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Cover Reveal: The Jared Enigma by Jake Malden

30/6/2015

Title: The Jared Enigma

Author: Jake Malden

Genre: Erotica Romance

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He's back, and he's as bad as you remember - rock-and-roll rogue Jared Morgan, the small-town boy with big-city attitude and a cock to match. 'The Jared Enigma' takes the man you think you know to new heights of pleasure and depths of debauchery, all in the name of helping the women he meets embrace their wild side. Watch as he disarms a cynical waitress with his breath-taking honesty. Gasp as he provides a curious young sweetheart with the full tour-van experience. Wonder as he shows a frustrated trophy wife the error of her ways. But get ready for the big finale - when Jared's red-headed nemesis takes him on a crazy erotic trip he'll never forget (with a little help from her friends). 'The Jared Enigma' - think you've got the measure of this guy? Think again.

Excerpt . . .

He shafted her minutes longer—sheer scary heaven, as her pussy learned to accommodate him all. Then he pulled out and threw her onto her hands and knees before she even knew what the hell was going on. “I want you to have a good view of your surroundings,” was his explanation for the change, but maybe it was more so he could see her ass and back, or get a good grip on her. Whatever the reason, he wasted no time. Before she could squeak, he refitted himself and slammed into her cunt from behind.

“Aaagh! Fuck, Jared, holy shit!” Her cries, however, were all but drowned out by her lover’s animal grunting as he screwed her without restraint. Instinct and need drew her hand to her clit and she rubbed it in a fury consistent with that of Jared’s fucking. Then as if his cock’s insane thrusting wasn’t enough, his palm smacked hard against her ass-cheek. “Fuck!” Damn him – what was he trying to do, brand her with a fucking hand print?

One set of fingers grappled her by the shoulder, securing her fast while his groin slapped soundly against her butt-cheeks, cock burying itself in her on each savage stroke. The other flexed hand rose and fell, landing on the same spot as before with equal ferocity. “Aaagh!” Her flesh shuddered as it absorbed the smack along with the persistent barrage of his fucking.

“How does that feel for you?”
“God, you fucking bastard!”
“That good, yeah?”
Rather than relent he spanked again, his other hand shoving her down with her face against the mattress. On he shafted, seemingly oblivious to her muffled cries. Pain and pleasure combined to incendiary effect; Kareena’s hand had not strayed from her pussy despite his savage fucking and excitement was climbing towards its peak once more. How many would this one make? She was losing count. The battered old vehicle rattled around her. Don’t come a-knockin’ ... went the corny old phrase; Jared was rocking the hell out of her and the van.

And then someone did come a-knockin’. She thought she’d imagined the tapping on the van’s back door, but Jared slowed his thrusting and eased his grip so that she could look up. The blond-haired drummer from the band was standing slack-jawed, entranced by the pendular motion of her tits. He was as young as she remembered from the concert, positively gauche-looking compared to his older band-mates. The guy could have passed for a boy-band member as easily as a that of a rock ensemble and his look of amazement was as far from the bassist’s leering interest as conceivable.

“Buddy!” Jared had slowed down, but he sustained both rhythm and depth of penetration as he hailed his younger friend. “What’s up?”

“I ...” The drummer fought for words, his gaze not leaving Kareena. “Sorry, I got beer all over me. Drunk girl in the bar. I was going to change, but ... I can come back ... don’t mean to interrupt ...” The guy’s t-shirt and jeans were indeed splashed dark.

“Is he interrupting, baby?” From the way her cunt was still being stretched out, Jared didn’t seem to be suffering too much disturbance. And oddly she felt little concern that the blond boy with the English accent could see her getting slammed.

“No,” she said between her gasps. “Let him change.”

“She says you can change,” Jared told the drummer. “So get on with it. Then you can give us back our privacy.”

“Ehhh – yeah, sure, thanks.” The young guy scrambled on board and stumbled about beside the fornicating couple until he located a backpack.

“That’s providing she still wants privacy while she fucks. Whadda you say, sweetheart?” Jared had a hold of her ass now, his cock still searching deep, however sedate the current pace.

“Doesn’t much matter tonight,” she managed, her new defiance giving her the presence of mind to articulate the basic notion. Close by the drummer was stripping off his t-shirt with haste, trying to keep his eyes averted this time; he was a gym-ripped kind of skinny. “I don’t care if he sees me,” she elaborated. He paused in reaching for a fresh t-shirt and stared at her again, looking to Jared in his state of bafflement. The contrast with the guitarist’s bravado was irresistibly cute.

“This is Robbie,” Jared told her, and his voice had changed like he was picking up on some unconscious cue she had given him. “He’s all the way from England and he’s a damn fine drummer. He’s not used to this kinda crazy shit, though. Not yet ...”

“Hi Robbie,” she said. “I’m Kareena.” She’d never introduced herself to someone while being fucked before.

“Hi,” the boy her own age said, his clean t-shirt dangling from his fingers. “It’s ... I ... fuck, you’re hot.”

“Isn’t she?” Jared reached to grab one of her tits, she was sure for Robbie’s entertainment. “She’s a nice girl, but she’s getting’ in touch with her slutty side tonight. I’m helping.”

“Don’t be shy,” Kareena told the boy, biting her lip to rein in an overload of sensation. Just how slutty could a nice girl get in one evening? The desire to find out overtook her. “Stay and watch.”

About the Author . . .

Jake Malden is a freelance journalist and writer based in London. He has been experimenting with erotica both on the page and off for some years and has a growing number of titles available. His interests, aside from the staringly obvious, are theatre, cinema, literature, fitness-training and travel (particularly back to his native Ireland). He is an enthusiast of juicing, in every possible sense.

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Also by the Author . . .

Title: The Jared Effect

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Release Blitz & Giveaway: Heavy Secrets by Elle Aycart

30/6/2015

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Title: Heavy Secrets

Author: Elle Aycart

Genre: Contemporary Romance, Erotica

Amazon (US/UK) |B&N | Loose ID

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Christy Sheridan has come a long way from the physical and emotional wreck she used to be. She's made Alden her home and is happily engaged to a man who loves and accepts her for who she is, curves, quirks, and geekiness included. Life is good. Until mommy dearest blows into town to "help" her clueless daughter seal the deal.

Cole Bowen is experiencing a world of firsts: first time in love, first engagement, first Valentine's, first in-laws. He's found the woman of his dreams, so he figured dealing with Martha Sheridan was a small price to pay. That is before his monster-in-law plants herself in their home and inside Christy's head, stirring up old demons and destroying her newly regained self-esteem. And while his hands are full with trying to neutralize their meddlesome guest, a mysterious phone call turns his world upside down.

With ghosts from the past resurfacing and threatening to tear Cole and Christy apart, can they make it to the wedding they both so desperately want, or will heavy secrets send their relationship to the breaking point?

Excerpt . . .

Chapter One

“How many years do you think I’d get for offing my mom? Because honest to God, if we’re talking single digits, I’m willing to risk it,” Christy said while leaning back on the lounge chair after getting a full-body massage that had left her totally gooey.

They were at the spa, wearing fluffy bathrobes and sipping tea, except for Christy, who was nursing a diet soda.

“Just name a time and place, and we’ll be there with a shovel. No questions asked,” Annie said, and Holly and Tate assented.

“I could claim temporary insanity.” Heck, emotional self-defense too.

“Don’t worry, we’ll vouch for you. No jury in its right mind would convict you,” Holly stated. “I thought you were exaggerating, but boy, were you understating. What a…character.”

Ha. That was one way of putting it.

Annie nodded in commiseration. She’d met Martha a long time ago, when the girls were in college. Christy had gone for an East Coast institution, hoping it would be out of her mom’s range, but going away had been useless. There was no place far enough.

Crazy had its own methods of reaching her.

“Where’s the Grand Diva now?” Tate, Christy’s future sister-in-law, asked.

“Checking out wedding dresses. She arranged an appointment at a bridal shop. I stood her up.”

Her whole posse turned to her, looking stupefied.

“She’s picking out a wedding dress without the bride?”

Yeah, typical Martha stunt.

“I know I should be there, but why, really? She won’t listen to anything I say. I might as well save my breath.”

And a whole lot of pain and abuse in the process.

The girls pondered for a second and then nodded.

“Oh, and remember,” Christy added, reaching for her diet soda. “I’m not here. I’m in the middle of a massive twelve-car accident. Well and healthy but stuck inside the vehicle and waiting for the firefighters to come and cut the roof open to rescue me.”

That her mom hadn’t rushed to her side when Christy called her—and that Christy had known she wouldn’t—already said it all.

“And when your mom realizes your car is intact? Then what?” Tate asked, to which Christy couldn’t help snorting.

“That would imply she remembered our talk. It won’t happen. A total impossibility.”

Christy would bet anything, her first unborn child included—and her second and third—that her mom wouldn’t even mention it. That was the advantage of being disappointed one too many times; no way in hell to harbor false illusions.

Martha’s number-one priority was…Martha. Followed by whatever man she was screwing with at the moment. How she’d managed to marry a decent guy and keep him for several years was beyond Christy. Then again, Fred was too kind for his own good. That or he had a hell of a lot of bad karma from a previous life.

For a split second, she’d considered going to the bridal shop, but then she’d discarded the idea. Defaulting to her smile-accept-and-walk-away technique, she’d nodded and kept quiet. And had run in the opposite direction at the first chance. Let her mother get her kicks. Just let her do it far away from Christy. Besides, there was no damage Martha could do; Christy had told the shop assistant not to reserve anything without her consent.

Holly poured herself more tea. “Doesn’t she know you don’t want a traditional dress for your summer wedding?”

“She knows. She just doesn’t care.” They were talking about a woman who had gotten married four times, once with a beer-can tab as a ring. Appointments at high-scale bridal shops were a dream come true for her. “I feel like a shitty daughter, but I’m so ready for her to leave.”

Martha had come for Christmas with her husband and stayed a couple of days. It had gone rather well, probably because Cole was scary enough and Martha hadn’t worked herself up to be…well, herself. This time around, she’d been in Alden for three days, without Fred, and Christy was ready to face the gallows for a chance to get rid of her.

Fate had thrown Christy the mother of all curve balls when it chose Martha as her sole parent.

Their relationship had always been complicated, to say the least, with Christy spending all her life putting out fires—Martha’s—and eating to cope. Eventually she’d gotten her food addiction under control, but changing her mom and her nasty ways was something out of her reach.

And having Martha living with her without Fred as a buffer was bringing up all sorts of feelings and automatic coping mechanisms that Christy had thought she’d left behind.

Lora, Christy’s former sponsor, had been right: nothing guaranteed recovery, and they were always one upset away from relapse.

“What about Cole?” Tate asked, taking Christy out of her reverie. “Isn’t he putting her in her place?”

He would if he knew. Apparently Martha was learning subtlety, at least in front of a 240-pound, uncompromising ex-marine. It also helped that Christy had asked him not to interfere. Cole was a black-and-white kind of person. Intransigent and not inclined to put up with moronities. Left to his own devices, he would have kicked Martha out the first day.

“She’s…contained around him. I think she’s scared of him.”

“She and half the world, sister,” Holly mumbled.

Christy rolled her eyes and, after reaching inside the pocket of her bathrobe, fished out a sugar-free cherry lollipop. “Come on. Cole is a harmless sweetie.” Who liked macho power tripping and playing with cuffs, but a sweetie nonetheless.

They’d been together for six months, and although they’d clashed several times, he’d kept his word and hadn’t shut her out. He’d leave to cool down—sometimes he went to his brother James’s; sometimes she saw him pacing up and down the yard, muttering under his breath—but he always came back and they always found middle ground.

“To you he’s harmless,” Holly corrected as Christy unwrapped the candy. “Wait until he finds out about the pole-dancing classes. Mike already told Kyra to up her insurance. And to make sure there are no guys lurking around during said classes.”

Cole and his men had started working on Kyra’s dance studio right before Christmas and had gotten it ready in no time. Anything to get the exotic aerobics and the horde of giggling women in tight thongs out of Haddican’s, the local gym, and away from so much bubbling testosterone.

“It’s all Annie’s fault,” Christy shot back, giving her friend the evil eye. “She signed me up without asking.”

Christy wasn’t much for showing herself off, and pole dancing was exactly that, but Kyra had been so excited to have her and Tate on board that it had been impossible to get out of it without hurting Kyra’s feelings.

On the plus side, Martha hadn’t found out about her daughter’s new hobby. She would have made fun of Christy or joined the classes. Either way, no number of twelve-step meetings would have helped Christy get through that trauma. Her mother was many things, but ugly and clumsy she wasn’t. That her ass and boobs were still perkily pointing north and that she moved perfectly to capitalize on that also helped. Working a pole under her reproving stare would have killed Christy and her shaky, newly developed self-esteem. For all Martha’s dumb decisions in her personal life—and boy, were there plenty—she had a witty tongue and knew how to deliver killer putdowns.

“Duh, you would have said no,” Annie replied, bringing her back to the present. “And I owed you one after you got me into exotic aerobics.”

“You know I can’t quit the exotic aerobics. I needed company.” Christy had gone there just on a whim, but then Cole saw her and, in one of his my-way-or-the-highway stunts, had tossed her over his shoulder and stomped out of the class. Now she couldn’t quit, just on principle. She needed to stand her ground with Cole, especially when he was being a control freak and attempting to fuck her into submission, which was very often.

Besides, she liked that class. And defying Cole.

Annie pursed her lips. “A pregnant woman wiggling her ass around a chair and pretending to be sexy is…definitely not.”

“I’m pretty sure Max feels otherwise,” Holly said. “I’ve seen him watching you. No way to disguise that look.”

“What look?”

“That tight expression. The she’s-mine-everyone-back-the-fuck-off glare, mixed with wait-till-I-get-a-closed-door-between-us-and-the-rest-of-the-world.”

Tate laughed. “That’s the standard Bowen look.”

Damn right. Christy had seen it on Cole’s face many times. Before and after fucking her senseless. Heck, while too. She loved that proprietary look. It said she was beautiful and he needed her. For someone who’d battled self-esteem issues all her life, it meant the world. Cole meant the world to her.

“As soon as the baby pops out,” Christy said, pointing at Annie’s seven-months-pregnant belly, “you’re marching into the pole-dancing classes with me. No frigging excuses.”

Annie shook her head. “I have shitty coordination. I’d kill myself.”

“Sure. And the swing up in Max’s room?”

They were all rosy from their facial massages, yet Annie visibly flushed. “Hmm, that’s for yoga?”

Christy couldn’t stifle the giggle. Neither could Holly or Tate.

Yeah, because Max was such a yoga type.

Christy dipped her sugar-free lollipop on her diet soda. “If I’m making an ass out of myself and Kyra is risking the integrity of her new business, you’re joining us after recovering from childbirth.”

Annie grimaced, pointing at Christy’s glass. “That’s gross. I thought you were cutting back on your weird stuff.”

Yeah, she’d thought that too. Until her mom blew into town.

“Cola-flavored cherry lollipop or cherry-flavored soda. Not weirder than scooping Nutella with bacon.”

“True, but I’m hormonal.”

Ha! Pregnancy hormones had nothing on the spike of anxiety that Martha created.

“By the way, Tate,” Holly chimed in, “did you get a pole installed in the bedroom?”

Now it was Tate blushing. “Yes.”

“And?”

She blushed even harder. She was six months pregnant, and although she had some limitations where the movements were concerned, Christy had seen her dance. Tate really knew how to make it work. She kicked ass. Pregnant and all.

“James loved it. As in really loved it.”

“On a scale of one to ten?” Holly asked, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Thirty. And don’t worry,” Tate hurried to appease Christy. “I made him promise he won’t say a word to Cole about the classes.”

Good, because Mike was right. If Cole found out, Kyra was going to need top-of-the-line insurance, especially with Amantis’s dancing crew and the security detail snooping around.

“Although I don’t see the big issue. It’s for Cole. Whenever you’re ready, he’ll be the one enjoying the result of the classes, right?”

“Right,” Christy mumbled. She’d started liking it, but considering how klutzy she felt at pole dancing, it was going to take a couple of decades before Cole got to see her.

Holly turned her inquisitive gaze to Annie. “And your, uh, yoga swing? Scale of one to ten?”

“Thirty,” she answered after a long pause, red as a frigging tomato.

“Wow. Swings, dancing poles. The pregnant ladies here like their toys,” Holly said with a grin.

Christy glanced at Annie and Tate, both fanning themselves. “We should change the subject. Before the kinky pregnant ladies faint.”

“You’re a fine one to talk. And the cuffs tucked in the drawer in your nightstand?”

“Annie!”

“What? I’m being tactful. The cuffs were the only objects I recognized.”

Okay, they were so banned from each other’s bedrooms.

“Really?” Holly asked, looking intrigued as hell. “What kind of objects?”

“We are deviating from the subject, people. We were talking about how to off my mom, remember?”

Tate waved around. “That’s easy. We bring her here, lock her in the sauna, and turn it to high.”

“It won’t work. She’s from LA. And she lived in Georgia for a while, chasing after some crocodile hunter. The heat’s nothing for her.”

“Or now that we have plenty of props,” Holly said with a wink, “we could plant Tate’s dance pole somewhere in the forest and cuff Martha to it. Leave her for the wolves.”

Poor wolves. Her mother would have them committing suicide in no time. Christy couldn’t do that to them.

“Must be a simpler way. Can’t you just send her to hell?”

Christy shrugged. It was easier said than done. Her mom had the nasty habit of doing something nice whenever Christy was reaching critical mass. She couldn’t send her to hell in good conscience.

The girls couldn’t understand. Annie had a kick-ass mom. Tate too. Holly’s she didn’t know, but the messages between mother and daughter were hilarious, so she imagined their relationship was solid. People with great parents had no clue how difficult it was to deal with bad ones.

“How long until she leaves?”

“Still a while. Thirteen days, nine hours”—Christy reached for her cell—“twenty-five minutes and thirty-five seconds, to be exact.”

Annie chuckled. “You keeping track?”

“I have a countdown set.” Every twenty-four hours, an app sent her a yay-you-can-do-this message. “She’s leaving four days before Valentine’s Day. She wants to be in LA then, so that she can prepare for it.”

“Four days in advance?” Holly asked. “What’s she planning on doing for her husband?”

“For Fred? Nothing. She goes to make sure he gets her all that she wants.”

“Oh boy.”

“You can say that again. How he puts up with her, I don’t know.”

Her smile-accept-and-walk-away technique was failing her big-time now that they were both under the same roof. Or maybe it was that she had gotten a taste for normal and supportive with Cole, and going back to mental was hard.

“We should call Fred and get some pointers,” Holly suggested. “Thirteen days is a long time. Spending your and Cole’s first Valentine’s Day in jail wouldn’t be too much fun.”

“Run to Vegas ahead of schedule. You’re going there anyway for your annual convention, right?” Annie asked.

Tate frowned. “What convention?”

“The geeky version of Valentine’s,” Annie said. “I was there once with her. Memorable. Not going ever again.”

Christy rolled her eyes and turned to Holly and Tate. “There’s a Star Trek convention held in Vegas the weekend before Valentine’s every year.” Plus this year they had the premiere of a new Star Trek movie. “And no, I’m not going. Cole wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like that. I’ve been dropping hints about it for a couple of months already, but he isn’t biting.”

Holly patted her on the arm. “So no hanging out with your nerdy friends and stuck with your mom. That sucks.”

Yep. Totally.

Giveaway . . .

a Rafflecopter giveaway

About the Author . . .

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.

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Also by the Author . . .

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Blog Tour - Excerpt & Giveaway: Up in Smoke by Tessa Bailey

30/6/2015

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Title: Up in Smoke
(#2 of Crossing the Line)

Author: Tessa Bailey

Genre: Contemporary Romance, Military, Erotica, Suspense

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Never start a fire you can't control...

Connor Bannon is supposed to be dead. Dishonorably discharged from the Navy SEALs, he's spent the last two years working as a street enforcer in Brooklyn for his cousin's crime ring. Through a twist of fate, he's now in Chicago, working undercover to bust criminals. But when a cute little arsonist joins the team-all combat boots, tiny jean shorts, and hot-pink hair-Connor's notorious iron control slips.

Erin "she's getting away" O'Dea knows two things. She hates authority. And... Nope, that's it. When she's forced to operate on the "right" side of the law, her fear of being confined and controlled blazes to the surface. The last thing she expects is a control freak like Connor to soothe her when she needs it most. Worse, something behind the sexy ex-soldier's eyes ignites a dangerous inferno of desire. One that invites Erin to play with fire. And one that could get them both killed...

Excerpt . . .

As if her thoughts had made him appear, Connor strode into the courthouse. Her pulse started beating double time, her stomach muscles tightening. Good Lord, the man was a fucking panty dropper. She’d only been away from him for a few hours and it felt like years since she’d experienced his presence. In jeans and a fitted gray T-shirt that molded to his muscles like her hands itched to do, he personified confidence and authority. Hot, rugged male. His gaze connected with hers immediately and darkened. She thought back to that morning when he’d dressed in the early morning light, his abs flexing as he pulled the shirt over his head. His erection barely contained by his boxers. She’d never been one to beg for anything, but she’d been seconds from offering him her mouth. Pleading for the privilege of sucking him off.

Conner shook his head at her with a sexy half smile on his face, as if he could read her thoughts across the room. He stopped at the metal detector and walked through after the security guard beckoned him forward. When the woman grabbed her wand and instructed him to raise his hands in the air, something ugly reared its head deep inside her. The detector hadn’t even beeped. There was no reason for the personal service. When the woman smiled at Connor and ran a hand down her ponytail, Erin propelled herself forward, boots echoing on the polished marble.

Erin hissed as she drew even with the guard. “If you’re done feeling up my boyfriend, I’d love a turn. We were in a rush this morning.”

The guard dropped the wand, letting it dangle near her thigh. “Did you just hiss at me?”

Erin hissed again.

“Okay.” Connor stepped between them, winking down at her. “We should go. Don’t want to keep the clerk waiting.”

Appreciation spread in her belly like honey. He hadn’t chided her for her behavior or apologized to the woman on her behalf. Instead he’d given the impression they were on their way to get married, appeasing her jealousy in one fell swoop. “That’s right.” She sauntered toward the elevator. “There’s vows to be exchanged. Rings to put on fingers. Shit like that.”

She glanced behind her to find Connor staring at her ass as she walked, so she put a little swing in her hips and savored his groan. Damn. She’d definitely never had this much fun at a courthouse.

A moment later, she and Connor stepped into an empty elevator. She hit the button for the top floor even though the clerk was on the first, and leaned back against the wall, looking up at him through her eyelashes. “How was your morning, baby? Was it worth leaving me in bed, all hot and bothered for you?”

“Fuck no, it wasn’t.” He crooked a big finger at her. “Climb on up here.”

Giveaway . . .

a Rafflecopter giveaway

About the Author . . .

Thank you for your interest in my books! I'm Tessa and I live in the crazy, loud, overcrowded borough of Brooklyn, New York. I love it here. This city is a constant source of inspiration, which is why I've decided to set my most recent books in the Line of Duty Series here.

I moved to New York when I was eighteen, the day after I graduated high school. Threw my suitcase in the back of a Chevrolet Cavalier and drove across the country to find my adventure. I'm still finding it, little by little.Thank you for being a part of it.

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Sale Blitz: The Honeymoon Prize by Melissa McClone

29/6/2015

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Title: The Honeymoon Prize
(#3 of The Honeymoon series)

Author: Melissa McClone

Genre: Contemporary Romance

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He needs a wife…

Single bodyguard Nick Calhoun has been given an ultimatum by his boss—find a wife or lose his cushy, high-paying job. Clients’ wives are hitting on him and putting Nick, and his boss, in hot water. But monogamy? He’s never been a white picket fence kind of guy, and he’s not about to embrace the happily married lifestyle now. He needs a wife who doesn’t care about his steamy, extra-curricular love life…and he knows just the woman to fit the bill.

She needs a home…

Adalaide Sinclair spent years caring for her ill grandmother. Upon Grammy’s death, she’s stunned to find herself evicted from the only home she’s ever known and labeled a thief by her inheritance-hungry family. Addie needs to find a place to live and a job—fast. So when her childhood friend, Nick, proposes a no-sex marriage of convenience, she puts her dreams of true love and happily-ever-after on hold. Finding Prince Charming can wait a little longer, right?

But will their friendship survive the honeymoon?

When Nick and Addie unexpectedly win a dream honeymoon, they decide to go their separate ways during the ten-day vacation. Too bad a camera crew is waiting for them at the tropical paradise. Acting like a head-over-heels bride and groom for reality TV wreaks havoc on their no-sex agreement…and blurs the line between fantasy and reality. Will Nick and Addie remain married in name only, or will a romantic honeymoon for show turn them into true newlyweds?

Giveaway . . .

a Rafflecopter giveaway

About the Author . . .

Melissa McClone has published over thirty novels with Harlequin and Tule Publishing Group. She has also been nominated for Romance Writers of America’s RITA® award. She lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband, three school-aged children, two spoiled Norwegian Elkhounds and cats who think they rule the house.

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