Friday, 24 June 2016

Blog Tour- A Readers Thoughts- Last Kiss by Laurelin Paige

Last Kiss by Laurelin Paige 



"Visceral, enticing, shining with white lies and dark truths, seductive twists and turns, and a love that takes your breath away." – Katy Evans, New York Times bestselling author

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Synopsis:

A GAME OF CAT AND MOUSE FILLED WITH DARK DESIRES AND DANGEROUS SECRETS… Emily Wayborn has made a decision. She might not fully trust handsome and deadly Reeve Sallis, but he is the one person that gives her what she needs. With Reeve she can finally be herself. Submitting to him is the only thing keeping her grounded as the rest of her life falls apart. But the hotelier is a master at keeping secrets and as she continues her quest for answers someone is making sure she doesn’t find them. Time is running out and she is questioning everything she thought she knew about friendship and love. She must now make an impossible choice that will determine if she will survive with her heart…or at all.

Add to your TBR on Goodreads

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My Review 

A great conclusion to this two part series. 

After the ending of the last book, I was looking forward to driving straight in on this one. It picks up right where book 1 ended. Emily is still looking for answers to her questions- will Reeve be able to restore her trust and give her the answers needed. With Amber back on the scene Emily isn't sure where she stands with her relationship with Reeve either. Does he want Amber or her or both of them? For me you really get to see another side of Reeve in this one, at times I really felt sorry for him, I go frustrated with Emily at times. 

This was a great suspense read, at times I did feel it dragging a little but I wanted answers so kept reading. There was plenty of twists and turns and I was surprised by how some things worked out. Overall I did enjoy reading this series and Lauren writing was great writing such an emotional angsty read. 

Overall a great series that fans of Laurelin will really enjoy. I can't wait to see what she writes next. 

*   I received an ARC in exchange for an honest review

Buy Links:

Last Kiss

Amazon / Amazon UK / iBooks / Barnes and Noble / Google / Kobo


First Touch

Amazon / Amazon UK / iBooks / Barnes and Noble / Google / Kobo Now available on Audible!

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Excerpt:

  Reeve smirked—he loved it when I begged—but he didn’t take me where I wanted to go. Instead, with his fingers pinching my chin, he twisted my face so that my cheek pressed against the glass. “Look,” he said in reverence. The mirror ran the whole wall behind me then wrapped around the vanity so, facing this direction, I could see our reflections in the glass, half eclipsed by steam from the shower. He let go of me long enough to wipe the fog then resumed his grip on my jaw. I stared, transfixed by the sight of his cock driving into me over and over. With my focus where he wanted it, Reeve rearranged my legs, bringing one foot up to brace on the counter and propping the other in the sink. Now I was angled so that my cunt could better be seen in the mirror. It was naughty and erotic and I couldn’t stop staring. “Look at that,” he said again, his fingers jabbing into my skin. “The way you let me use you is so beautiful.” Beautiful. It was beautiful. The way he had me spread out awkwardly across the bathroom sink, naked while he was still clothed—it was vile and wicked and oh, so beautiful. “I can’t control myself when I’m inside you.” His voice was ragged and threadbare. “I want to tear you apart. I want to rip you to shreds.” He moved both of his hands to grasp my thighs, tilting my pelvis so that his thrusts hit even deeper. “I want to destroy you. Want to fuck you to pieces. Want to shatter you. Want to break you.” His awful, wonderful words set a storm to gather low inside me, and I could tell that this time it wouldn’t back down. I shifted my hands from the counter to his forearms to brace myself for its attack. The movement drew his attention from the mirror to my face. “Want to break you,” he repeated, his words more of a rumble than actual speech. “You do,” I said, peering up under heavy lids, my voice a mere rasp. “You do break me. Every time.” Reeve’s eyes sparked in awe, then the muscles in his neck grew taut and his rhythm stuttered. With a low growl, he froze and spilled into me, his fingers digging so deep into my skin I was sure they’d leave bruises on my thighs. It was so hot, how he defiled and wrecked me. So hot how he loved to see me devastated. So hot that I joined him in his release. My mouth fell open and my climax took over, coarsely racking through my body. Even with the mirror supporting my back, I was freefalling, spinning with pleasure. Only a thin layer of sweat and steam covered my body, but it felt like I’d been pulled underwater into a whirlpool of bliss. Reeve put himself away, then watched me as I finished, as if completely enamored with my orgasm. As if completely enamored with me. It was somewhat disconcerting to feel his eyes so heavy on me. He’d seen me come so many times before, but I’d never noticed him so intent. I lowered my gaze, but he lifted my chin, forcing me to meet his stare head-on. With a gentle touch, he swept a lock of sweat-drenched hair from my forehead. “Every time?” He’d been tender with me in the past, but it wasn’t his usual M.O., and it startled me. Moved me as I realized it came from a place of concern. “Yes,” I answered honestly, because he did break me, every time that he stuck his cock inside me, every time that he made me climax, every time that he touched me. Outside of the moment, when the sex was over and we were people instead of sex-driven beasts, it sounded horrible. Who would want to be broken by her lover? Who would want to be destroyed? I do. I always did. I longed for it and needed it. I needed him. I caught his hand and pressed the back of it to my cheek. “It’s the only reason I ever want to be someone who’s put together. So that you can break me all over again.”

About Laurelin:

laurelinpaige

  NY Times & USA Today Bestselling author Laurelin Paige is a sucker for a good romance and gets giddy anytime there’s kissing, much to the embarrassment of her three daughters. Her husband doesn’t seem to complain, however. When she isn’t reading or writing sexy stories, she’s probably singing, watching Game of Thrones and the Walking Dead, or dreaming of Michael Fassbender.

Facebook / Twitter / Amazon / Goodreads / Instagram / Website Don’t miss a release. Sign up for Laurelin’s Newsletter.

Blog Tour- Luka by Jane Harvey Berrick

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I'm not a good man.
I'm not a bad man.
But I've made some bad mistakes, made the wrong choices.
Who hasn't? But the consequences are tearing us apart.


I love two people.
I love them differently.
The world tells me I have to choose. Why? Why do I have to choose?
Loving hurts. Dancing heals.


Love makes you soar, makes you fly and sets you free—and then it lets you freefall until you're smashed and bleeding on the ground. Ultimately, love is the worst thing that can happen to a human being.


Im my opinion.
I love two people.
I love them differently.
One is a man.
One is a woman.
And they are brother and sister.


**** A stand alone novel in the best-selling Rhythm Series. ****


My Review 


Another great read from Jane Harvey Berrick. 

I'm not going to talk too much about the plot as I really don't want to spoil it but as you expect from Jane's stories it's great. From the synopsis  it sounds a bit like this might be a love triangle but it's not, in fact I got a different story to what I expected. 

Luka is a great character and from him being introduced in 'Slave' I was interested in where his character would go. Luka is much more of a complex character then that of Ash. This I felt was more of a emotional read. There was plenty of drama and a few twists and turns that I didn't see coming. It is a beautifully written story with a great pace. 

Overall another great read from Jane. 

* I received an ARC in exchange for an honest review. 








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“Two minutes to curtain,” called out the stage manager.
We all hustled to take our places for the first number, and Ash walked with Laney as she wheeled herself to a spot where she could watch from the wings.
I felt a shiver of anticipation skitter across my skin, and I stretched my arms over my head before shaking them out, keeping flexible, keeping moving.
“God, I’ll never get enough of this,” whispered Sarah. “I hate it and I love it.”
I knew exactly what she meant. The nerves never really stopped, but the second I stepped on stage, adrenaline and muscle memory took over. My body would respond before my brain felt the fear of dancing in front of a thousand strangers.
I could hear the audience, hear their breaths, feel their excitement, feel the heat rolling forward from the press of bodies.
And then the house lights sank and the theater dropped into darkness, the electricity of expectancy lighting a fuse.
Al, the conductor, tapped his baton, and there was a collective breath as the band prepared to play, fingers hovering above keys and strings, the drummer poised, tension in his arms.
Then the music blasted out in an explosion of sound and light, and I was on stage, alive, powerful, doing what I was born to do.
I became the role, I lived the dance, blood pounding through my veins, my muscles coiled and released as I lunged and leapt, my arms sweeping through the space around me, filling it with spirals of strength and emotion.
Nothing could beat this feeling, this intensity, this desire to drink from the well of life.
And it was magnificent.
For a split second, I caught Ash’s eye, and we shared something that only another dancer can understand—a connection, an emotion so fleeting, I could have dreamed it.
I feel it too, brother.
Two hours later, we stood bathed in sweat under the bright stage lights, smiles on our faces and tears in our eyes, soaking up applause as the crowd rose to their feet, cheers and whistles soaring above the roar. My chest heaved from the exertion, but also from the deep emotion that dancing always brought to me, and I knew that everyone on this stage felt the exact same way.
Sarah stood next to me, tears running down her face, happy tears; tears of achievement and joy; tears of satisfaction and sorrow that it was all over. The end of a performance was a birth—the memories of the audience would live on—and a death, too, as another show ended. So tonight, we were celebrating and grieving.
“I’m going to miss this so fucking much,” she sobbed, staring up at me, then out at the cheering crowd. “God, I’m going to miss you, Luka, you bloody great hunk of sexy Slovenian.”
“I’ll miss you too, buča,” I said sincerely, leaning down to kiss her cheek, tasting the salt of her tears.
All the dancers linked hands, raising our arms in the air as we took our final bow. Ash stepped forward, looking down at the band and applauding them, too. Then he clasped his hands together and pressed them to his heart, before waving to the audience and leaving the stage.
Yveta, Gary and Oliver stepped forward with me and Sarah to take our bows as co-leads, then we too left the stage.
And it was all over.
The applause drained away as the curtain fell for the last time and the house lights came up.
Then it was the slow descent to normalcy as we peeled away the roles we’d played, along with our costumes, wigs and makeup.


♫♪ ♫♪ ♫♪  ♫  ♫ ♪  ♫  ♫ ♪♫♪



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Jane is a writer of contemporary romance fiction, known for thoughtful stories, often touching on difficult subjects: disability (DANGEROUS TO KNOW & LOVE, SLAVE TO THE RHYTHM); mental illness (THE EDUCATION OF CAROLINE, SEMPER FI); life after prison (LIFERS); dyslexia (THE TRAVELING MAN, THE TRAVELING WOMAN).
She is also a campaigner for former military personnel to receive the support they need on leaving the services. She wrote the well-received play LATER, AFTER with former veteran Mike Speirs. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hk1CyB8c0xA )


Author Links


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Thursday, 23 June 2016

Release Blitz- Bad Boys After Dark by Melissa Foster


Bad Boys After Dark: Mick by Melissa Foster

Date of Publication: June 22, 2016

Blurb


The Bad Boys are a series of stand-alone romances that may also be enjoyed as part of the larger Love in Bloom series.
Indulge your inner vixen...
You asked for naughtier lovers, with the same fierce loyalty as The Bradens - Meet the Bad Boys... Four sinfully sexy, uber alpha brothers, about to fall head over heels for their leading ladies.
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Everything's naughtier after dark...
Amanda Jenner is done being a boring-man magnet and has finally taken control of her love life. As any smart paralegal would, she's researched the hell out of how to seduce a man. She's waxed, primped, and ready to put her newfound skills into action--and a masquerade bar crawl is the perfect venue for her solo coming-out party.

Entertainment attorney Mick Bad lives by two hard and fast rules. He never mixes business with pleasure, and he doesn't do relationships, which makes the anonymity of a masquerade bar crawl the perfect place for a onetime hookup.
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Amanda thinks she's hit the jackpot when she bags a tall, dark, and sinfully delicious masked man--until she discovers the man she's made out with is her off-limits boss. Mick's already crossed a line he can never uncross, and one taste of sweet and sexy Amanda has only whet his appetite. When Mick offers to give Amanda a lesson in seduction--no strings, no regrets, and for goodness' sake, come Monday, no quitting--the tables turn, and Mick's totally unprepared for the lessons this sweet temptress provides.

***
BAD BOYS AFTER DARK
Mick
Dylan (coming soon)
Carson (coming soon)
Brett (coming soon)

More After Dark books:
WILD BOYS AFTER DARK (Available Now!)
Logan
Heath
Jackson
Cooper

The AFTER DARK series are part of the LOVE IN BLOOM big family romance collection. Each book may be read as a stand-alone novel, or as part of the series.

Available From


About Melissa Foster



Melissa Foster is a New York Times & USA Today bestselling and award-winning author. She writes sexy and heartwarming contemporary romance and new adult romance, contemporary women's fiction, suspense, and historical fiction with emotionally compelling characters that stay with you long after you turn the last page. Her books have been recommended by USA Today's book blog, Hagerstown Magazine, The Patriot, and several other print venues. She is the founder of the World Literary Café and Fostering Success. When she's not writing, Melissa helps authors navigate the publishing industry through her author training programs on Fostering Success. Melissa has been published in Calgary's Child Magazine, the Huffington Post, and Women Business Owners magazine.
Melissa hosts an Aspiring Authors contest for children and has painted and donated several murals to The Hospital for Sick Children in Washington, DC. Melissa lives in Maryland with her family.
Visit Melissa on social media. Melissa enjoys discussing her books with book clubs and reader groups, and welcomes an invitation to your event.

Find Melissa Foster Online

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Release Blitz- Love Entwined by M.C Decker




Title: Love Entwined
Author: M.C. Decker
Genre: Contemporary Romance
  Release Date: June 22, 2016



Blurb

Are second chances possible in a world plagued with devastating loss, difficult obstacles and everyday commitments?

Having a very genuine understanding of death and grief, Ireland O’Brien has been able to put aside her anger and move forward with a career of helping orphaned children – making their lives better, even though she’s kept her own pain deeply buried within her heart.

Architectural engineer J. Bentley Roberts has also experienced his fair share of heartache. Nearly two decades ago, he suffered the loss of his role model and high school sweetheart in the same tragic accident. And, more recently, Bentley said goodbye to his marriage – leaving him to not only dust himself off, but also to help pick up his teenage son in the unsettling process.

As both of their best friends get ready to say their “I dos,” Ireland and Bentley find themselves together again after twenty years apart.

Will they be able to fight their past demons to finally find the love that’s always entwined them?







Purchase Links

AMAZON US / UK





Author Bio


M.C. Decker is the author of the Unspoken Series, which includes Unwritten and Unscripted, and the upcoming standalone novel Love Entwined. She lives in a suburb of Flint, Michigan with her husband, Brian, and spoiled-rotten Siamese cat, Simon. For the last decade, she has worked as a journalist for several community newspapers in Mid-Michigan and Michigan’s Thumb region. She enjoys all things '80s and '90s pop culture: movies, boy bands, music and especially the color, hot pink. She also strictly lives by the motto, "Life is better in flip flops," and is a diehard Detroit Tigers fan.


Author Links





Giveaway

Excerpt Reveal- Filthy English by Ilsa Madden-Mills



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Chapter 1

Remi
Plain and simple, this night sucked.
Sadly, it was my honeymoon.
I sighed heavily and gazed around Masquerade, an intimately lit London nightclub where everyone wore black domino masks, some elaborate and some plain, to hide their identity. A few die-hards even sported dark clothing with long, loose cloaks. Not me though. I’d gone modern with a slinky little number and three-inch heels, putting my height at nearly six feet. Yep, I’m the giant in the blue dress, towering over every girl and some guys at the bar.
My top teeth dug into my bottom lip as I gazed around the smoky club, my eyes bouncing off random faces. Even in a room full of party people, music, and strobe lights, I was lonely.
My groom was missing.
That’s right. Hartford Wilcox, Jr., aka Mr. Nice Guy at Whitman University in North Carolina, had jilted me two weeks before the big wedding day as we had dinner at our favorite Italian restaurant, Mario’s.
And now here I was—on my honeymoon and getting trashed with my best friend Lulu who’d decided to skip her beach vacation and come with me at the last minute.
She poked me with her finger as we sat in front of the heavy wooden bar of the club. “Hey, Earth to Remi, get that glazed look out of your eyes and order a drink already. I’m thirsty.” She fluffed her pixie-cut pink hair and straightened her black tutu, eyes scoping out the club. “Dang, the men in here are hotter than a billy goat with a blow torch,” she said in her honeyed southern drawl.
I half-heartedly agreed, not really caring, more intent on scanning the bottles behind the bar. “I want tequila,” I murmured. “A whole bottle.”
Her face snapped back to me and her green eyes widened. “Uh-uh. No way. I know what happens when you drink that crap. You either eat a ton of tacos and puke, or you wrap yourself around some cocky bastard with a well-developed tush.”
True. I did love a tight muscular ass.
But I wouldn’t get one tonight.
A short laugh burst out of me, one of those I’m-miserable-but-pretending-to- be-okay-laughs that I’d been doing a lot of lately. For the past two weeks, I’d vacillated between a sobbing mess and an angry woman who became so incensed that “fuck” was the only word that seemed appropriate in any given situation. Going to the post office to mail he dumped me, but thank you anyway cards. Fuck. Going to the wedding venue and not getting the ten thousand dollar deposit back. Fuck. Realizing I was homeless fall semester—which was in two weeks—fuck. Listening to my mother tell me it was my fault. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
The bartender delivered my bottle and poured me a shot. I sucked the tequila down while Lulu watched me warily. It tasted like bad decisions and gasoline, but tonight was about forgetting. The sooner the better.
A few minutes later, Lulu went out to dance with a British guy she’d been making eyes at. I sat glumly at the bar, fiddling with my diamond tennis bracelet, rubbing it like rosary beads. I needed to forget Hartford, and according to Lulu, that meant hooking up with someone.
Was she right?
Fate answered in the form of a beautiful man—and by beautiful I mean drop-dead sexy with a backside so delectable and muscular my mouth plopped open.
I snapped my lips shut and adjusted my velvet half-mask—the annoying feathery plumes on the sides kept sticking to my red lipstick—and turned ever so slightly to check him out, not wanting to appear obvious. He slid into the seat next to me, tall and broad with rippling shoulders and a massive frame.
I checked my appearance in a mirror behind the bar, mentally analyzing the odds of a girl like me snagging a hottie like him.
Although no one had ever called me beautiful, I did have two—okay, maybe three—things going for me in the looks department. My shiny, golden-brown hair that hung down in waves to my shoulders, my fluffy “pillow lips” as Lulu described them, and lastly, I had an itsy bitsy space between my two front teeth which were otherwise white and perfect. Lulu claimed the gap lent me an exotic look, like Madonna or Sookie Stackhouse. Whatever. I was a True Blood fan. I went with it.
He shifted on the stool, leaning closer to me. His cologne swirled in the air, the smell of expensive Scotch and musk mingling together to create a heady, slightly dangerous scent. I paused, goosebumps rising on my bare arms. The spicy whiff triggered a distant memory just out of reach.
As slyly as I could, I studied his profile from top to bottom. Like me he wore a black mask, although his was more masculine, not hiding his chiseled, movie star jawline. His lips were carnal and luscious, the bottom more plump than the top with a slight indentation in the middle. As I watched, his tongue swept out and caressed it, his top teeth biting it as if he were deep in thought. He raked a hand through his dark, longish messy hair, held it suspended above his head for a few seconds and then released it, letting it swish back into its tousled yet perfect place.
I tore my eyes away.
Something about him sent loud warning bells ringing in every atom of my body.
Danger, danger. Don’t touch that.
But my gaze would not be denied as I took in the tight black shirt and sculpted chest that was obviously used to the inside of a gym, right down to an arm that looked like it could snap a board in half—or me.
Nice biceps, Mr. Beautiful.
The pièce de résistance was the vivid blue and orange dragonfly tattoo displayed on his left arm. It was larger than my hand and took up most of his bicep. My eyes traced the contours of the design from the papery wings to the multi-faceted eyes. A bold black color outlined the insect, giving it a masculine feel.
Gorgeous.
True Religion jeans stretched down long legs and ended in a pair of black Converse without socks, giving him a boyish quality that was in direct contrast to the crazy-sexy-bad-boy vibe he had going on.
Him tonight?
Maybe. He was the polar opposite of Hartford who was blond, lean, and tattoo-free.
I nibbled on my fingernail. How do I get him to notice little ol' me?
Just then a redhead with fluffy Farrah Fawcett hair strode up to his stool, bold as brass, wearing a tight, white mini-skirt that barely covered her booty. She brought with her the smell of sweet, cloying perfume, the kind I always got spritzed with at the mall.
She flicked her hair over her shoulder, casually rubbed her finger down his arm and struck up a conversation. Her fake, black lashes—which she’d somehow managed to get outside the eyeholes of her mask—batted. She puffed out her well-developed chest.
He smiled back at her with a wicked grin, his relaxed body language telling me he was confident when it came to women. She whispered in his ear, boobs right in his face, but whatever he said back wasn’t what she wanted to hear because a few ticks later, she crossed her arms, glared at me, and stalked away.
I blinked. What had I done?
Then he turned and pointed his devastating smile at me.
Shit, he’d made eye contact—as much as you could with a claustrophobic mask on.
But wait…
Was he crazy?
Because if he’d turned down her flirtation, I didn’t have a shot.
I didn’t know how to do the fingers-tip-toeing-up-his-arm-thing and sexy hair flicking. I didn’t know a thing about applying fake eyelashes. I didn’t know how to make my breasts sit up that high. I looked away from him and took another shot, feeling anxious and strangely off-kilter.
Mr. Beautiful ordered a drink from the bartender, his British accent smooth as silk as it washed over me. I froze. I almost knew that voice—deep with soft rounded vowels that made you tingle in your lady parts.
What was it about this guy that had me all jacked up and hot for him?
Hello, tequila, my inner voice said. But it was more than that.
Getting brave, I pivoted on my barstool, and found Mr. Beautiful’s eyes on me once more, searching my face. As if he too recognized the pull between us.
My heart played hopscotch, jumping against my chest. My skin prickled. I shivered.
Did I know him?
It clicked.
Dax Blay?
It was his voice, the same deep quality, the kind of voice that made you want to hop into his bed and ride him like a cowgirl.
My breath hitched, and I swallowed down the emotion that zipped up my spine whenever I thought of him. He was my one mistake, the time I’d tossed inhibitions and carefully laid plans aside and went with my instincts, only to have them tossed back in my face.
But the man next to me wasn’t Dax. Thank God.
Last spring at the campus-wide end of the year fraternity party with Hartford, I’d seen Dax, and he’d had shorter hair, like always, and zero tattoos. Yeah. No way.
Plus, last I heard, he was in Raleigh where his father lived.
Yet…
Dax was British. He could have family here. Maybe he got a tattoo?
Nah. I mean, what were the odds of us both being at the same club on the same night in a country where neither of us lived?
I tore my eyes off Mr. Beautiful and waved at a bartender for more limes, but somehow my tennis bracelet snagged on the bodice of my dress, leaving my wrist dangling like a wet dishrag in a most inappropriate place.
I wiggled my arm.
Jiggled it.
Even went so far as to jerk, but it wouldn’t separate.
Sweat popped out on my forehead. Holding my breath, I twisted and tugged the bracelet, forcing the delicate material in my bodice to stretch beyond normal limits.
“Well, hell,” I breathed, pausing to assess.
Skin-tight with a plunging neckline, the dress was mostly a stretchy fabric held together by sequined straps and a zipper on the side. Slated as part of my honeymoon wardrobe, it was a Tory Burch and had cost four hundred dollars, the most I’d ever paid for a fun outfit, and no way did I want to damage it. I might have to return it to rent an apartment at Whitman.
Lulu. I needed Lulu. She was a whiz with wardrobe malfunctions.
I spun around on the barstool and used my free hand to wave at her, but she was slinging herself around dancing, having a great time and completely oblivious. I resorted to flapping both hands at her, one high and one low. Several people waved back with baffled expressions, but Lulu didn’t notice. Dammit.
I groaned and slumped down in my seat, ready to scream. Now what? Go to the bathroom and repair it there? Good plan.
But the club tilted when I stood, the strobe lights making me squint as they flashed in my face. I wobbled in my leopard print heels—that Lulu had insisted I wear—and grabbed the stool to keep my balance. `
I sucked in a breath to gather myself, but I couldn’t think straight. The room spun, and I was suddenly queasy, and why did I slam all that tequila, and oh my god, my wrist is currently attached to my tit like a T. rex arm.
I had to get out of here before someone noticed what an idiot I was.
Trying to be stealth like, I reached across the bar to get my beaded clutch, but because it was my left hand and not my right that I used most of the time, I got off balance and stumbled—and my ankle folded in on itself. I yelped as my shoe catapulted off my foot and vaulted off toward the dance floor, while I fell forward, straight into Mr. Beautiful’s lap.
Filthy English (unedited excerpt)
Copyright Ilsa Madden-Mills


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The British are HERE!  
Are you ready for Filthy English?
Add to your TBR for a July 11th release here: http://bit.ly/28MpTlk



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Blurb


A smokin’ hot British player…
A jilted girl…
One night of mistaken identity…

Two weeks before her wedding, Remi Montague’s fiancé drops her faster than a drunken sorority girl in stilettos. Armed with her best friend and a bottle of tequila, she hops a plane to London to drown her sorrows before fall semester begins at Whitman University.

She didn't plan on attending a masquerade party.

She sure didn’t plan on waking up next to the British bad boy who broke her heart three years ago—the devastatingly handsome and naked Dax Blay. Furthermore, she has no clue how they acquired matching tattoos.

Once back at Whitman together, they endeavor to pretend they never had their night of unbridled passion in London.

But that’s damn hard to do when you live in the same house…

One night. Two damaged hearts. The passion of a lifetime.

*A modern love story inspired by Romeo and Juliet*


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About the Author
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New York Times and USA Today best-selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills writes about strong heroines and sexy alpha males that sometimes you just want to slap.

She's addicted to all things fantasy, including unicorns and sword-wielding heroes in books. Other fascinations include frothy coffee beverages, dark chocolate, Instagram, Ian Somerhalder (seriously hot), astronomy (she's a Gemini), Sephora make-up, and tattoos.

She has a degree in English and a Master's in Education.

When she's not pecking away on her computer, she shops for cool magnets, paints old furniture, and eats her weight in sushi.


SOCIAL MEDIA LINKS:

You can stalk her on her website as well as get signed books: http://www.ilsamaddenmills.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authorilsamaddenmills?pnref=lhc

IG: https://instagram.com/ilsamaddenmills/

Twitter: @ilsamaddenmills


Ilsa Madden-Mills’ other books:

VERY BAD THINGS

VERY WICKED BEGINNINGS
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1K5NvX8

VERY WICKED THINGS

VERY TWISTED THINGS


THANK YOU!