segunda-feira, 3 de agosto de 2015

♡ Blog Tour + #Giveaway ♡ Truth or Beard (Winston Brothers #1) by Penny Reid @ReidRomance @IndieSagePromo




Truth or Beard
Winston Brothers #1
by
Penny Reid

Publication Date: July 23, 2015

Genres: Contemporary, Humor, Romance





✾ Synopsis ✾


Beards, brothers, and bikers! Oh my!

Identical twins Beau and Duane Winston might share the same devastatingly handsome face, but where Beau is outgoing and sociable, Duane is broody and reserved. This is why Jessica James, recent college graduate and perpetual level headed good girl, has been in naïve and unhealthy infatuation with Beau Winston for most of her life.

His friendly smiles make her tongue-tied and weak-kneed, and she's never been able to move beyond her childhood crush. Whereas Duane and Jessica have always been adversaries. She can't stand him, and she’s pretty sure he can't stand the sight of her...

But after a case of mistaken identity, Jessica finds herself in a massive confusion kerfuffle. Jessica James has spent her whole life paralyzed by the fantasy of Beau and her assumptions of Duane’s disdain; therefore she's unprepared for the reality that is Duane's insatiable interest, as well as his hot hands and hot mouth and hotter looks. Not helping Jessica's muddled mind and good girl sensibilities, Duane seems to have gotten himself in trouble with the local biker gang, the Iron Order. Certainly, Beau's magic spell is broken. Yet when Jessica finds herself drawn to the man who was always her adversary, now more dangerous than ever, how much of her level-head heart is she willing to risk?

Series Description:
Everyone in Green Valley, Tennessee knows that the six bearded Winston brothers have been imbued with an unfair share of charm and charisma... and are prone to mischief.

Truth or Beard is book #1 in the Winston Brother's series. Each book is a standalone, full length (110k words), contemporary romantic comedy novel, and follows the romantic exploits and adventures of one of the six Winston Brothers.










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✿ Excerpt ✿


I was going to kiss her.

But first I was going to strangle her.

"Duane..." She said my name again in that breathless way, making my neck itch and my throat tight.

Jessica was looking at me expectantly. Her big amber eyes on mine like I was the center of her world. I liked it too much. It was also irritating because I didn't know what it meant, what she was thinking. She hadn't said a damn word to me on our walk back from the lake. She hadn't called me. We hadn't spoken since Friday.

Five days. Five days without touching or tasting her.

I was going to kiss her while I strangled her.

"Yeah?" I said, the edge of my irritation clear. I wasn't trying to hide it, there was no need. One way or the other we were coming to an agreement that involved definites, not definitely maybes. Better she knew I wasn't planning on rolling over unless it involved her beneath me.

Jessica blinked at me, likely because of my tone, and I watched her shake herself a little like I'd startled her.

"Uh, so... the truck." She cleared her throat, her eyes sliding to the side and away from me.

"What about the truck?"

"You towed it."

"Yes I did." I allowed myself a moment to look at her body. She was wearing a pink shirt with buttons down the front, thin fabric with a white, lacy tank top under. It was tucked into a tan skirt that ended at her knees. She was also wearing brown high heeled boots, the kind that don't make sense.

Boots are for working, for walking through wet mud, for keeping feet from getting shredded by broken glass and falling machine parts. Boots with spiked heels were just as practical as sandals with steel toes.

Still not looking at me, she asked, "So, you want to buy it?" Her voice was different, higher pitched.

"That's what I just said." Again, my irritation was clear.

Her eyes cut to mine, throwing me splinters of frustration. "Well there's no need to be rude, Duane."

"I'm sorry, was I being rude?" I couldn't help myself, I took a full step forward, forcing her to lift her chin to keep eye contact. "Should I have called?"

"Yes." She ground out, "You can't just tow other peoples' cars without asking."

"Excuse me, princess. But Mike McClure called me and asked me if I minded moving the truck here. I figured he was calling on your behalf."

"No he wasn't calling on my behalf. If I wanted to call you, I would have just called you."

I felt those words in my stomach, just under my ribs, a quick slice. I'm sure I winced because her expression changed, but before she could explain away her meaning, I cut her off.

"Fine, I get you, loud and clear."

"Duane-"

I lifted my hands to keep her from talking. She was so lovely, even her voice was pretty. But suddenly I couldn't wait for her to leave and put me out of this misery of being with her when she wasn't interested in being mine.

"We want to buy the truck and I'm willing to offer you a fair amount."

"Would you just hold on a sec-" Jessica took my hand between hers, her grip surprisingly strong, her skin against mine sending a shock up my arm. I ignored it and ground my teeth.

"You can use the money for a new car, something smaller that gets better mileage."

Paying no heed, Jessica took a half step forward catching me unawares. One second she was glaring at me, the next she was lifting to her tip toes and brushing her lips against mine.

And that was it, I was done for.





✿ The Author ✿


SEX! It all started with sex, between my parents. Personally I don't like thinking about it, but whatever works for you is a-ok with me. No judgment. The sex happened in California and much of my life also occurred in that state until I moved from the land of nuts (almonds), wine, silicon... boobs, and heavy traffic to the southeast US. Like most writers I like to write, but let’s get back to sex. Eventually I married and gave birth to 2 small people-children (boy-6, girl-4 as of this writing).

By day I'm a biomedical researcher with focus on rare diseases. By night I'm a knitter, sewer, lino block carver, fabric printer, soap maker, and general crafter. By the wee hours of the morning or when I'm intoxicated I love to listen to the voices in my head and let them tell me stories. I hope you enjoy their stories.



✽ Author Links ✽

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✿ Giveaway ✿






♡ Sales Blitz + #Giveaway ♡ If I Were You (Inside Out #1) by Lisa Renee Jones Paperback Blitz @lisareneejones @RSofRomance #INSIDEOUT4TV



♡ Sales Blitz ♡



IF I WERE YOU has a brand new cover and is in WALMART stores NATIONWIDE beginning TODAY!
This is a limited edition mass market paperback and 99% of the paperback copies can only be found in WALMART stores.

**This is book 1 in the INSIDE OUT series, previously published with a different cover. The INSIDE OUT series, is currently in development for TV with Suzanne Todd (Alice in Wonderland, Must Love Dogs, The Boiler Room, Austin Powers and more!). To read more about the show and to get ready for a BIG update soon, please visit the series page**.

AVAILABLE NOW



If I Were You
Inside Out #1
by
Lisa Renee Jones





✾ Synopsis ✾


From New York Times Best Selling author Lisa Renee Jones, a story with the heat of 50 Shades and the mystery of Pretty Little Liars. Now in development for cable TV with acclaimed producer Suzanne Todd (Alice in Wonderland w/Johnny Depp)

How It All Started...

One day I was a high school teacher on summer break, leading a relatively uneventful but happy life. Or so I told myself. Later, I'd question that, as I would question pretty much everything I knew about me, my relationships, and my desires. It all began when my neighbor thrust a key to a storage unit at me. She'd bought it to make extra money after watching some storage auction show. Now she was on her way to the airport to elope with a man she barely knew, and she needed me to clear out the unit before the lease expired.

Soon, I was standing inside a small room that held the intimate details of another woman's life, feeling uncomfortable, as if I was invading her privacy. Why had she let these items so neatly packed, possessions that she clearly cared about deeply, be lost at an auction? Driven to find out by some unnamed force, I began to dig, to discover this woman's life, and yes, read her journals--dark, erotic journals that I had no business reading. Once I started, I couldn't stop. I read on obsessively, living out fantasies through her words that I'd never dare experience on my own, compelled by the three men in her life, none of whom had names. I read onward until the last terrifying dark entry left me certain that something had happened to this woman. I had to find her and be sure she was okay.

Before long, I was taking her job for the summer at the art gallery, living her life, and she was nowhere to be found. I was becoming someone I didn't know. I was becoming her.

The dark, passion it becomes...

Now, I am working at a prestigious gallery, where I have always dreamed of being, and I've been delivered to the doorstep of several men, all of which I envision as one I've read about in the journal. But there is one man that will call to me, that will awaken me in ways I never believed possible. That man is the ruggedly sexy artist, Chris Merit, who wants to paint me. He is rich and famous, and dark in ways I shouldn't find intriguing, but I do. I so do. I don't understand why his dark side appeals to me, but the attraction between us is rich with velvety promises of satisfaction. Chris is dark, and so are his desires, but I cannot turn away. He is damaged beneath his confident good looks and need for control, and in some way, I feel he needs me. I need him.

All I know for certain is that he knows me like I don't even know me, and he says I know him. Still, I keep asking myself - do I know him? Did he know her, the journal writer, and where is she? And why doesn't it seem to matter anymore? There is just him and me, and the burn for more.












❀ Buy Links ❀

If I Were You (Inside Out #1) Special Edition Paperback

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✿ Excerpts ✿


Chris maneuvers the 911 into the drive of a fancy high-rise building not more than four blocks from the gallery. Before I can question the fancy location being home to a pizza joint, as he'd called it, a valet is already opening my door.

"I’'l come around to get you," Chris says with a touch on my arm. He doesn't wait for a reply, climbing out of the vehicle and disappearing from full view.

I am both charmed and embarrassed at the prospect he believes the extra wine has made me a helpless lush. Worse, it wouldn't be an assumption completely without merit, and this night is exactly why I never let myself lose control. It always backfires.

I unsnap the seat belt about the same moment Chris appears at my door. Holding my skirt down, I slide my legs to the ground, all too aware of his scorching gaze on my legs.

His hand appears in front of me, and I hold my breath, preparing for the impact of his touch, as I press my palm to his. He pulls me to my feet, onto the sidewalk beneath an awning, his hand settling possessively on my hip. The rich sensation of desire spreads through my limbs. I have never in my life reacted to a man this intensely.

Behind me, I hear the car door shut, and the engine rev, before the 911 pulls away. "This doesn't look like a place that serves pizza," I comment, but I am not looking at the building. It is Chris who has my full attention.

"Two blocks down," he explains. "We can walk there if you want, or we can go upstairs to my apartment."

Chris lives here, at least when he's in the States. The implications of our location are clear.

His long fingers curl around my neck, under my hair, and he lowers his mouth to my ear. "Be warned, Sara. I'm no saint. If I take you upstairs, I'm going to strip you naked and fuck you the way I've wanted to since the moment we first met."

The shockingly bold words ripple through me, and I am instantly aroused, squeezing my thighs together. He has wanted to fuck me since we first met. I want him to fuck me. I want to fuck him. Yes. Fuck. I want to give myself permission to forget good, proper behavior and fuck and be fucked. Wild, hot, uncontrollable passion, with no worries during and regrets in the aftermath. I've never let myself feel those things. When in my life have I ever experienced such a thing? When has any man ever made me think I could?

I press against his chest and lean back, my eyes seeking his. "If you're trying to scare me off, it's not working."

"Not yet," he says, dark certainty to his tone, to the lines etched in his handsome face. It is as if this is simply a seed already planted that cannot be stopped.

"Not at all," I counter.

He doesn't immediately respond, and his expression is a mask of hard lines, his jaw set, tense. Slowly, his fingers slide from my neck to caress a path down my arm until his fingers lace intimately with mine. "Never say never, Sara," he murmurs, and starts walking, pulling me with him.

Anticipation sizzles through me as we walk toward the automatic doors to be greeted by a man in a dark suit with an earpiece and buzz cut.

"Evening, Mr. Merit," he says, and glances at me. "Evening, miss."

"Evening, Jacob," Chris replies. "Pizza coming our way. Don't frisk the delivery guy."

"Not unless he's a delivery woman, sir," Jacob comments, and I get the sense these two are familiar beyond the casual exchange.

I lift a tentative hand at Jacob. "Hi."

"Ma'am," he replies, and there is a slight shift in his gaze I'm certain he doesn't intend for me to notice, but I do. I read it as surprise at my presence, and I can only assume I am far from Chris's normal choice in women. It isn't hard for me to imagine Chris being a blond bombshell kind of man, and where I hadn't felt insecure moments before, I suddenly do now. I am angry at myself for feeling such a thing when I've promised myself no more self-doubt. When I crave the escape, the freedom, I was so close to experiencing only moments before.

The elevator is right off the fancy lobby and past a security booth. Chris punches the button, and the doors open immediately. I follow him inside and watch as he keys in a code. The doors shut, and he pulls me hard against him.

My hands settle on his hard chest, inside the line of his jacket, and warmth spreads through me. "What just happened?" His hand brands my hip.

My breasts are heavy, my nipples aching. "I don't know what you mean,"

"Yes. You do. Second thoughts, Sara?"

I scold myself for being so transparent. "Do you want me to have second thoughts?"

"No. What I want is to take you to my apartment and make you come and then do it all over again."

Oh... yes, please. "Okay," I whisper, "but I think you should feed me first."

His lips curve into a smile, his eyes dancing with gold specks of pure fire. "Then you can feed me."

The bell dings, and the doors begin to open. Chris wastes no time pulling me to the edge of the elevator, and I watch in surprise as a gorgeous living room appears before me, rather than a hallway. Chris has a private elevator, and I am entering his private world, a world very unlike my own.

Chris releases my hand, our eyes lock, and I read the silent message in his. Enter by choice, without pressure. On some level I sense that once I enter his apartment, the decision to do so is going to change me. He is going to change me in some profound way I cannot begin to comprehend fully. I think he might know this, and I wonder why he would be so certain, what is etched with such clarity to him beneath the surface.

He has misplaced doubts of me in this moment, as he'd doubted me at the gallery. I can see it in his eyes, sense it in the air. I refuse to allow his lack of confidence in me, or anyone else's for that matter, to dictate what I can or cannot do ever again. I've been there, and I ended up on the sharp edge of a cliff, about to crash and burn. I'd recovered, and I am beginning to see that locking myself in a shell of an existence isn't healing. It's hiding. Regardless of what happens at the gallery, I'm done hiding.

My chin lifts, and I cut my gaze from Chris's and exit the elevator.

My heels touch the pale perfection of glossy hardwood floors, and I stop and stare at the breathtaking sight before me. Beyond the expensive leather furniture adorning a sunken living room with a massive fireplace in the left corner is a spectacular sight. There is a floor-to-ceiling window, a live pictorial of our city, spanning the entire length of the room.

Spellbound, I walk forward, enchanted by the twinkling night lights and the haze surrounding the distant Golden Gate Bridge. I barely remember going down the few steps to the living area, or what the furniture I pass looks like. I drop my purse on the coffee table and stop at the window, resting my hands on the cool surface.

We are above the city, untouchable, in a palace in the sky. How amazing it must be to live here and wake up to this view every day. Lights twinkling, almost as if they are talking to one another, laughing at me as they creep open a door to the hollow place inside me I've rejected only moments before in the elevator.

I swallow hard as the song "Broken" from the band Lifehouse fills the room, because Chris doesn't know how personality is to me. I'm falling apart. I'm barely breathing. I'm barely holding on to you.

This song, this place with the words, and I am raw and exposed, as if cut and bleeding. Who was I kidding with the refusal to hide anymore? This is why I've hidden. The past begins to pulse to life within me, and I am seconds from remembering why I feel this way. I refuse to process the lyrics and shove them aside. I don't want to remember. I can't go there. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to seal those old wounds, desperate to feel anything but their presence.

Suddenly, Chris is behind me, caressing my jacket from my shoulders. His touch is a welcome sensation, and when his arm slides around me, his body framing mine from behind, I am desperate to feel anything but what this song, no doubt aided by the wine, stirs inside me.

I lean into him and hard muscle absorbs me. There is a strength to Chris, a silent confidence I envy, and it calls to the woman in me.

His fingers, those talented, famous fingers, brush my hair away from my nape, and his lips press to the delicate area beneath, creating goose bumps on my skin. And still, I barely block out the words to the song and their meaning to me.

As if he senses my need for more — more something, anything, just more — he turns me around to face him, and his fingers tangle almost roughly into my hair. The tight pull is sweet, dragging me from other feelings, giving me a new focus.

"I am not the guy you take home to Mom and Dad, Sara." His mouth is next to mine, his clean male scent all around me. "You need to know that right now. You need to know that won't change."

But the song does change, and this time to another track on what must be a Lifehouse CD. "Nerve Damage" begins to play. I see through your clothes, your nerve damage shows. Trying not to feel... anything that's real.

I laugh bitterly at the words, and Chris pulls back to study me. And I am not blind to what I see in the depths of his green eyes, what I've missed until now but sensed. He is as damaged as I am. We have too many of the wrong things in common to be more than sex, and the realization is freedom to me.

I curve my fingers on the light stubble of his jaw, the rasp on my skin welcome, and I have no idea why I admit what I have never said out loud. "My mother is dead, and I hate my father, so don't worry. You're safe from family day and so am I. All I want is here and now, this piece of time. And please save the pillow talk for someone who wants it. Contrary to what you seem to think, I'm no delicate rose."

A stunned look flashes on his face an instant before I press my lips to his. The answering moan I am rewarded with is white-hot fire in my blood that he answers with a deep, sizzling stroke of his tongue. He slants his mouth over mine, deepening the connection, kissing me with a fierceness no other man ever has, but then, Chris is like no other man I've ever known.

His tongue plays wickedly with mine, and I meet him stroke for stroke, arching into him, telling him I am here and present and I'm going nowhere. In reply to my silent declaration, his hand cups my ass and he pulls me solidly against his erection. Arching into him, I welcome the intimate connection, burn for the moment he will be inside me. My hand presses between us and I stroke the hard line of his shaft.

Chris tears his mouth from mine, pressing me hard against the window, and I know I've threatened his control. Me. Little schoolteacher Sara McMillan. Our eyes lock, hot flames dancing between us and some unidentifiable challenge.

Some part of me realizes the window behind me is glass, and all things glass can break. He knows this, too, it's in the dark glint of his eyes, and he wants me to worry about it. He's pushing me, testing me, trying to get me to break. Because I slid beneath his composure? Because he really believes I am out of my league? And maybe I am, but not tonight. Tonight, as the song has said, I am broken, and for the first time perhaps ever, I am not denying the truth of all of my cracks. I am living them.

I lift my chin and let him see my answering rebellion. His fingers curl at the top of my silk blouse and in a sharp pull, material rips and the buttons all the way down pop and clamor in all directions. I gasp, in unfamiliar territory, and burning alive with the ache I have for this man.

He turns me to the window, and my hands flatten on the glass. Wasting no time, Chris unhooks my bra, and it and my blouse are off my shoulders in moments. He is behind me again, his thick erection fit snugly to my backside.

"Hands over your head," he orders, pressing my palms to the glass above me, his body shadowing mine. "Stay like that."

My pulse jumps wildly and adrenaline surges. I've been ordered around during sex, but in a clinical, bend over and give me what I want kind of way I tried to convince myself was hot. It wasn't. I hated every second, every instance, and I’d endured it. This is different though, erotic in a way I've never experienced, enticingly full of promise. My body is sensitized, pulsing with arousal. I am hot where Chris is touching me and cold where he isn't.

When he seems satisfied I'll comply with his orders, Chris slowly caresses a path down my arms, and then up and down my sides, brushing the curves of my breasts. He's in no hurry, but I am. I am literally quivering by the time his hands cover my breasts, welcoming the way he squeezes them roughly, before tugging on my nipples. I gasp with the pinching sensation he repeats over and over, creating waves of pleasure verging on pain, and the music is fading away, and so is the past. There is pleasure in pain. The words come back to me, and this time they resonate.

His hands are suddenly gone, and I pant in desperation, trying to pull them back.

Chris captures my hands and forces them back to the glass above me, his breath warm by my ear, his hard body framing mine. "Move them again and I'll stop what I'm doing, no matter how good it might feel."

I quiver inside at the erotic command, surprised again by how enticed I am by this game we are playing. "Just remember," I warn, still panting, still burning for his touch. "Payback is hell."

His teeth scrape my shoulder. "Looking forward to it, baby," he rasps. "More than you can possibly know."








✿ The Series ✿





For More information on the INSIDE OUT series page including:
buy links, and excerpts for the additional books in this series.
Visit Lisa's website
here








✿ The Author ✿


New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author Lisa Renee Jones is the author of the highly acclaimed INSIDE OUT series, and is now in development by Suzanne Todd (Alice in Wonderland) for cable TV. In addition, her Tall, Dark and Deadly series and The Secret Life of Amy Bensen series, both spent several months on a combination of the NY Times and USA Today lists.

Watch the video on casting for the INSIDE TV Show HERE

Since beginning her publishing career in 2007, Lisa has published more than 40 books translated around the world. Booklist says that "Jones suspense truly sizzles with an energy similar to FBI tales with a paranormal twist by Julie Garwood or Suzanne Brockmann".

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

Lisa loves to hear from her readers. You can reach her at on her website and she is active on twitter and facebook daily.



✽ Author Links ✽

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✿ Giveaway ✿








♡ Release Launch + #Giveaway ♡ Indulge by Georgia Cates @GeorgiaCates @InkSlingerPR




Indulge
by
Georgia Cates

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Release Date: August 3rd 2015





✾ Synopsis ✾


From New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal best-selling author, Georgia Cates, comes a steamy new standalone contemporary romance novel.

Beau Emerson is no gentleman.

Those hazel eyes.
That filthy mouth.
That greedy, hard body.

It all equates to one thing. Irresistible.

One look and I know he'll bruise my lips and scar my knees. He'll give me the best nine days of my life while ruining me in the most beautiful way imaginable. And I'll let him because he has the power to talk me into anything.
Except one thing.
Staying.

I have no choice. The things I desire from him will destroy me in the end. I want more than he's capable of giving - something true and beautiful.
He can never know how much of me belongs to him. Too much is at stake.
Shh... don't tell him he's my everything.

My name is Anna James Bennett. And this is our story.











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✿ Excerpt ✿


Anna James Bennett

Prologue

I sigh as I toss the thick legal envelope across the island in Meredith's gourmet kitchen. The proof of my marriage's dissolution barely comes to a stop before plummeting over the edge. "It's final, as of today."

My best friend, Meredith, squeals. "Yes. This calls for a celebratory drink."

The word celebratory implies happiness or joy. That isn't the case for me. My husband of twelve months left me for a nineteen-year-old. A kid. His former student.

Fucker.

He swears nothing happened while she was his pupil.

Liar.

He claims it's true love.

Dumbass.

Drake's relationship with Caitlyn is fleeting. She's an immature teen who wants to play house. The paint won't dry on the walls of their new apartment before she's ready to bail.

"I've been saving this one for a special occasion." Ahh. A bottle of Wittmann Westhofener Morstein Riesling. Always rich in body and texture. My favorite.

Gulp. Gulp. The bottle gurgles as Meredith pours far more than three ounces. My glass is three-quarters full when she presses two fingers against the base and glides it across the sleek Carrara marble toward me. I instantly salivate when the essence of honey, peach, mango, and flowers invades my nostrils.

Meredith lifts her glass, cueing me to the toast she's about to make. "Here's to the end of an error – your misconception that Drake Langston was a knight in shining armor rather than what he really is — a turd in tinfoil."

"I know that's the truth." I tap my glass against hers before taking the first sip of dry, fruity goodness. Damn, that's good stuff.

"Capone made sure you got everything you wanted?"

Alec Capone is the most successful divorce attorney in Georgia. He should be with a name like that. "I got more than I wanted, including custody of Little Bastard, since Drake relinquished ownership of him. Caitlyn's allergic." I'm epically pissed off about him dumping his cat on me.

"Are you keeping the lil' guy?"

"I haven't decided." Kermit, AKA Little Bastard, has no love for me. Doesn't matter that I've been the one who has fed him his every bite, changed his litter box every time, taken him to the vet for every visit, even the time he was deathly ill from eating part of my foam flip-flop.

"You won't have a problem if you decide to re-home him. He's beautiful. Plenty of cat lovers would take him just because he's a Bengal."

Kermit was Drake's trophy cat. Pretty to look at and that's about it. Much like Caitlyn.

I have no emotional connection to Little Bastard. I've tried to bond but he's resistant. That's why I'm so surprised by the way I feel when I think of giving him away. He's resistant to loving me. Just like Drake.

"I got my name back." That's what I wanted most. Bennett. My daddy's name.

The wrinkle in Meredith's brow serves as a warning. It's always a prelude to something serious. "I understand those papers feel like a painful ending but that's because they're disguising what today is. A new beginning. Grayson and I think it's important for you to treat this as a fresh start."

Meredith disappears into the dining room and returns with a gift bag covered in curly ribbon and filled with tissue paper.

"Your divorce gift. Read the card first."

I open the envelope and read the message aloud. "Congratulations on your divorce. We hated him."

"No secret there." I already knew Meredith and Grayson despised Drake.

I rip into the bag, tossing aqua and lime tissue paper in every direction. I'm worse than a child when it comes to tearing into gifts.

I take out each item and place it on the countertop. Sunscreen. Ray-Bans. The ridiculously expensive bikini I lusted for at that expensive boutique in Buckhead. And condoms.

"Sur...prise. Grayson and I are taking you to Jamaica with us next month."

Umm... not just no. "Forget it. Not happening."

"Oh, it's happening. We've already booked two suites and your airline ticket. First class."

She's out of her mind. I'm not going to that place. "Cancel one. Unless you and Grayson plan to use separate suites."

"Can't cancel. It's Wicked Week at the resort so both rooms had to be paid for in full. Nonrefundable."

This is her way of guilting me into doing what she wants. She thinks I'll say yes if her money won't be returned. "You're so wrong for doing this to me."

"You need a getaway and we knew you'd never agree otherwise. Don't be mad."

I'm not mad. I'm pissed. I've already made plans for the next three months. "I'm taking a second job while school's out for summer. There's no way an employer will give me vacation time four weeks after hiring me."

"Maybe not, unless your bosses are Meredith and Grayson Faulkner. Come to work for us and we'll guarantee you the time off. There won't be a reason in the world you can't go."

Right. No reason in the world unless you consider the fact this all-expenses-paid vacation is for a getaway at a hedonism resort. A freaking no-holds-barred sex retreat.

I'm neither a hede nor a swinger.

Meredith Faulkner has been my best friend since ninth grade. We've been through thick and thin. There's nothing she and I haven't shared, apart from one huge exception.

Meredith and Grayson practice hedonism. They chase pleasure in any form it presents. They're also part of a local community known to many as the lifestyle. They're swingers. Wife Swappers.

Whatever floats their boat is fine by me. I don't judge. But hedonism and swinging ain't my thang. I'm not into casual sex. I prefer intimacy with a man I love, and always within the boundaries of a committed relationship.

Call me old-fashioned but I need more than a physical connection. A quick fuck with a person I've just met isn't my cup of tea. Neither is having sex with someone else while my husband watches. Or the other way around.

"Don't be worried about the money. Indulge is all-inclusive. You won't be out a dime."

I am cash-strapped but Meredith knows my resistance is unrelated to my financial status. "I don't practice hedonism and I'm not a swinger. I have no business going to Indulge."

"It's Jamaica, mon! There are plenty of activities that have nothing to do with hedonism or swinging." She picks up the top of the bikini she just gifted me and holds it up over my shirt. "Think of how great you'll look on the beach in this."

I'm not denying I need an escape from this hell I call reality but I don't want it to be at Indulge, even if all expenses are paid. "Seeing you and Grayson with other people will be a problem for me."

"Then we'll ensure you don't."

"What kind of things would there be for me to do?"

"Let me grab my laptop and I'll show you."

The website for Indulge makes it appear to be a classy establishment. But looks can be deceiving. "This isn't what I was expecting."

"Hedonism resorts are like anything else. There are different levels. Go to a hundred dollar a night establishment and you'll get what you pay for. Indulge is five stars all the way so it's only the best accommodations and amenities for its guests."

Meredith navigates to the page of offered activities. The list is huge. "You've always wanted to try snorkeling and scuba diving."

"True." I wanted an island honeymoon where Drake and I could do those things together. He took me to the mountains instead, the last place I wanted to go, because it was cheaper.

"I know you don't think so but this is your kind of vacation, Anna James. The pools are luxurious. The beaches are white with the bluest water you've ever seen. You're provided with all the alcohol and food you can hold. Calories don't count there."

"Well, that changes everything."

"The service is magnificent. You can lie on the beach, in this new bikini, and have drinks brought to you by a handsome cabana boy. Who wouldn't enjoy that?"

I imagine the serenity of being on a Jamaican beach. I envision the sun warming my skin. It lightly glistens with sweat but I'm not hot because the breeze cools me when it blows against my sun-kissed skin. The rush of the waves rolling in and out is steady. It's my favorite sound in the world. A perfect recipe for relaxation.

My lovely imagery is interrupted by a notion — some old naked coot standing beside me where I'm sunbathing on a lounger. I look over to see who's blocking the sun and his spunk spitter is staring me down. "I don't want some dude's frank 'n beans in my face."

Meredith bursts into laughter. "Despite what you think, the men don't go around shaking their balls like maracas."

"I won't be hounded?" That would piss me off. And completely ruin my good time.

"You're a beautiful woman. I don't think it's possible for you to not be propositioned."

I've spent my life being compared to a life-size version of Barbie. Long blonde hair, blue eyes, but petite. At five four, I don't have those mile-long, lean legs like the doll.

I've never had a problem with men finding me attractive. Except my own husband. I must have aged out for him since he likes 'em young.

"There's a policy in place and everyone adheres to it. All you have to say is 'I appreciate your interest, but no thank you'. They won't bother you after that. Harassment isn't allowed. Anyone who doesn't abide by the rules is made to leave."

"But what about the one refusing to take no for an answer?" It never fails. There will be one in the bunch.

"There's always someone at Indulge who will say yes. They don't waste their time on uninterested people." Well, that makes sense.

I hear the garage door lifting. "Sounds like G's home."

Meredith beams. Three years of marriage and she still lights up like a candle for him. Yet she'll have sex with another man. Their marriage is an enigma I don't think I'll ever understand.

"Grayson's comfortable with me going to the resort with y'all?"

"It was his idea. He wants to do something nice for you. Let him."

G's a good friend. Loyal. Protective. So much so I thought he was going to kill Drake when he found out what he'd done to me. I adore him for that; it was nice to know I had someone in my corner.

Grayson enters from the garage and is nearly tackled by their golden retriever, desperate for his daily dose of petting from his master. "Hey, Howie. Were you a good boy today?"

"No, he damn sure wasn't," Meredith calls outs. "He snuck into the laundry room and stole my favorite panties from the laundry basket. He chewed a big-ass hole in the crotch."

Grayson chuckles loudly before giving Howie one last scratch behind his ears.

"It's not funny. It's the third pair this week."

My best friend's husband comes to her and kisses the side of her face. It's so loving. Normal. Someone looking in from the outside couldn't possibly imagine the things they do behind closed doors. "Howie knows I like you in crotchless panties."

Meredith gasps and slaps his arm. "Stop. Don't say things like that in front of Anna James."

Grayson grins in my direction. He's so handsome. Dark hair graying at the temples. Bright blue eyes. I wouldn't dare share him with another woman if I were Meredith. "My dear wife would totally say something like that in front of you."

He's almost right. "No. She would say much worse."

Meredith winks at me. "I absolutely would but only because I can. I'm her best friend."

Grayson gestures to the gift bag on the counter. "Is AJ still calling you a friend after opening our gift?"

I pick up the card. "I loved this. And the bikini."

Grayson smirks. "What about our offer?"

I don't know what to say. To decline feels like a shitty, ungrateful thing. To accept feels wrong. Wicked.

"Don't think about what kind of resort it is or what goes on there. It's the change of scenery and escape from life that you need. Think of it as a palate cleansing."

All valid points.

A palate cleansing. I like that idea. A lot. "Okay. I'm in."

Meredith squeals and darts to where I'm sitting. She throws her arms around me and squeezes tightly. "You're going to have the time of your life. This is going to be a getaway you'll never forget. I guarantee it."

I'm certain it will be an experience I'll never forget. Even when I try.

Now, to find someone to keep Little Bastard.








✿ The Author ✿


Georgia resides in rural Mississippi with her wonderful husband, Jeff, and their two beautiful daughters. She spent fourteen years as a labor and delivery nurse before she decided to pursue her dream of becoming an author and hasn’t looked back yet.

When she's not writing, she's thinking about writing. When she's being domestic, she's listening to her iPod and visualizing scenes for her current work in progress. Every story coming from her always has a song to inspire it.


Representation: All questions regarding subsidiary rights for any of my books, inquiries regarding foreign translation and film rights should be directed to Jane Dystel of Dystel & Goderich.



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