  I was swept away and into this story right from the beginning. The prologue gripped my heart in a way I didn't expect. Then watching Alex struggle and Matt dominate kept me transfixed. With just enough darkness to keep me guessing, enough to sexual tension to melt my Kindle and enough romance to make me swoon, I fell for Matt and Alex and I cannot wait to see what other kinds of dark stories Max and Monroe come up with. 
Reviewed by Paige

★★☆ 5 "What Would A Bad Guy Do" Stars ☆★★

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***TEASER*** Twisted Twosome by Megham Quinn

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Check out the amazing teaser for TWISTED TWOSOME by Meghan Quinn!



TWISTED TWOSOME
NA Romantic Comedy

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Racer McKay is a broody bastard.

From the moment I met him, he’s been rude, irritable, and unbearable. 

A contractor working to remodel my parents pool house for extra cash, he stomps around in those clunky construction boots with his tool belt wrapped around his narrow waist, and a chip on his shoulder.

Racer McKay is also infuriatingly . . . sexy as hell. I want to take that pencil tucked behind his ear, and draw lazy lines slowly up and down his body all the while wanting to strangle him at the same time.

We try to stay out of each other’s way . . . that is until I have no other option but to ask for his help.

But what I don’t realize is he needs me just as much as I need him. I have money he’s desperate for, and he holds the key to making my dreams come true.

Our pranks turn from sarcastic banter, to sexual tension and lust-filled glances. Bickering matches quickly morph into slow burn moments. We’re hot, we’re cold. We push and pull. I need him, I don’t want him. We’re on the verge of combusting with an agreement dangling dangerously between us. Neither one of us can afford to lose one another and yet, we’re finding it quite hard to decipher the line that rests between love and hate.

*Twisted Twosome is a stand alone romantic comedy.







About the Author:

Born in New York and raised in Southern California, Meghan has grown into a sassy, peanut butter eating, blonde haired swearing, animal hoarding lady. She is known to bust out and dance if "It's Raining Men" starts beating through the air and heaven forbid you get a margarita in her, protect your legs because they may be humped.

Once she started commuting for an hour and twenty minutes every day to work for three years, she began to have conversations play in her head, real life, deep male voices and dainty lady coos kind of conversations. Perturbed and confused, she decided to either see a therapist about the hot and steamy voices running through her head or start writing them down. She decided to go with the cheaper option and started writing... enter her first novel, Caught Looking.

Now you can find the spicy, most definitely on the border of lunacy, kind of crazy lady residing in Colorado with the love of her life and her five, furry four legged children, hiking a trail or hiding behind shelves at grocery stores, wondering what kind of lube the nervous stranger will bring home to his wife. Oh and she loves a good boob squeeze!


Find me on Goodreads:

Visit my website: http://authormeghanquinn.com/