EXCERPT & COUNTDOWN TEASER ~ BEST OF ME by LK Farlow

Today we are delighted to be sharing an excerpt and a countdown teaser for LK Farlow’s all-new contemporary romance, BEST OF ME, coming 5th September!

Cover: Juliana Cabrera of Jersey Girl Design
Photography: Lindee Robinson

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For as long as I can remember, I’ve been the dark to my sister’s light—the awkward loner to her social butterfly. Growing up, she had it all: our parent’s unyielding approval, perfect grades, a permanent spot at the popular table, and the attention of the hottest guy ever—Duke Kincaid.

After eighteen years of living in her shadow, I couldn’t wait to escape—to finally be my own person. Yet here I am, I’m back in my hometown, once again in Valorie’s shadow. Only now, it’s eternal.

I had life all planned out: join the force, marry Valorie Parsons, and start a family of our own. I have the job, but the girl and all my dreams died before my very eyes.

Finally ready to move on, I agree to a blind date. Imagine my shock when I arrive and find, Valorie’s twin sister, waiting across the table from me. Mallory should be a reminder of all that I’ve lost, but instead she feels like my redemption . . . like maybe life’s giving me a second chance.

But, how can I be enough for her when I’ve already given her sister the best of me?

EXCERPT

© 2019 LK Farlow
All rights reserved.

 
I fly through the rest of my routine, wanting to finish before Duke wakes. Except, when I step out of the bathroom wrapped in only my towel, there’s six-feet-plus of man muscle leaned back against the sliding glass door, coffee in hand, looking at me like he wants nothing more than to show me just how much more enjoyable showers for two are.“Hi.” I greet him shyly, acutely aware of the fact that I’m completely naked beneath this rectangle of terrycloth.

His eyes eat me up. “Damn, Cricket. You’re so beautiful.”

I avert my gaze; I’ve been called a lot of things in my life, but beautiful has never been one of them.

Duke places his still-steaming coffee down on the little hammered bronze side table I have and steps toward me, a predatory look in his mossy green eyes. He advances, completely uncaring that I’m still slightly damp from my shower, until we stand flush. He spears his fingers into my tangled, wet hair, forcing me to look up at him. “I need you to listen to me, okay?”

“Okay.”

“You are so damn beautiful. Inside and out. You’re stunning, Mallory. You’re one of those few people whose insides are just as pretty as their outsides. You’re so fucking smart. You have this drive and passion that radiates out of you. You have so much heart that your kindness overflows. Your laugh is so infectious that everyone in hearing distance can’t help but smile. Your body—mmm—don’t even get me started. Your eyes are like smelted gold, precious and shining. And your lips, Cricket, they’re the most inviting, kissable lips I’ve ever seen. I daydream about claiming them far more often than I’d like to admit.”

My heart beats so furiously in my chest I swear it knocks against my ribcage. The way he’s looking at me, his face sincere and honest, tells me he meant every word. I push up on to my tiptoes and wrap my arms around his neck. “Then do it,” I whisper just before he seals his lips to mine.

Duke kisses me completely and totally senseless until his phone chirps in his pocket. He breaks away with great reluctance. “That’s my alarm.” He speaks the words against my lips before claiming them once more. His kiss is bruising, full of want and need and longing. His phone goes off again and he groans, stepping back from me. “Let me see you again tonight?”
 

 
 

Meet  LK Farlow

LK Farlow (A.K.A Kate) is a small-town girl with a love for words. She’s been writing stories for as long she can remember. A Southern girl through and through, Kate resides in beautiful, sunny LA–that’s Lower Alabama, y’all–with her amazing husband and three rambunctious children. When she’s not writing, you can find her snuggled up on the couch watching car shows while she crochets or with her nose in a book.

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COVER REVEAL ~ THE BILLIONAIRE BOOK CLUB by Max Monroe

TBBC - CR Banner

It’s safe to say that I, Caplin Hawkins, the man most women would call The Ultimate Player, have finally met my match, and man oh man, has my end game changed.

The Billionaire Book Club, an all-new hilarious romantic comedy from New York Times bestselling author Max Monroe, is coming September 12th and we have the steamy cover for you!

TBBC Official Cover

The Billionaire Book Club Questionnaire

 

#1: Who is your least favorite character in the book?

Me—Caplin Hawkins. I am an absolute idiot.

 

#2: Who is your favorite character?

Gorgeous, addictive, insanely challenging Ruby.

She’s smart, driven, self-confident, and so beautiful, she makes my chest ache.

 

#3 What is your biggest takeaway from the story?

Ruby Rockford and I are meant to be.

I just have to prove it to her.

 

For the entirety of my adult life, I’ve been content.

Content in my single lifestyle, content in my stressful-but-extremely-successful job as the main corporate counsel for almost every Fortune 500 company in North America, and content in my playful, spontaneous ways.

 

I had no idea it was possible for someone to change my mind.

 

The endless women and work are no longer enough, and just as Ruby Rockford told me—it’s about time I grow up.

 

It’s going to take a strategic attack from more than a couple brilliant minds to win her affection, but luckily, I know exactly where to find the right guys for the job…

The Billionaire Book Club.

 

It’s safe to say that I, Caplin Hawkins, the man most women would call The Ultimate Player, have finally met my match, and man oh man, has my end game changed.

 

I’m coming for you, Ruby.

And soon, you’ll be coming for me, too.

 

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About Max Monroe

A secret duo of romance authors team up under the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling pseudonym Max Monroe to bring you sexy, laugh-out-loud reads.

Max Monroe is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of more than ten contemporary romance titles. Favorite writing partners and long time friends, Max and Monroe strive to live and write all the fun, sexy swoon so often missing from their Facebook newsfeed. Sarcastic by nature, their two writing souls feel like they’ve found their other half. This is their most favorite adventure thus far. ​

Connect with Max Monroe

Website | Facebook | Instagram | Twitter | BookBub | Amazon

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BLOG TOUR ~ HANDLE WITH CARE by Helena Hunting

Today we are delighted to be on tour with Handle With Care, an all-new romantic comedy from New York Times bestselling author Helena Hunting. Read Chapter One, Q&A and KFF’s review and enter KFF’s awesome #Giveaway of a signed copy!

 

HE WANTS TO LOSE CONTROL.

Between his parents’ messed up marriage and his narcissistic younger brother, Lincoln Moorehead has spent the majority of his life avoiding his family. After the death of his father, Lincoln finds himself in the middle of the drama. To top it all off, he’s been named CEO of Moorehead Media, much to his brother’s chagrin. But Lincoln’s bad attitude softens when he meets the no-nonsense, gorgeous woman who has been given the task of transforming him from the gruff, wilderness guy to a suave businessman

SHE’S TRYING TO HOLD IT TOGETHER.

Wren Sterling has been working double time to keep the indiscretions at Moorehead Media at bay, so when she’s presented with a new contract, with new responsibilities and additional incentives, she agrees. Working with the reclusive oldest son of a ridiculously entitled family is worth the hassle if it means she’s that much closer to pursuing her own dreams. What Wren doesn’t expect is to find herself attracted to him, or for it to be mutual. And she certainly doesn’t expect to fall for Lincoln. But when a shocking new Moorehead scandal comes to light, she’s forced to choose between her own family and the broody, cynical CEO.

DOWNLOAD YOUR COPY TODAY!

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Start listening to the audiobook TODAY!

Narrated by Andi Arndt & Jacob Morgan 

Audible: U.K | U.S | CAN | AUS

Reviewed by Sharon Thérèse at KFF

Hunting has really spoilt her readers this summer with two stand-alone novels in the Shacking Up series but sadly, Handle With Care is the last one. What a send-off! As per usual, I read the book in one sitting; however, this one felt totally different. Laugh-out-loud scenes intermingled with intrigue had me hooked. Something just didn’t seem to add up and I wanted to find out what it was.

The mysterious Lincoln Moorhead is not a happy man. Back in New York City to attend the funeral of his father, never did he expect or even want to be tied to the family-run business. A good chunk of his life had been spent shirking them, and now he has little choice other than to accept his grandmother’s proposal. Moorhead Media’s future meant the only person to be trusted at the helm was him. Well, how could he not say no to her! Sharp and oh-so-witty, I’d love to have a grandmother like Lincoln’s in my life.

“I don’t even know who I am. I don’t want these people to be my family. How is this the legacy I’m supposed to uphold?” 

Understandably, Lincoln’s short-tempered. Especially knowing full well he’d have to deal with his infamous brother’s compulsive and bizarre nature inside and out of the office. You really must meet Armstrong if you haven’t already. You probably won’t like him, but his outrageous shenanigans added a whole lot of spice to the story. No wonder he rubbed Lincoln up the wrong way!

“Are you ready to deal with Armstrong now?”
“Is anyone ever?”
 

Nonetheless, the surprise was the jaw-droppingly beautiful gal who’d already been contracted to put out the flames, making everything look like false publicity. Now it’s the new CEO’s turn but for different reasons. Organising Lincoln’s agenda and giving him much-needed makeover is on the cards.

“You can’t tell me I can’t shave me head or force me to get a haircut.” 

Laugh until I cried, Wren Sterling’s modus operandi regarding Lincoln is really a case of snip, tuck and straighten. Although he wasn’t at all keen on the idea, I never heard him complain when she ran her fingers through his hair, tucked in his shirt or fiddled with his tie before attending meetings. The forces of attraction cannot be denied, but the job comes first. She’s very, very good at it and although Lincoln doesn’t feel comfortable being back after such a long time, he’s adapting slowly and doing a damn good job, too.

‘That lipstick drives me up the wall. It’s always on. Always perfect. Always a distraction.’ 

Told from a dual perspective in present and overflowing with playful banter and steaminess, Lincoln’s narrative of his past evoked all the feels. Wren’s put between a rock and a hard place, faces it head-on and had me happy dancing. Here’s one spunky woman who’s not going to take any nonsense from anyone!

“I don’t know how every man who crosses your path doesn’t fall in love with you. Everything about you is incredible.” 

Guessing the twist before the ending didn’t spoil my reading enjoyment in the slightest. My only wish was the person behind some awfully cruel manoeuvres would get what they deserved. Hunting’s wrapped up this series perfectly and I couldn’t recommend it more. Bravo!

CHAPTER ONE

From Handle With Care. Copyright © 2019 by Helena Hunting and reprinted with permission from St. Martin’s Paperbacks.

All rights reserved.

WHAT HAVE I GOTTEN MYSELF INTO?

WREN

I slip onto the empty bar stool beside the lumberjack mountain man who looks like he tried to squeeze himself into a suit two sizes too small. He’s intimidatingly broad and thick, with long dark hair that’s been pulled up into a haphazard man bun thing. His beard is a hipster’s wet dream. His scowl, however, makes him about as approachable as a rabid porcupine. And yet, here I am, sidling up next to him.

He glances at me, eyes bleary and not really tracking. He quickly focuses on his half-empty glass again. Based on the slump of his shoulders and the uncoordinated way he picks up his glass and tips it toward his mouth, I’m guessing he’s pretty hammered. I order a sparkling water with a dash of cranberry juice and a lime.

What I could really use is a cup of lavender-mint tea and my bed, but instead, I’m sitting next to a drunk man in his thirties. My life is extra glamorous, obviously. And no, I’m not an escort, but at the moment I feel like my morals are on the same kind of slippery slope.

“Rough day?” I ask, nodding to the bottle that’s missing more than half its contents. It was full when he sat down at the bar an hour ago. Yes, I’ve been watching him the entire time, waiting for an opportunity to make my move. While he’s been sitting here, he’s turned down two women, one in a dress that could’ve doubled as a disco ball and the other in a top so low-cut, I could almost see her navel.

“You could say that,” he slurs. He props his cheek on his fist, eyes almost slits. I can still make out the vibrant blue hue despite them almost being closed. They move over me, assessing. I’m wearing a conservative black dress with a high neckline and a hem that falls below my knees. Definitely not nearly as provocative as Disco Ball or Navel Lady.

“That solving your problems?” I give him a wry grin and tip my chin in the direction of his bottle of Johnnie.

His gaze swings slowly to the bottle. It gives me a chance to really look at him. Or what I can see of his face under his beard, anyway.

“Nah, but it helps quiet down all the noise up here.” He taps his temple and blurts, “My dad died.”

I put a hand on his forearm. It feels awkward, and creepy on my part since its half-genuine, half-contrived comfort. “I’m so sorry.”

He glances at my hand, which I quickly remove, and refocuses on his drink. “I should be sorry too, but I think he was mostly an asshole, so the world might be better off without him.” He attempts to fill his glass again, but his aim is off, and he pours it on the bar instead. I rush to lift my purse and grab a handful of napkins to mop up the mess.

“I’m drunk,” he mumbles.

“Well, I’m thinking that might’ve been the plan, considering the way you’re sucking that bottle back. I’m actually surprised you didn’t ask for a straw in the first place. Might be a good idea to throw a spacer in there if you want tomorrow morning to suck less.” I push my drink toward him, hoping he doesn’t send me packing like he did the other women who approached him earlier.

He narrows his eyes at my glass, suspicious, maybe. “What is that?”

“Cranberry and soda.”

“No booze?”

“No booze. Go ahead. You’ll thank me in the morning.”

He picks up the glass and pauses when it’s an inch from his mouth. His eyes crinkle, telling me he’s smiling under that beard. “Does that mean Imma wake up with you beside me?”

I cock a brow. “Are you propositioning me?”

“Shit, sorry.” He chugs the contents of my glass. “I was joking. Besides, I’m so wasted, I can barely remember my name. Pretty sure I’d be useless in bed tonight. I should stop talkin’.” He scrubs a hand over his face and then motions to me. “I wouldn’t proposition you.”

I’m not sure how to respond. I go with semi-affronted since it seems like somewhat of an insult. “Good to know.”

“Dammit. I mean, I think you might be hot. You look hot. I mean attractive. I think you’re pretty.” He tips his head to the side and blinks a few times. “You have nice eyes, all four of them are lovely.”

This time I laugh—for real—and point to the bottle. “I think you might want to tell your date you’re done for the night.”

He blows out a breath and nods. “You might be right.”

He makes an attempt to stand, but as soon as his feet hit the floor, he stumbles into me and grabs my shoulders to steady himself. “Whoa. Sorry. Yup, I’m definitely drunk.” His face is inches from mine, breath smelling strongly of alcohol. Beyond that, I get a whiff of fresh soap and a hint of aftershave. He lets go of my shoulders and takes an unsteady step back. “I don’t usually do this.” He motions sloppily to the bottle. “Mostly I’m a three drink max guy.”

“I think losing your father makes this condonable.” I slide off my stool. Despite being tall for a woman, and wearing heels, he still manages to be close to a head taller than me.

“Yeah, maybe, but I still think I might regret it tomorrow.” He’s incredibly unsteady, swaying while standing in place. I take the opportunity for what it is and thread my arm through his, leading him away from the bar. “Come on, let’s get you to the elevator before you pass out right here.”

He nods, then wobbles a bit, like moving his head has set him off balance. “That’s probably a good idea.”

He leans into me as we weave through the bar and stumbles on the two stairs leading to the foyer. There’s no way I’ll be able to stop him if he goes down, but I drape one of his huge arms over my shoulder anyway, and slip my own around his waist, guiding him in a mostly straight line to the elevators.

“Which floor are you on?” I ask.

“Penthouse.” He drops his arm from my shoulder and flings it out, pointing to the black doors at the end of the hall. “Jesus, I feel like I’m on a boat.”

“It’s probably all the alcohol sloshing around in your brain.” I take his elbow again, helping him stagger the last twenty feet to the dedicated penthouse elevator.

He stares at the keypad for a few seconds, brow pulling into a furrow. “I can’t remember the code. It’s thumbprint activated though too.” He stumbles forward and presses his forehead against the wall, then tries to line up his thumb with the sensor, but his aim is horrendous and he keeps missing.

I settle a hand on his very firm forearm. This man is built like a tank. Or a superhero. For a moment, I reconsider what I’m about to do, but he seems pretty harmless and ridiculously hammered, so he shouldn’t pose a threat. I’m also trained in self-defence, which would fall under the by any means necessary umbrella. “Can I help?”

He rolls his head, eyes slits as they bounce around my face. “Please.”

I take his hand between mine. The first thing I notice is how clammy it is. But beyond that, his knuckles are rough, littered with tiny scars and a few scabs, and his nails are jagged.

“Your hands are small,” he observes as I line his thumb up with the sensor pad and press down.

“Maybe yours are abnormally big,” I reply. They are rather large. Like basketball player hands.

“You know what they say about big hands.”

I fight not to roll my eyes, but for a brief moment, I wonder if what’s in his pants actually matches the rest of him. And if he’s unkempt everywhere, not just on his face. I cut that visual quickly because it makes me want to gag. “And what do they say?”

His eyes crinkle again, and he slaps his own chest. “Something about big hands, big heart.”

I bite back my own smile. “Pretty sure you’re mixing that up with cold hands, warm heart.”

His brow furrows. “There’s a good chance.”

The elevator doors slide open. He pushes off the wall with some effort and practically tumbles inside. He catches himself on the rail and sags against the wall as I follow him in. I honestly can’t believe I’m doing this right now.

He doesn’t have to press a button since the elevator only goes to the penthouse floor. As soon as we start moving, he groans and his shoulders curl in. “I don’t feel so good.”

Please don’t let him be sick in here. If there’s one thing I can’t deal with, it’s vomit. “You should sit.”

He slides down the wall, massive shoulders rolling forward as he rests his forehead on his knees. “Tomorrow is going to suck.”

I stay on the other side of the elevator, in case he tosses his cookies. “Probably.”

It’s the longest elevator ride in the history of the world. Or at least it feels that way, mostly because I’m terrified he’s going to yak. Thankfully, we make it to the penthouse floor incident-free. On the down side, now that he’s in a sitting position, getting him to stand again is a challenge. I have to press the open door button three times before I can finally coax him to his feet.

In the time between leaving the bar and making it to the penthouse floor, the effects of the alcohol seems to have compounded. He’s beyond sloppy, using the wall and me for support as we make our way to his door. There are two penthouse apartments up here. One on either side of the foyer.

He leans against the doorjamb, once again fighting to find the coordination to get his thumb to the sensor pad. I don’t ask if he needs my assistance this time since it’s quite clear he does. Once again I take his clammy hand in mine.

“Your hands are really soft,” he mumbles.

“Thanks.”

The pad ashes green, and I turn the handle. “Okay, here we go. Home sweet home.”

“This isn’t my home,” he slurs. “My cousin’s family owns this building. I’m crashing here until I can get the fuck out of New York.”

I scan the penthouse. It an eclectic combination of odd art and modern furniture, like two different tastes crashed together and this is the result. Aside from that, it’s clean to the point of looking almost like a show home.

The only sign that someone is staying here is the lone coffee cup on the table in the living room and the blanket lolling like a tongue over the edge of the couch. I’m still standing in the doorway while he sways unsteadily.

He tries to shove his hand in his pants pocket, but all he succeeds in doing is setting himself off-balance. He nearly stumbles into the wall.

“Thanks for your help,” he says.

He’s back in his penthouse, which means my job is technically done. However, I’m worried he’s going to hurt himself, or worse, asphyxiate on his own vomit in the middle of the night, and I’ll be the one catching heat if that happens. I’ll also feel bad if something happens to him. I blow out a breath, annoyed that this is how my night is ending.

I heave his arm over my shoulder and slip mine around his waist again, leading him through the living room toward what seems to be the kitchen. There’s a sheet of paper on the island, but otherwise it’s spotless.

“What’re you doing?” he asks.

We pause when we reach the threshold. “Which way is your bedroom?”

He looks slowly from right to left. “Not that way.” He points to the kitchen. It’s very state of the art.

I guide him in the opposite direction down the hall, until he stumbles through a doorway, into a large but simply furnished bedroom. Once we reach the edge of the bed, he drops his arm, spins around—it’s drunkenly graceful—and falls back on the bed, arms spread wide as if he’s planning on making snow angels. “The room is spinning.”

“Would you like me to get you a glass of water and possibly a painkiller for the headache you’ll likely have in the morning?” I’m already heading for the bathroom.

“Might be a good idea,” he mumbles.

I find a glass on the edge of bathroom vanity—which is clean, apart from a brand new toothbrush and tube of toothpaste. I run the tap, wishing I had a plastic tumbler, because I’m not sure he’s in any state to deal with breakable objects. I check the medicine cabinet, find the pills I need, shake out two tablets, and return to the bedroom.

He’s right where I left him; sprawled out faceup on a massive king-size bed, legs hanging off the end, one shoe on the floor beside him. I cross over and set the water and the pills on the nightstand.

I make a quick trip back to the bathroom and grab the empty wastebasket from beside the toilet in case his night is a lot rougher than he expects.

I tap his knee, crossing my fingers he’ll be easy to rouse. “Hey, I have painkillers for you.”

He makes a noise, but doesn’t move otherwise.

I tap his knee again. “Lincoln, you need to wake up long enough to take these.” I cringe. I called him by name, and he didn’t offer it to me while we were down at the bar. Here’s hoping he’s too drunk to notice or remember. His name is Lincoln Moorehead, heir to the Moorehead Media fortune and all the crap that comes with it. And there’s a lot of it.

One eye becomes a slit. “Every time I open my eyes, the room starts spinning again.”

“If you drink this and take these, it might help.” I hold up the glass of water and the pills.

“’Kay.” It takes three tries for him to sit up. He tries to pick the pills up out of my palm, but keeps missing my hand.

“Just open your mouth.”

He lifts his head. “How do I know you’re not trying to roofie me?”

I hold up the tablet in front of his face. “They don’t say roofie, so you’re safe.”

He tries to focus on the pill and then my face. I have my doubts he’s successful at either.

His tongue peeks out to drag across his bottom lip. “The cameras in the hall will catch you if you steal my wallet.”

I laugh at that. “I’m not going to steal your wallet, I’m going to put you to bed.”

“Hmm.” He nods slowly and opens his mouth.

I drop the pills on his tongue and hand him the glass, which he drains in three long swallows. “Would you like me to refill that?”

“That’d be nice.” He holds out the glass, but when I try to pull away, he covers my hands with his. His shockingly blue eyes meet mine, and for a moment they’re clear and compelling. Despite how out of it he is, and how much he resembles a mountain man, or maybe because of it, I have a hard time looking away. “I really wish I wasn’t this messed up. You smell nice. I bet your hair is pretty when it’s not pulled up like that.” He flops a hand toward my bun. “Not that it’s not pretty like that, but I bet if you took it down, it would be wavy and soft. The kind of hair you want to bury your face in and run your fingers through.” He exhales a long breath. “I haven’t had sex in a really long time, but I feel like I would have zero finesse if I tried right now.”

I smile and turn away. In the time it takes for me to refill his glass, he’s managed to get one arm out of his suit jacket. He’s made it most of the way onto the bed, feet still hanging off the end, but he’s on his back, which is not ideal.

I set the glass on his nightstand, along with a second set of painkillers, which I’m assuming he’ll need in the morning, and give him another nudge. “Hey.”

This time I get nothing in the way of a response. I poke him twice more, but still nothing. He can’t sleep on his back with how drunk he is. He needs to be on his side or his stomach with a wastebasket close by.

I can’t in good conscience leave him like this. My options are limited. I shake my head as I kick off my shoes and climb up onto the bed with him. This is not at all what I expected to be doing when I brought him back up here.

I stare down at his sleeping form. His lips are parted, they’re nice lips, full and plump, even though they’re mostly obscured by his overgrown beard. His hair has started to unravel from its man bun, wisps hanging in his face. He has long lashes, really long actually, and they’re thick and dark, the kind women pay a lot of money for. His nose is straight and his cheekbones— what I can see of them—are high. With a haircut, a beard trim or complete shave, and a new suit that actually fits, I can imagine how refined he’ll look. More like a Moorehead than a mountain man lumberjack. I shake my head. “I need you to roll onto your side, please,” I say loudly.

Nothing. Not even a grunt.

I pull on his shoulder, but he’s dead weight. Leaning over him, I make a fist and give him a light jab approximately where his kidney is. “Lincoln, roll over.”

And roll he does, knocking me down and turning over so he’s right on top of me. We’re face-to-face. Good God, he’s heavy. His bones must be made of lead. He shifts, one leg coming over both of mine. I push at his knee, but his arm swings out and he wraps himself around me on a low groan, pinning my arm to my side. He’s like a giant human blanket.

“How did this become my life?” I say to the ceiling, because the man lying on top of me is apparently out cold.

I try to wriggle free, I even yell his name a bunch of time before I give up and wait for him to roll off me. And while I wait for that to happen, I replay the conversation with his mother, Gwendolyn Moorehead, that took place forty-eight hours ago and put me in this awkward position underneath her drunk son.

I’d been standing in Fredrick’s office, still digesting the fact that he was dead. It was shocking that a massive heart attack had taken him, since he was always so healthy and full of life.

Gwendolyn, his wife—now a widow—stood stoic behind his desk, papers stacked neatly in the center.

“I’m so very for your loss, Gwendolyn. If there’s anything I can do. Whatever you need.” The words poured out, typical condolences, but sincerely meant because I couldn’t imagine how my mother and I would feel if we lost my father.

Gwendolyn’s fingers danced at her throat as she cleared it. “Thank you,” she whispered brokenly and dabbed at her eyes. “I appreciate your kindness, Wren.”

“Let me know what you want me to handle, and I’ll take care of it.”

She took a deep breath, composing herself before she lifted her gaze to mine. “I need your help.”

“Of course, what can I do?”

“My oldest son, Lincoln, will be returning to New York for the funeral, and he’ll be staying to help run the company.”

A hot feeling crept up my spine. I’d heard very little about Lincoln. Everything from Armstrong’s mouth was scathing, Fredrick’s passing references had been with fondness, and my interactions with Gwendolyn had been minimal as it was Fredrick himself who hired me, so this was first I’ve heard of Lincoln through her. “I see. And how can I help with that?” I could only imagine how difficult Armstrong would be if he had to share the attention with someone else, particularly his brother.

“Transitioning Lincoln.” Gwendolyn rounded her desk. “You’ve managed to turn around Armstrong’s reputation in the media during the time you’ve been here. I know it hasn’t been easy, and Armstrong can be difficult to manage.”

Difficult to manage is the understatement of the entire century where Armstrong is concerned. He’s a cocksucker of epic proportions. He’s also a misogynistic, narcissistic bastard that I’ve had to deal with for the past eight months on a nearly daily basis—sometimes even on weekends.

My job as his “handler” has been to reshape his horrendous reputation after his involvement in several scandalous events became very public. It wasn’t a job I necessarily wanted, and I was prepared to politely reject the offer, but my mother asked me to take the position as a favor to her since she’s a friend of Gwendolyn.

Beyond that, my relationship with my mother has been strained for the past decade. When I was a teenager, I discovered information that changed our relationship forever. Taking the job at Moorehead was in part, my way of trying to help repair our fractured bond. The financial compensation, which was ridiculously high, also didn’t hurt. Besides, Gwendolyn is on nearly every single charitable foundation committee in the city, and since that’s where my interests lie, it seemed like a smart career move.

“Since you’re already working with Armstrong and things seem to be settled there for the most part, I felt it would make sense to keep you on here at Moorehead to work with Lincoln. He’s been away from civilized society for several years. He’s nothing like his brother, very altruistic and focused on his job, rather than recreational pursuits, so he should be easier to manage.”

I fought a scoff at the last bit, since “recreational pursuits” was a reference to the fact that Armstrong couldn’t seem to keep his pants zipped when it came to women.

Gwendolyn pushed a set of papers toward me. “It would only be for another six months. And of course, your salary would reflect the double work load, since you’ll still have to maintain Armstrong in some capacity while you assist Lincoln in transitioning into his role here.”

“I’m sorry, what—”

Gwendolyn pulled me into an awkward hug, holding onto my shoulders when she stepped back. Her eyes were glassy and red-rimmed. “You have no idea how much I appreciate your willingness to take this on. As soon as your contract is fulfilled, you have my word that I’ll give you a glowing recommendation to whichever organization you’d like. Your mother told me you’re interested in starting your own foundation. I’ll certainly help you in any way I’m able if you’ll stay on a little longer for me.” She dabbed at her corner of her eyes and sniffed, then tapped the papers on the desk. “I already have an agreement ready and an NDA, of course. Everything is tabbed for signing.”

I’m pulled back into the present when Lincoln shifts and one of his huge hands slides up my side and lands on my breast. At the same time, he pushes his nose against my neck, beard tickling my collarbone. He mutters something unintelligible against my skin.

I’m momentarily frozen in shock. Under any other circumstances, I would knee him in the balls. However, he’s not conscious or even semi-aware that he’s fondling me. Thankfully, now that he’s moved, I have some wiggle room.

I elbow him in the ribs, which probably hurts me more than it does him. At least it gets him to move away enough that I can slip out from under him. I roll off the bed and pop back up, smoothing out my now-wrinkled dress. My stupid nipples are perky, thanks to the attention the right one just got. Probably because it’s the most action I’ve seen since I started working for the Mooreheads eight months ago.

I hit the lights on the way out of the bedroom, pause in the kitchen to grab a glass of water and check out the sheet of paper on the counter. It’s a list of important details regarding the penthouse, including the entry code. I nab my purse, snap a pic, and head for the elevators.

I have a feeling this is going to be a long six months.

 

Handle With Care Blogger Q&A – Helena Hunting

Can you tell us a little about your new release, Handle with Care?

Handle with Care follows the story of the reclusive Lincoln Moorehead, who has done everything he can to separate himself from his family and their massive media corporation. Upon the death of his father, he’s forced to come home for the funeral, and then asked to stay on to help transition the company with the assistance of Wren Sterling who has been commissioned to overhaul Lincoln’s image in the public eye.  

Lincoln Morehead and Wren Sterling are the lead characters in Handle with Care. Which one of them did you find the easiest to develop? What is each character’s best and worst traits?

I always find developing the male lead the easiest. I’m not sure why exactly that is, but Lincoln’s character was so easy to round out and develop. Lincoln’s worst trait is that he jumps to conclusions without first getting all the facts, but his best trait is his altruism. He’s very much about giving back, and despite the fact that he can be a grumpy jerk, he’s also an incredibly good human being. Wren’s worst trait is that she can be a martyr for things that are outside of her control but her best trait is her strength of character and her belief in redemption.

What was your greatest challenge while Handle with Care? What was your greatest pleasure and/or reward?

Wren is a badass heroine, so I think finding the balance between her strength of character and those hints of vulnerability could be tricky at times. I really wanted to humanize her and make her relatable and I hope readers connect with her. I LOVED writing the banter between Linc and Wren. They are both such strong personalities, and that made putting them head to head so much fun. 

Which do you find easiest to write-the humour or the heart?

Humor always seems to find a natural place inside the story, but for me, it’s about the balance between the two. I love taking a heavy moment and inserting some kind of comic relief before I go for the feels again. 

Q  Do you work from an outline while writing your novels? How closely do the finished novels fit your original vision of the characters and storyline before you begin writing?

I outline extensively. Most of the time I have about ten thousand words of outline and character development before I even start writing. It’s just how I work most effectively. I need to know who my characters are going in and where I want them to be by the end of the book. I generally stick to my outlines very closely since they are so detailed.

Q  What did you edit OUT of this book?

A lot of f-bombs. 

Q  Do you listen to music while writing? Does it influence the flow of the scene you are writing? 

I do. I create playlists for every single book I write, and I often (always) listen to the same playlist while I write the book. This means that I burn out albums and songs for my family on a very, very regular basis. My husband’s list of artists he will no longer listen to grows exponentially with every release. Halsey always finds a place on my playlist and the song Joaquim by Oscar and the Wolf was a particular favourite.

Q  When sitting down to write a new book you have a specific outline to follow or does it just flow naturally?

The first step in my process is always to write an outline. I need the bones of the story down, where the character arcs will fall and what the conflicts will look like before I start writing the book.

Q What do you like to do when you aren’t writing?

I like hanging out with my daughter and craft. Recently we went camping, which was a fun experience, although I grew up with a family cottage so we would spend a lot of the summer there. 

Q  Name three things on your desk right now.

Broken Knight by LJ Shen, Fix Her Up by Tessa Bailey, Resist by K. Bromberg, Undeniable by Melanie Harlow, The Last Letter by Rebecca Yarros (still gives me the chills when I think about it), Verity by Colleen Hoover.

Q  What did you enjoy most about writing this book?

The banter between Wren and Linc and writing a grumpy, jerk hero who really isn’t a jerk but sure acts like one! 

Q  To get to know you a little bit better… do you have a pet or something that is special to you that you could share with us?

I have two cats, Digit is a 14-year-old pure white polydactyl cat who sheds like nobodies business and Pumpkin (named by our daughter) is a 6-year-old black cat who often thinks he’s a dog, eat edamame beans and begs for bacon at the table.  

Q  You’ve written many books & bestsellers, in many genres.  What has been your favourite to write thus far?

That’s a hard question to answer. I love them all for very different reasons, but I will say that I had a lot of fun writing Wren and Linc because of the banter and how much I love writing a strong heroine. 

Q  What was your favourite book or series in your youth?

I used to love reading VC Andrews books, and Clive Barker, which I realize are very, very different! 

What would you like us (the readers) to take away from your story?

That families aren’t perfect and people can make mistakes, yet still grow from them.

Q  What is your favourite platform to connect with your reader to date?

I have a reader group called The Beaver Den and I love it in there. The readers are always sharing book experiences and it’s a great community! If you want to join my group you can do it here: Facebook Reader Group 

Q  What project(s) are you currently working on?

I just finished the third book in the All In Series, which the first book will be releasing this fall. Next, I’m starting a standalone, but I also have a new series I’ll be starting soon, and I have a book idea or two for secondary characters in the last two books of The Shacking Up series, as well. It’s safe to say that my writing schedule is planned for the next two years!

Q  Do you believe in love at first sight?

I don’t know about love at first sight but when I saw my husband from across the room for the first time I thought, “man, he’s pretty” and then when we had our first conversation the connection was instant. I think people can “click” and be drawn to each other for inexplicable reasons.

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MEET HELENA

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of PUCKED, Helena Hunting lives on the outskirts of Toronto with her incredibly tolerant family and two moderately intolerant cats. She writes contemporary romance ranging from new adult angst to romantic sports comedy.

Follow Helena

Author Website  | Facebook  | Facebook Fan Group
Twitter @HelenaHunting

Instagram – @HelenaHunting
Never miss an update! Subscribe to Helena’s mailing list

 

 

BLOG TOUR ~ HANDLE WITH CARE by Helena Hunting

“Lincoln and Wren had me flipping through the pages frantically, begging for more. Their chemistry was explosive, their love story both hilarious and tender.”- L.J. Shen, USA Today bestselling author

Today we’re delighted to be on tour with New York Times bestselling author Helena Hunting’s all-new romantic comedy, HANDLE WITH CARE

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HE WANTS TO LOSE CONTROL.

Between his parents’ messed up marriage and his narcissistic younger brother, Lincoln Moorehead has spent the majority of his life avoiding his family. After the death of his father, Lincoln finds himself in the middle of the drama. To top it all off, he’s been named CEO of Moorehead Media, much to his brother’s chagrin. But Lincoln’s bad attitude softens when he meets the no-nonsense, gorgeous woman who has been given the task of transforming him from the gruff, wilderness guy to a suave businessman

SHE’S TRYING TO HOLD IT TOGETHER.

Wren Sterling has been working double time to keep the indiscretions at Moorehead Media at bay, so when she’s presented with a new contract, with new responsibilities and additional incentives, she agrees. Working with the reclusive oldest son of a ridiculously entitled family is worth the hassle if it means she’s that much closer to pursuing her own dreams. What Wren doesn’t expect is to find herself attracted to him, or for it to be mutual. And she certainly doesn’t expect to fall for Lincoln. But when a shocking new Moorehead scandal comes to light, she’s forced to choose between her own family and the broody, cynical CEO.

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Reviewed by Sharon Thérèse at KFF

Hunting has really spoilt her readers this summer with two stand-alone novels in the Shacking Up series but sadly, Handle With Care is the last one. What a send-off! As per usual, I read the book in one sitting; however, this one felt totally different. Laugh-out-loud scenes intermingled with intrigue had me hooked. Something just didn’t seem to add up and I wanted to find out what it was.

The mysterious Lincoln Moorhead is not a happy man. Back in New York City to attend the funeral of his father, never did he expect or even want to be tied to the family-run business. A good chunk of his life had been spent shirking them, and now he has little choice other than to accept his grandmother’s proposal. Moorhead Media’s future meant the only person to be trusted at the helm was him. Well, how could he not say no to her! Sharp and oh-so-witty, I’d love to have a grandmother like Lincoln’s in my life.

“I don’t even know who I am. I don’t want these people to be my family. How is this the legacy I’m supposed to uphold?” 

Understandably, Lincoln’s short-tempered. Especially knowing full well he’d have to deal with his infamous brother’s compulsive and bizarre nature inside and out of the office. You really must meet Armstrong if you haven’t already. You probably won’t like him, but his outrageous shenanigans added a whole lot of spice to the story. No wonder he rubbed Lincoln up the wrong way!

“Are you ready to deal with Armstrong now?”
“Is anyone ever?”
 

Nonetheless, the surprise was the jaw-droppingly beautiful gal who’d already been contracted to put out the flames, making everything look like false publicity. Now it’s the new CEO’s turn but for different reasons. Organising Lincoln’s agenda and giving him much-needed makeover is on the cards.

“You can’t tell me I can’t shave me head or force me to get a haircut.” 

Laugh until I cried, Wren Sterling’s modus operandi regarding Lincoln is really a case of snip, tuck and straighten. Although he wasn’t at all keen on the idea, I never heard him complain when she ran her fingers through his hair, tucked in his shirt or fiddled with his tie before attending meetings. The forces of attraction cannot be denied, but the job comes first. She’s very, very good at it and although Lincoln doesn’t feel comfortable being back after such a long time, he’s adapting slowly and doing a damn good job, too.

‘That lipstick drives me up the wall. It’s always on. Always perfect. Always a distraction.’ 

Told from a dual perspective in present and overflowing with playful banter and steaminess, Lincoln’s narrative of his past evoked all the feels. Wren’s put between a rock and a hard place, faces it head-on and had me happy dancing. Here’s one sassy woman who’s not going to take any nonsense from anyone!

“I don’t know how every man who crosses your path doesn’t fall in love with you. Everything about you is incredible.” 

Guessing the twist before the ending didn’t spoil my reading enjoyment in the slightest. My only wish was the person behind some awfully cruel manoeuvres would get what they deserved. Will they? That’s for you to find out! Hunting’s wrapped up this series perfectly and I couldn’t recommend it more. Bravo!

EXCERPT

© 2019 Helena Hunting
All rights reserved.

 
“You have a suit fitting tomorrow morning.”
“Tomorrow morning? I have lots of suits; I’ll make one of those work.”
“Are they like the ones you wore to the funeral?” I ask.
“Yeah, why?”
“Well, they may have fit you five years ago, but they certainly don’t fit you now. I’ll text you the details and add them to your personal calendar.”
“You can’t do that without my cell number.” His smugness would be grating if I wasn’t two steps ahead of him.
I flash a fake smile. “I already have all of your personal details, Lincoln. Right down to your shoe size. And you can’t be late like you were this morning, so it might be a good idea to avoid the scotch tonight so you’re less bear and more human. You’ll need to use these things called manners. I can email you a refresher on what those are, should you need it.”
“Sarcasm is a weapon of the weak.”
My ears are on fire as he heads for the door. Jerk. I was being witty, not sarcastic. “Thanks so much for offering to help clean up the mess you made.” I turn to address the crinkled papers scattered on the floor.
It’s common courtesy to offer assistance if you’re the one who made the damn mess. Even Armstrong, who is the most epic of douches, has some manners. Usually he’ll try to look up a skirt or down a shirt while he’s being polite, but it’s better than this.
I turn to retrieve the papers when two things happen, a power surge ramps up the box fans—it happens at least twice a day, and at the same time Lincoln pulls the door open again. The simultaneous actions create a vortex of air inside my office, and my skirt flutters into the air. Like I’m Marilyn Monroe and I’ve stepped onto one of those subway grates. The fabric rises quickly, and a breeze hits me right between the legs, which is the exact moment I remember that I’m not wearing panties. Because they were covered in the coffee Armstrong spilled in my lap.
I drop the papers and battle the fabric back down. It’s fruitless, though, the wind tunnel whirls through the room like Dorothy’s freaking tornado, and the back of my dress goes up. I meet Lincoln’s gaze from across the small room. All it takes is a second of eye contact before those ridiculously blue eyes pull me in, and weird, inappropriate things start happening to my body. It’s irritating as hell. I don’t even like this guy, but my body seems as if it hasn’t gotten the same memo as the rest of me. Even more aggravating is the realization that based on his expression, he totally caught an eyeful of cooch.
Lincoln stands frozen at the door, eyes wide and fixed on my crotch, mouth hanging open.
“Close the damn door!” My voice is siren high. And loud.
“Right. Yes. I’m going. Now.” He steps out of my office, pulling the door closed behind him.
My dress settles around my knees. “Dammit.” I drop into my chair, which is probably what I should’ve done as soon as the wind tunnel started, but clearly I’d been too panicked to think straight.
On the upside, I went to see my waxer last week, so he’s seen my girl bits when they’re looking their finest.
On the downside, my project for the next six months has seen my naked girl bits.
 

 
 

MEET HELENA

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of PUCKED, Helena Hunting lives on the outskirts of Toronto with her incredibly tolerant family and two moderately intolerant cats. She writes contemporary romance ranging from new adult angst to romantic sports comedy.

Follow Helena

Author Website  | Facebook  | Facebook Fan Group
Twitter @HelenaHunting

Instagram – @HelenaHunting
Never miss an update! Subscribe to Helena’s mailing list

 

BLOG TOUR ~ THE TRUTH ABOUT COWBOYS by Lisa Renee Jones

Today we’re thrilled to be on tour with New York Times bestselling author
Lisa Renee Jones’ all-new steamy, sexy and laugh-out-loud funny contemporary romance, THE TRUTH ABOUT COWBOYS

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TTAC_eBook_1600While I was off pitching in the big leagues, my family was back in the small town of Sweetwater, Texas, running the family ranch. Then tragedy hit and I discovered there were secrets that my family kept, problems they hid. I went home, left behind the money, women, and fame. I took over the ranch and took care of my grandmother. I took over hiding the secrets. Then she came to town. A smart-mouthed, clumsy, too-smart-and-too-pretty-for-my-own-good city girl hiding out to write a book. She’s right here, on my property, in the cottage my grandmother rented her without my permission, and she sees too much. She knows too much.

Now suddenly my world is spinning, and she’s shoving a baseball back in my hand while baking cookies with my grandmother. She’s the devil and an angel all in one fiery little package. I decide I’ll wait her out. She’ll go back to the city. Only suddenly I don’t want her to leave, and everything I’ve settled for in my life isn’t enough. I want to play ball and I want her, but there’s that secret that won’t let go, but neither will she.

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Reviewed by Emma-Louise on behalf of KFF

Infuriation and mistrust never before have been so much fun to watch. Jessica and Jason rocked the pages of this book in so many fantastic ways.

Tearing away from the big city looking for somewhere to hide and lick her wounds, Jessica ends up in Sweetwater, Texas. All things considered, not really the best place to go to considering how things between her and Jason started off.

Jason has the entire world on his shoulders. Living life for everyone but himself, hearing his story left a lump in my throat the size of a plum. To see and feel what he overcame, well, the story takes on a life of its own.

Whilst reading this book I realised what it is I enjoy about small-town romances. The familial connections, the heart, this series like no other I have adored this year and a grandmother to remember, one who ram-raided right through the pages.

So different and yet so very similar; Jessica and Jason are two halves of the same coin. Toing and froing like a well-matched tennis tournament. This book kept me on the edge of my seat and I could not put it down. There were so many emotions I felt whilst immersed between the pages, I can’t regret any of it.

Thank you, Ms. Jones, for a wonderful adventure in good ol’ Texas.

EXCERPT

© 2019 Lisa Renee Jones
All rights reserved.

 
Jessica…
I dart toward the door in the far right corner and enter the bathroom, where I find a giant old-fashioned, barrel-style tub. I open one of the white cabinet doors and also find a towel, but I’m just too wet for it to help. Like that woman was for Craig. Oh God. There I go again. No. No. No. I will not think those thoughts. No more. I’m done. With him. With her. I strip down naked, wrap the towel around me, and hunt for my suitcase, which I hope like heck has the other bag of chocolate I packed.
Naked might get a girl in trouble, but I’m alone and it’s not like anyone is going to see me naked anytime soon. I can go right ahead and happily pack a few pounds of chocolate weight on a petite frame that can’t handle a few extra anything. There will be no more men for me. Therefore, there will be no trouble to be found. It’s a great plan and on this one, really truly, I dare to say, what could go wrong? I exit the bathroom into the bedroom and scream at the sight of a man standing there.
The cowboy who saved me on the side of the road is not only here, minus his trench coat and wearing a snug black T-shirt, he’s bigger and broader than I remember. The bedroom shrinks. My heart races.
“I was right,” I accuse, clutching at my towel, the only thing between me and him besides footsteps. “You are a serial killer.” I search for a weapon and I don’t know why there’s a giant flashlight on the nightstand, but it’s long and strong, and I grab it, my new prize. I also manage to drop my towel. Oh my God, I’ve dropped my towel. Goose bumps lift on my naked body and, Lord help me, my nipples pucker.
I try to grab my towel and almost drop the flashlight, which is a better weapon than terry cloth. I commit to the flashlight and my state of undress. “I will hit you if you come near me,” I warn. “I mean, kill you.” That sounds unrealistic and therefore lacks the bite I intend. “I will hurt you.”
He arches a brow and, to my shock and his credit, he doesn’t so much as blink at anything below my neck. I don’t know if I should be appreciative or offended. Am I not distracting? Am I not worthy of a look? Obviously, my ex didn’t think so and—
The cowboy starts walking toward me.
“What are you doing? Stay back.” I hold up the flashlight, but I’m the one backing up, hitting the wall with a hard thud. He snatches up my towel and hands it to me, his hand brushing my nipple in the process. I suck in a breath, even as the flashlight is removed from my hand and tossed on the bed. “The game is over. Getting naked won’t stop me from calling the police.”
“I’ll knee you. I’ll scream. I’ll—”
“You’re standing in my property, sweetheart.”
“This is not—”
“And yet it is. You picked the wrong house to squat in and the wrong town. I saw where you turned off. I knew where you were headed. Wrong choice, sweetheart.”
“Stop calling me sweetheart. And what the hell are you talking about? Squatter? What is a—” A bad feeling hits me. “You think I’m freeloading by sneaking in here and now I’m trying to buy a bed with my naked body? Really?”
“If the shoe fits, sweetheart.”
I scowl. “Stop calling me sweetheart. Since when do women seducing men try to hit them with a flashlight? Then again, we are talking about you here. I’m pretty sure you could make anyone want to hit you. Maybe that’s the only foreplay you know. A flashlight and a—”
“Stop,” he orders, his hands pressing to the wall on either side of me, and now his big body framing my naked body.

 

About Lisa Renee Jones

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Lisa Renee Jones is the author of the highly acclaimed INSIDE OUT series. Suzanne Todd (producer of Alice in Wonderland) on the INSIDE OUT series: Lisa has created a beautiful, complicated, and sensual world that is filled with intrigue and suspense. Sara’s character is strong, flawed, complex, and sexy – a modern girl we all can identify with.

In addition to the success of Lisa’s INSIDE OUT series, Lisa has published many successful titles. The TALL, DARK AND DEADLY series and THE SECRET LIFE OF AMY BENSEN series, both spent several months on a combination of the New York Times and USA Today bestselling lists. Lisa is presently working on a dark, edgy new series, Dirty Money, for St. Martin’s Press.

Prior to publishing, Lisa owned multi-state staffing agency that was recognized many times by The Austin Business Journal and also praised by the Dallas Women’s Magazine. In 1998 Lisa was listed as the #7 growing women-owned business in Entrepreneur Magazine.

Lisa loves to hear from her readers. You can reach her at www.lisareneejones.com

LRJ

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