Tuesday, April 21, 2015

Need Me by Tessa Bailey ~ Blog Tour and Giveaway






Need Me Synopsis:

When Honey Perribow traded in her cowboy boots for stilettos and left her small Kentucky town to attend Columbia University, she never expected to find a dirt-cheap apartment or two new best friends. No stranger to hard work, Honey’s sole focus is a medical degree...until she sees newly-minted Professor, Ben Dawson, and her concentration is hijacked. Honey is fascinated by her gorgeous, young English professor and vows to find a crack his tweed-wearing, glasses-clad exterior.

While at an off campus party, an accident lands Ben in a dark, locked closet with a sexy-sounding southern belle...and their chemistry is explosive. But when he discovers that the girl in his arms is the same beautiful student he can’t stop thinking about, he is stunned. Student-teacher relationships are strictly forbidden…yet no matter how hard he tries, Ben can’t stay away from Honey.

And when his attempts to fight their attraction nearly ruin the best thing that ever happened to him, Ben will do anything to prove how much he needs her.






Excerpt

When choosing the perfect panties for a seduction, one couldn’t be too selective. Careful consideration had to be given to the cut, the style, and, most importantly, the almighty color. Honey Perribow rifled through her underwear drawer from her position on the rug, picking up and discarding undies with the efficiency required of premed students the world over. Red silk was a little too on the nose. It didn’t give the guy any credit. Blue? Hinted at mood swings. Yellow with a strawberry pattern…what am I, five?


There was no help for her. She had to call in the big guns. “Roxy!


Her roommate of one month propped a hip on the inside of Honey’s door a moment later, biting into a piece of toast. “Did you lose your indoor voice in that pile of underpants?”


“What color would you wear if you wanted to seduce your English teacher?”


The toast paused halfway to Roxy’s mouth. “Aw, shit. Today is the day?”


Honey took a deep breath and nodded. “I’ve finally worked up the nerve. No more hiding under my hoodie in the back row. Professor Dawson is going down to Honey town.”


“How long have you been waiting to say that?”


“A while. How was my delivery?”


“Not too shabby.” Roxy shoved the remainder of the toast in her mouth and plopped down onto the floor, cross-legged, eyeballing the mountain of panties. In the month since they’d become roommates in one of the oddest interview processes of all time, they’d formed a friendship that sometimes seemed as if they were feeling their way in the dark. Honey could still sense some hesitancy on Roxy’s part to open up completely, but Roxy’s new boyfriend, Louis, seemed to be unlocking a new part of her. Considering Roxy had hidden out in her room at the outset, commiserating over panties was a vast improvement. “All right. So, we know he’s studious. He teaches Intro to Literary Theory. How does he dress?”


Honey hid her swoon by turning and pressing her face into the rug. “He has this tweed jacket. It’s like a greenish-brown, which should be ugly, but it looks so dang amazing on him. If I got up close, I bet it would smell like honest-to-goodness man mixed up with old book leather. He keeps candy in the pockets, too. I can’t tell from the back of the room which kind of candy he always pops into his mouth, but if I had to guess, I’d say butterscotch. So the jacket might have a hint of butterscotch smell going on, too.”


“Are you telling me tweed inspired all that?”


It’s crazy, right? I know it. I can hear myself.” Honey rolled back over and stared up at the ceiling. In the few weeks since she’d started courses at Columbia University, Professor Dawson had wiggled his way under her skin like a splinter from a yellow poplar tree. No one back home in Bloomfield, Kentucky, would ever have accused her of being shy. In fact, they would have laughed over the very suggestion. She’d won first prize two years in a row for mud wrestling a pig at the county fair, after all. Shyness and pig wrestling simply didn’t add up. But the day she’d walked into the lecture hall, a mixture of confidence and nerves, and seen Professor Dawson, quietly gorgeous, in his tweed jacket and black-rimmed glasses,, she’d slunk into the back row like a scolded basset hound.


Then. Then he’d spoken. Good Lord, she still remembered the shift of energy in the room. Each and every female student had leaned forward and propped their chin on their hands. Spellbound. There was no other word for it. His voice filled the room like sexy fog, rich and nuanced. It held a subtle hint of New England, not an all-out Boston accent, but occasionally he would drop an R in a way that made her shiver. It wasn’t just the sound of his voice, either. His passion about the subject material came across in every word, every endearing head scratch or thoughtful chin rub. She’d been more of a science girl in high school. Give her physics or chemistry any day of the week, but English had become her favorite subject with enough speed to inflict whiplash.


Since she’d been bitten by the shyness bug, talking to the object of her nightly fantasies directly hadn’t been an option. Yet. Oh, and there was that teensy little issue of college professors not being allowed to fraternize with students. But she’d cross that rickety bridge when she came to it.


All her life, she’d lived in a small town where the most exciting thing to happen was a fistfight between two grannies at the Dairy Queen. She’d purposely applied for universities with strong premed programs in New York City because she wanted, needed, excitement. Needed to take life by the short and curlies and tell it who was boss. She loved her parents and her hometown dearly, but she wanted more. Starting small wasn’t an option, either. She wanted to start with something so far outside her wheelhouse she needed binoculars to see it. This was her life, and it was time to live it.


Starting today, she would seduce Professor Dawson. Just the thought of it raised goose bumps all over her arms. From the back of the room, he looked like a movie star. Something she watched on a screen from a safe distance. What would he be like up close?


“If you rub your thighs together any harder,” Roxy broke into her thoughts, “this pile of panties is going to turn into a bonfire.”


Sorry.” Honey pushed some unbrushed blond hair out of her face. “Let’s focus on the matter at hand.”


Abby, their third roommate, breezed into the room. “What are we focusing on?”


I was focusing. She was fantasizing about tweed.


“Tweed is still in style, but elbow patches are out,” Abby stated offhandedly, taking a spot on the floor. Of the three of them, Abby was the one gainfully employed in a corporate gig downtown, which explained her tailored black pantsuit at eight in the morning while Honey and Roxy, an aspiring actress, were still in pajamas. “What’s with the panty mountain?”


I’m beginning the seduction process this morning.”
           
Roxy rolled her eyes. “Try not to make it sound so sexy, Perribow.”


Honey threw a pair of plaid panties at Roxy. “I’m not you. I can’t just flash a little leg and leave a trail of man-drool in my path.”


“Have you tried?” Roxy asked, looking smug when Honey stumbled over a reply. “Look, you’re not going to flash him your panties in class. That’s not your style. Worry about the top layer first, drag him back to your cave later. Worry about the panties then.”


“I agree.” Abby nodded. “This is premature panty picking.”


“Of course I’m not going to flash him.” Honey shrugged. “I was thinking it might boost my confidence a little if I had something sexy underneath my jeans. Might give me an extra boost so I won’t chicken out.”


Abby gave her a warm, encouraging look. She fished through the pile with one manicured hand and picked out a silky, mint-green thong with lace detail. Still with the tags on. “Wear these. They’re unique and subtly brilliant, just like you. You won’t chicken out.”


“And you’re not wearing jeans,” Roxy added, standing and dragging Honey to her feet. “To my closet, Batgirl. Where you will behold the wonder of humankind’s finest invention.”


Honey shot a nervous look over her shoulder toward an amused Abby. The brunette practically skipped along behind them down the hallway. “What would that invention be?”


“The strapless maxi dress,” Roxy breathed.





Ben Dawson gathered up the papers he’d spent his lunch break grading and tucked them neatly into his leather satchel. A quick check of his wristwatch told him he had seven minutes until his next class started. Since it took exactly three minutes to walk to the lecture hall from the teacher’s break room, he should probably get moving. As far as arriving at class went, there was a sweet spot three minutes before class began that allowed him enough time to gather his thoughts and arrange his lesson plan on the podium, but didn’t leave enough time for the students to engage him in conversation.


It wasn’t that he didn’t like conversation. He just liked to keep his social life and his professional life completely separate. He called it his laundry theory. Talking to students about their weekend plans or the shitty coffee in the cafeteria was the equivalent of throwing a red sock in with a load of whites. It just wasn’t done.


He snapped his bag closed with a definitive click and took a deep breath before leaving the break room. Yes. Separation of his social and professional life was key. The minimal age difference between him and the college sophomores he taught sometimes gave them the false impression that they were his peers. Being a professor at the age of twenty-five made him seem accessible, when, in fact, he wasn’t. He came to class, he lectured, and he went home. If he wanted to grab a beer and talk baseball, he did it with his buddies, Louis and Russell. Not students. Never, ever, students.


Ben taught English because from the moment he’d cracked his first book, words had hummed in his blood. They were something he breathed and slept and lived for. If his students left with an impression of anything, he wanted it to be his lectures, the contents of the assigned reading. Their opinion of him as a person couldn’t be allowed to enter the mix, or it took away from their experience. Conversely, he didn’t form opinions of them. Ever.


Which is why he shouldn’t have read Honey Perribow’s latest essay seven times. Seven.


He didn’t know which of his students happened to be the insightful Ms. Perribow. They were just a sea of faces, none of which he focused on for more than a few seconds now and again. He wouldn’t find out, either. Didn’t want to know what she looked like, because it didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter.


His reading assignment of The Things They Carried and subsequent essay had been met with the usual moans and gripes. Honestly. The book was a work of art. But his students’ lack of enthusiasm for anything other than a rooftop kegger had carried over into their lackluster essays. Then he’d read Ms. Perribow’s paper and he’d actually spilled his coffee in his haste to turn the pages. Instead of listing the items men carried into war, as was done in the book, she’d written a clever modern spin about what college students carry to class. What they’d chosen to bring from home. What they kept in their book bags and dorm rooms. It was obvious from her nods to the book that she’d not only read it but enjoyed it, too. She’d made him laugh. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard the sound coming from his own mouth.


Ben banished that depressing thought as he entered the lecture hall, where students were flopping down into their seats, clicking pens, finishing up their oh-so-urgent text message conversations. He hooked a thumb into the strap of his bag and lifted it over his head, placing it carefully on the podium. Dont look up. Don’t try and figure out which one she is. It’s irrelevant.


The problem was, he kind of felt like he knew her after reading the essay. Her voice had drawn him in and locked him up inside of it. More, he felt like she’d been talking directly to him. That simply wouldn’t do.


The big hand on his wristwatch landed on one o’clock. He made sure the edges of his lesson plan were perfectly lined up with the podium and looked up at the class to begin.


And stopped.


Front row. Who was that blonde in the front row? He might not pay any attention to what his students looked like, but Ben was certain he would have remembered her. Yes, he definitely would have remembered a petite little goddess with big golden eyes and shoulders made to be gripped. Oh fuck, where had that thought come from? Stop looking. Stop looking. But he couldn’t, because her lips parted just slightly, as if she was surprised to find him staring at her. Who wouldn’t stare at her? Okay, as long as he didn’t look any lower than her face—


He looked. There was no stopping his gaze from dipping down to her cleavage. Not enough to be classified as provocative, but enough to be sexy in an I-don’t-even-have-to-try kind of way. Thank God her legs were covered. He wished her legs weren’t covered. What was happening here?


Lolita.


When every head in the class came up, Ben realized he’d said the single, horrifying word out loud.


A male student wearing a Rangers hat spoke up. “Lolita?


This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be. His neck had grown so hot that he swore it was on fire. Kind of like the rest of him. Thank God he was standing behind the podium, because his dick was hard enough to give someone in the front row a black eye. What was wrong with him? He was acting like he’d never seen a beautiful girl before. This city was packed full of them, just walking around looking like they’d stepped out of a glossy magazine, but this one. Oh, this one. Something about her made him ache everywhere. Innocent looking with a hint of excitement in her eyes, like maybe he was making her just as hot. But that couldn’t be right, because he was wearing the ugliest thrift shop tweed jacket he’d been able to find just to make himself the opposite of hot. Unappealing. Unapproachable. Just their professor.


This—all of this, including his hard-on—had to be dealt with later, though, because his students were still looking at him like he’d sprouted a third eye. Think fast, Ben.


I, uh…” He started to adjust his glasses, but he forced his hand to lay flat on the podium. “I’ve decided to give extra credit for a paper on Lolita. The book, not the movie. Although, if you ever want to watch the movie, I’d recommend the Kubrick version. Not the one with Jeremy Irons.” Oh my God. This is such a massive fail. “Um. Okay, so. Three-thousand-word minimum. Due this time next week. Let’s talk about The Things They Carried.


I’d rather talk about Lolita,” baseball cap said, earning a few laughs.


This is what happens. One crack in his armor and suddenly they’re making jokes in his joke-free environment. He tried not to look at the blonde in the front row and failed miserably. When he saw her frown over baseball hat’s comment, he found himself frowning at her. He didn’t like how good it felt to have her on his side. They weren’t on the same side. Teacher. Student. That’s it. That’s how it would stay.


Ben spent the next hour reading passages from the book and giving several different interpretations of what the author wanted the reader to glean about each fictional character based on the items they carried into war. Every once in a while, his gaze would stray to the blonde, and he’d find her watching him steadily from underneath her long eyelashes. Like clockwork, every ten minutes, she would switch the leg she had crossed. Right, left, right, left. Her toes were unpainted. He liked that. Stop looking. Stop.


At two o’clock on the nose, he dismissed the class with the promise to return their graded papers next time. As the students filed out of the class, he briefly wondered which one was Honey, but the blond Lolita captured his attention. She wasn’t leaving like the rest of them. Why wasn’t she leaving? He needed her to leave. His mouth went dry when he realized they were the only two people left in the room. They stared at each other, him behind the podium, her still seated. His cock strained harder and more insistently behind his fly the longer he kept his attention on her, but he couldn’t look away. He should say something, otherwise it would be weird. She’d know how much she affected him. But he didn’t. He could only stare back as she rose to her feet and sauntered toward him, her breasts swaying underneath the dress. No bra. Red. Alert. She’s not wearing a bra. I’m screwed.


She shook her long hair back over her shoulders and he groaned. He fucking groaned, right out loud. Amusement lit her eyes. Satisfaction. None of the pretense employed by females her age. Only confidence that her girl-next-door looks were hooking him like a half-witted sea bass. And they had. There was more, however. She looked at him as if they already knew each other on some level and this face-to-face meeting was long overdue. Which is exactly how he felt. Jesus. He’d never wanted to fuck a girl so badly in his entire life, and it was wrong on so many levels. So many. It broke every rule. The school’s rules. More importantly, his own rules. He knew too well what happened when a man gave in to temptation. Knew what the consequences could be. He’d seen it. He’d lived it.


Her tongue came out to wet her lips, and he watched it happen in slow motion. Felt the muscles in his abdomen tighten at the image of her mouth skating down, down, to deal with the turmoil in his pants. She stopped right at the front of the podium and traced a finger over his lesson plans. No one had ever touched his lesson plans before, and it felt intimate. Maybe more intimate than a kiss for someone like him. She opened her mouth to speak—


Ben.


The familiar voice broke through his red haze of lust. His colleague, Peter, stood at the entrance, eyeing him strangely. Why? Oh, probably because he was sweating and staring at a student like he wanted to eat her for lunch. Eat her…fuck. What color panties was she wearing? He’d give anything to know.


Hey, Ben,” Peter said with a little more oomph. “We’ve got that faculty meeting.”


The blonde, looking more than a little disappointed with their audience, gave him a small smile and walked away. Just like that. She’d aroused him out of his mind, made him question his strict rules, then walked away so casually she might be headed to a beach party. When she passed Peter in the doorway, the fellow teacher looked at her speculatively, and something ugly reared its head inside of Ben. Don’t look at her. Don’t you fucking look at her, he wanted to shout.


Jesus, man. Reel it back. Repeating those words on a loop, he gathered his things quickly and joined Peter at the door. At least he had his body under control now. The icing on this cake of a day would be explaining his peter to Peter.


“What was that about?” his often nosy colleague asked him. “That looked…bad.


Ben scratched his chin. “No idea what you mean. It was nothing.”


“It didn’t look like nothing.” Peter bumped him with his shoulder, and Ben gave him a dark look. He found Peter irritating on a regular basis, but something about him discussing the blonde in any capacity was making him twice as unbearable. They were both new to the faculty, though, and taught the same course. They were required to share notes and compare lesson plans, which put them in one another’s company pretty frequently. “Listen, we have to be careful. We don’t have tenure yet. One wrong move—”


Stop. I don’t know what you think you saw, but you need to drop it.”


Peter held up his hands. “Just looking out for you.”


Ben stayed silent the rest of the walk to the meeting. He thought of the blonde the entire way.


Review


I've said it before and I will say it again, Tessa Bailey is the Queen of writing the perfect Dirty Talker.  Everything that came out of Ben's mouth was naughty and pure perfection...well except for the few little mistakes that he made, but that just helped to give the story "feeling" and there was tons of "feels"! LOVED it! 5 stars.


I really don't need to summarize the story much on this one, you know from the synopsis that it is a student/professor romance.  Need Me is also a standalone among several standalone.  I recommend reading Chase Me first, simply because these characters make appearances in that book and they along with the previous hero's and heroines will also make appearances in the next book. 


I highly recommend you read this series, Need Me was my favorite simply because I love the student/professor storyline! I can’t wait for the next book which happens to be Abby and Russell's book! If you’re looking for a super sexy, sweet read…you’ll enjoy this one!


*Reviewed by Brandi


Buy Link

Need me - http://amzn.to/1G3eG3f
Chase Me - http://amzn.to/1Pb2q7D








About the author:


Tessa lives in Brooklyn, New York with her husband and young daughter. When she isn't writing or reading romance, Tessa enjoys a good argument and thirty-minute recipes.



Connect with Tessa Bailey:


Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Tessa-Bailey


Twitter: https://twitter.com/mstessabailey


Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6953499.Tessa_Bailey


Website: http://www.tessabailey.com







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THE WILD SIDE (The Complete Trilogy) by R.K. Lilley ~ Release Day Blitz and Giveaway




THE WILD SIDE
(The Complete Trilogy)
Author: R.K. Lilley








The Wild Side (The Wild Side #1)

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Alasdair Masters is in a rut. He just hit forty, has been nearly celibate for the past year, and his life has turned into a daily sequence of lonely patterns that revolve around avoiding human contact. 

His tidy life is turned on its head when a hot young blonde at the gym that’s been pseudo-stalking him decides to rock his world. A very young blonde. Way, way too young for him. The problem is, he can’t seem to tell her no, and she just keeps coming back for more. 

It doesn’t help that he’s ninety percent sure she’s a criminal, and still, he can’t seem to turn her down.  What is a dull introvert to do when a chaotic cyclone that oozes sexuality comes twisting into his life? 

At first, he thinks she’ll give him a heart attack, but after his twenty-year marriage ended a year ago, he’s been a little lost, and when she comes crashing into his life, he realizes that he’s never felt more alive. 

Is a walk on the wild side just what he needs to get his on track or a disaster in the making? Is it possible for someone that much younger to be just what he needs, or is she a fortune hunter, as everyone keeps telling him? Is it his hormones telling him that the mysterious younger woman is the one, or could it be more?







IRIS (The Wild Side #2)
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ARE YOU READY FOR A TWIST? 

Who is Iris? Where did she come from? Where has she gone? 

Alasdair Masters has more questions than answers about his new, too young obsession, and when he finds out she’s been lying to him, from their first meeting to their last one, he’s more confused than ever about her feelings, her intentions. 

And what’s just as confusing are his own feelings. Has he turned something purely physical into something emotional in his own head? Is any of it mutual? 

The only thing he doesn’t question is whether he’ll keep going back for more. 

DAIR 
Me, I was simple. I was order. A very neat, efficient machine that ran on nothing but air. 

Me plus anyone else, well, that was another matter. And me plus Iris, that was a monster of a machine, with all gears going at different speeds, some spinning off their hinges, just going mad, but it was a wonderful madness, at full throttle, misfiring in all directions. 

It felt wonderful and dreadful. 
I was breaking down, and it felt amazing. 
And terrifying. 

This book is intended for readers 18 and up







Add to Goodreads
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ARE YOU READY FOR THE TRUTH?

I’d started writing everything about her down. I didn’t want to forget.
The color of her hair. The depth of her eyes. The stubborn shape of her jaw. The way her lips shaped words with such expression. The way her voice made my chest ache. The way she gave advice beyond her years. 
The way she listened like she cared about every word.

The way she made me feel—Alive.

Every curve and hollow of her body was recorded, in my mind, and now my hard drive. 
There was a bit of truth in every lie, and even if it had only been fed to me in the smallest increments, I wanted, needed to remember the real Iris.

Because in the end, there was one irrefutable thing that I couldn’t deny.

Hostage or hustler, sinner or saint, whatever she was or wasn’t, whether she lied to my face or taunted me with hints of the truth, all of this seemed always to defer to the more pertinent fact at hand.

She was mine. 
Inconceivably. 
Undeniably. 
Mine.

After yet another shocking discovery, followed by a disturbing letter, Dair is almost certain Iris has left his life for good. He tries his best to move on. 
Easier said than done, and when an unexpected and dangerous opportunity arises for him to find out what happened to her, he doesn’t hesitate to take it. 
As usual, with Iris, the answer leaves him more lost than the question. 
Every revelation is shrouded in mystery, and every disclosure leaves Dair more in the dark than ever. 
And when finally, the messy truth is revealed in its entirety, will he be ready for it?

This is the final installment in Iris and Dair’s story
This book is intended for readers 18 and up.





DAIR

TWO MONTHS AFTER THE FALLING OUT


I had a bit of a nervous breakdown after Iris left without a trace. 

It was the strangest thing, but I suddenly didn’t like my own company so much. 

In fact, I began to hate it, even at home. 

I still went to the gym at the exact same time, every single day, in the small hope that she’d show again. She didn’t, but I kept going, because I wanted to see her again. 

She hadn’t been in my life for long, but I missed her. 

Being that I couldn’t stand my own company, I began to reconnect with old friends, people I hadn’t talked to since the divorce, the friends I’d chalked up to losses in the breakup; Tammy’s assets when we’d been chopping our combined life in half. 

For some reason, they all seemed very happy to hear from me. I felt like a jerk for going into full hermit mode and attempted to have something of a social life again. 

I’d often meet up with another writer friend for coffee or lunch after my workout, telling myself that if I just kept working at it—being a normal person, with normal social habits—it wouldn’t feel so forced. 

And it was true. Two months post Iris, and I was looking forward to having coffee with my friend, Benji. 

He was already sitting at a table as I entered the cafĂ© a few shops down from my gym. 

I waved at him, saw he had an extra coffee for me, and bypassed the line to go directly to him. 

He slid me the cup as I sat down. 

“You make your deadline?” I asked him. Like me, he was a neurotic, work obsessed writer, and so we always had something to talk about. It was good. Distractions were good. The more the better. The more plates spinning the better, these days.

He nodded with a grin, pushing his thick glasses up high on his nose, and sweeping his light brown hair away from his face. He was a good seven years my junior, with a lean, nerdy look that I thought suited him. He wore it well. “How about you? I know you were early on your publisher’s deadline, but how is your indie project coming along?” 

“Good. Good. My word count is flowing faster than ever. I should be done in about four weeks.” 

He whistled. “Will you sell it to the publisher, if they decide they like it and make you a good offer?” 

I shrugged. “I doubt it. This whole project is an experiment for me. It won’t be much fun if I don’t get to at least see how making seventy percent compares to making, yanno, eight.” 

He shook his head, smiling wryly. “You’re forgetting your advance. You can’t tell me they don’t give you plenty up front.” 

I shrugged again. “Like I said, this one is an experiment. I doubt even my publisher can sway me, and it’s not exactly written in the genre I’m known for, so they wouldn’t write me a big check for it, anyway.” 

“You’re probably right.” He sighed. “I envy you the flexibility to do what you want. Some of us are still writing just to pay the bills.” 

We sipped coffee and talked shop for a bit. We were just getting ready to leave when he suddenly trailed off mid-sentence, looking at something behind me. 

I turned to see what it was, and an electric fire went off in my brain at the sight that met my eyes. 

Setting my jaw hard, I turned carefully away. 

So the back of that blonde woman in line resembled Iris, so what? 

This wasn’t the first time my brain had tricked me into thinking she was somewhere close. 

But it was never her. I’d see some young blonde thing out of the corner of my eye and turn to stare until I met a stranger’s blank stare. 

Not today. Today I was going to ignore the urge to obsess. It wasn’t her, just some young woman with a great body. She wasn’t even dressed correctly, wearing a pleated skirt and a belted, collared blouse. 

Iris wouldn’t be caught dead in business attire. 

“Holy fucking shit, man. Did you see that chick?” Benji asked, his tone reverent. 

My mouth quirked up in a rueful smile. Even the most civilized men turned into mouth-breathers if a hot enough woman walked into the room. 

“I did.” I took a long sip of coffee, watching Benji, who just kept watching the woman in line, forcing myself, with great effort, to stifle the urge to turn around again. “Nice ass,” I noted. 

“Yes. But you need to turn around and check out the rest of her. Huge titties, man.” 

I rolled my eyes. There was a bit of a generation gap between us. My generation thought shit like that, but then we kept it to ourselves, like grown-ups. 

“Big soft tits,” he continued, “in a semi-sheer white blouse. Fuuuck. She’s got a tan. How many articles you think I need to write to bang a chick that out of my league?” 

“A lot,” I mused, still staying firmly with my back to the woman in question. 

“Like how many is a lot?” 

“What do you make? Like five hundred an article? I’d say about two thousand of those, minimum. If she’s as hot as she looked from the back, though, you’d need to be well into the millionaire club before she’d give you the time of day, so more like five thousand articles, realistically.” 

His eyes were wide as he finally looked away from the hot chick and back to me. “Really? That is fucking depressing, dude.” 

I shrugged. “Yeah. But the really sad part is you’d have to spend a good chunk of that cash on her, if you wanted her to stay around for any length of time.”

He shook his head. “I think you’ve gone cynical, after Tammy.”

I couldn’t dispute that. Not a bit. “You may be right. What can I say? Divorce messes with your head.” I didn’t bring up Iris. I hadn’t told him about her. “Why don’t you go ask her out, if you’re so certain I’m wrong?” 

He laughed. “I didn’t say you were wrong, I said you were cynical, and so am I. That chick is out of my league, period. I need more money to bag a woman like that. Or at the very least, better looks and a bigger dick. And look at that, fuck, she’s already leaving. I was hoping she’d sit down to drink her coffee, and let me look at her for a few more minutes.” 

“Maybe you were creeping her out. You’ve barely taken your eyes off her since she walked in the door.”

He didn’t even seem to hear me. “Oh, no, wait, she’s only going to the bathroom. I thought it was weird she was leaving without her order. Did you see her shoes, man? Those are some ‘fuck-me’ stilettos. And her hair is in this tight bun, and she’s wearing sexy librarian glasses. Will you please turn and look when she comes back out? I will drop the subject if you will just get a better view of her and agree with me that she’s a ten.”

“Nope. Not doing it. That poor girl does not need us both creeping out on her. I’ll take your word for it.”

That seemed to settle the matter. He dropped it.

His phone rang; he checked the screen and started cursing. “I’ve got to run. Same time next week?” 

I nodded, and he left. I didn’t move and still didn’t turn around. I had that feeling, a tingle on my neck, like I was being watched from behind, and I was again talking myself out of obsessing about Iris. 

But burned in my brain was the image of the back of that woman, and in spite of myself, I was comparing. 

And a small part of me was enjoying the torture of imagining it could be her, that she would find me again. 

Finally, I cracked, turning to look, thinking that the woman must have left, so I should just get it over with, like pulling off a Band-Aid. 

And there she was. 

There was Iris, standing only feet away, holding a cup of coffee and watching me, her expression very blank. She was wearing sexy librarian glasses, her hair in a tight bun, just like Benji had said. 

And it really was her, in the flesh. 

She wore white, and her clothes were fitted enough to show off every lush curve. Her mouthwatering breasts were clearly outlined, the buttons of her blouse open enough to show an extravagant amount of cleavage. 

How had I forgotten just how stunning she was? How captivating? 

Her large breasts were even more exceptional than I remembered, as though I’d dreamt her up as a comic book version of herself. 

Iris squared. 

The moment our eyes met, she began to move, walking with easy grace to sit across from me.

She looked cold, so icy blonde and beautiful, like some mix of Marilyn Monroe and Grace Kelly. 

Terrible and beautiful. 

It felt like fatal voltage to my chest just to look at her like that.

It was Iris, but Iris as a stranger. No, it was worse than that. It was like she was a curious, wild, imaginary creature, with the pieces of her just now put together, invented for my eyes, not how I remembered at all, because even when she’d been angry, she had never been cold.

Then she smiled, and it was her again, all traces of the cold stranger gone. 

Which one was the real Iris?

“Hello, Dair.” 

I swallowed hard and saw her eyes dart to my throat.

“Hello, Iris.” 

“God, I missed the sound of your voice.”

“The sound of my voice?” My voice caught on the question awkwardly, breaking slightly on the last word. 

She had such a talent for catching me off guard.

“Yes. You have the best voice, like a stern school teacher.”

My brain short-circuited for a bit before I could respond. “You say the most outrageous things.”

She laughed, and its tinkling sound felt like velvet across the back of my neck. “Is that all you have to say to me, after all this time?” she asked quietly. 

“I’m sorry for all the things—”

“I don’t want you to take those things back, if you still believe them, and besides, that’s not what I meant. Don’t you have anything else to say to me?” 

I took a few deep breaths. “Where have you been? And why are you back now?” 

“That’s not what I meant, either. And I don’t want to talk about that. Didn’t you miss me?” 

She reached a hand across the table, and I found one of mine grasping it, lacing our fingers tightly together. 

My eyes squeezed shut. It felt very good to touch her again, even just her hand. “Yes, Iris, I missed you very much.” 

“There you go. Was that so hard? I missed you, too. You look good.” She tugged her hand away, and my eyes opened to follow its retreat. 

“Why are you dressed like that?” 

She looked like she was trying not to smile. “Like what?” 

“Like a professional. Why are you wearing glasses? What are you doing? Where did you go? Where have you been?” 

She glanced around, and the way she did it struck me as more than a little paranoid. “Want to go for a walk?” 

My heart started pounding hard. 

I didn’t hesitate. 

“Of course I do,” I said, absolutely no thought required. 

I’d take a walk with her anytime, anywhere. 

She smiled, taking off those sexy glasses. “Well, then, let’s get out of here.”


Buy Link


http://amzn.to/1GfobBI










R.K. Lilley lives in Colorado with her husband and their two beautiful sons. She's had a lot of interesting jobs, from being a first class flight attendant, to being a stablehand, but swears she never knew what hard work was until she had children. She's been addicted to both reading and writing fiction since she can remember. She loves to travel, read, hike, paint, game, watch anime, and make the most of every single day. She is the author of the erotic romance novels In Flight, Mile High, Grounded, and the novella, Lana.








Thursday, April 16, 2015

Sail by M. Mabie ~ Blog Tour and Giveaway


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Sail
Book Two in The Wake Series
by M. Mabie
Blog Tour 13th – 25th April
Synopsis
This isn’t just a two-year long one-night stand. It’s my life.
This is my life. Our life. It isn’t just some careless affair.
I’ve made the worst decisions a woman could, but I’ll earn my second chance.
She can try keeping all the guilt for herself, but I’m just as much to blame.
Loving Casey wasn’t my biggest mistake. Fighting it for so long was.
I’ll show her how fearless our love makes me. I’ll protect her torn heart.
He still has magic in his eyes. He’s the man who makes me happy.
Her voice still brings me to my knees. She says my name like it’s sacred.
I live for the day when I’m his. To take care of him. To love him the way he deserves.
I can’t wait to be all she needs. I can give her a happy life, security and so much love.
Sometimes two ships never meet in the night, but ours did.
Sometimes the water is rough. It beats you all to hell until you have no choice but get stronger.
Our love story reads more like a tragedy, but to me it’s clean and pure.
Let them point their fingers. Without a love like ours, they haven’t really lived. I pity them.
I’m a cheating wife and a villain. I am his honeybee.
I’m a snake in the grass and I sleep best when I’m lying next to his wife.
I want to be his everything.
I’m nothing without her anyway.
This isn’t even close to over.
It’ll never be over.

Sail is the second book in the continuing Wake Series. For more information on the first book in the series see the link for Bait below.

Excerpt

The room was dimly lit with the few lights we’d left on. It was late, and even though I was tired from travel and just life in general, I craved the feel of him.
Our suite was warm, void of chill or worry. In the bedroom, we didn’t bother with a light, knowing where everything was by memory.
He guided me to bed. He let my hair down and brushed it off my shoulders, and then he held me close and pressed his lips to mine. Casey laid us down so softly I barely knew we were moving until I felt the fluffy pillow under my head.
I deepened our kiss and moaned when his body pressed against mine.
“We’re not going to have sex tonight, Blake,” he said breathlessly around my lips. Why? I wanted him so badly. Just like that. Slow and easy.
I tried to evict thoughts of uncertainty from my mind, but they snuck in with his words. His behavior was contradictory. He’d shown me nothing but affection and care since we saw each other in the airport.
Why wouldn’t he make love to me?
Old demons felt the need to speak up.
What if he doesn’t want you after the chase? What if he only likes the thrill?
I felt my body begin to tense for the first time since we’d arrived. The hands that had been wandering across his back stilled. The leg I had started to wrap around his waist slowly began falling to the side.
“Hey, where are you going,” he said, as he kissed my neck and ran a hand through my hair to the nape of my neck.
“I don’t understand,” I contested. “I want you.” He shifted his weight and I felt how hard he was against my inner thigh. He was definitely turned on. So what was his deal? “Don’t you want me, too?”
“Mmmm,” he breathed near my ear. “God, I want you.” His big right hand hitched my leg back around his hip and he palmed my ass, bringing my dress up to my waist in the process and exposing my pale pink underwear. “I’ve wanted you day and night for so long now. I don’t know how to not want you.” He spoke between kisses and rubbed his nose along my clavicle. Then he bit me gently at the crook of my neck. “But there’ve been too many times I’ve let that need for you cloud my focus.”
“But I—”
“No, Blake. Not tonight. Tonight, I’m going to make you come and then I’m going to sleep next to you. I’m going to fall asleep with you in my arms. All those nights I missed out on holding you and feeling you next to me. I stole them from both of us being scared and stubborn.
I have to be better this time. I see all that you’re doing and I’m so damn proud of you, honeybee,” he said calmly. “But I want more than just physical things from you. It isn’t that I don’t want you. Fuck, do I want you. But I need all of you. Not just this.” He moved against my center and I knew I had to change his mind. After hearing those sweet
words, I had to have him and I wasn’t going to fight fair.
“Please, Casey. Fuck me.”
He growled and pressed his forehead to my chest. “You’re evil.” He laughed. I wished he sounded defeated, but mostly he sounded amused. “You’re not making it easy for me to be noble.”
“Don’t be noble then,” I said as I wound my arms around him and
pulled him closer to me.
“If you knew what I was thinking about doing to you, you’d know I wasn’t.” He rolled partially over toward the center of the bed and ran his hand under my dress and up to my breast.
“Then tell me,” I shamelessly suggested.
The tips of his fingers roamed down my stomach and my pulse sped up. His fingers slid under the sheer fabric of my underwear and my breaths came in spurts as I mentally begged him to keep going. I was so wound up.
“Don’t worry. I told you I’d take care of you.”


Review

Gosh, I really needed this book in my life after Bait wrecked such chaos on my emotions. Don’t go into Sail expecting it to be Bait, because it’s not. While Bait was more angst and drama, Sail is more of Casey and Blake’s love story. 4 stars.

Let them point their fingers. Without a love like ours, they haven’t really lived. I pity them.

Sail takes off exactly where Bait left us, Blake is making some changes in her life, thinking with a clear head, and to be honest…she’s acting like more of a grown-up. *Sigh*Casey…Casey, Casey, Casey…Casey is the same guy that we’ve come to love in Bait. He will put a smile on your face as he learns to navigate the waters of a true relationship and trust his Honeybee.

“But maybe good things don’t just come to those who wait. Maybe good things also come to those strong enough to fight when it looked like a losing battle. Those who never gave up.”

So, if I’m totally honest…I’m torn about my feelings about Sail, and don’t get me wrong because it was GOOD! The writing was great and there was so much character growth and development, but it was just totally not at all what I was expecting. I was just thrown for such a loop after the commotion of Bait that Sail was such smooth sailing (until the end). Everything is not wrapped up entirely though, and I am anxious to see what M. Mabie throws at us in Anchor, and of course I can’t wait for more Casey!

*Reviewed by Brandi
Buy Links
 
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Bait

Book One in The Wake Series

Still on Sale for 99¢

Synopsis:

He was trouble from the start, but I couldn't resist.
She was the best kind of trouble. The kind that was so wrong, it felt right.
I’ve tried and failed to stay away from him.
I’ve done everything in my power to make her mine and keep her.
He’s almost impossible to say no to.
She never tells me yes.
We’re always fighting.
When we’re not fighting, we’re… well… making up.
He makes me laugh so hard.
I miss her laugh the most.
I'm a liar.
She knows the truth, but won’t admit it.
Sometimes, I wish I'd never met him.
I wish we could meet all over again. I'd do better.
His sweet girlfriend knows.
The guy she’s with is a fool.
I’ll never love anyone like I love him.
She doesn’t love me enough to choose us.
It was the wrong place.
It was the wrong time.
It should have been him.
It will always be her.
Buy links

Barnes & Noble http://goo.gl/MHXcHA

M. Mabie Social Links

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Bio

M. Mabie lives in Illinois with her husband. She is the author of the steamy comedy Fade In. Her sophomore release, Bait, is the first book in the angst-filled erotic Wake Series. She writes unconventional love stories and tries to embody "real-life romance."
She cares about politics, but will not discuss them in public. She uses the same fork at every meal, watches Wayne's World while cleaning, and lets her dog sleep on her head. She has always been a writer. In fact, she was born with a pen in her hand, which almost never happens. Almost.
M. Mabie usually doesn't speak in third-person either. She promises.
For Other books by M. Mabie click the titles below