Title: The Perfect Life Author: Erin Noelle Genre: Contemporary Romance Release Date: January 31
Pre-Order Special 99¢“What in the world is all this?” I asked with a chuckle, hovering under the archway that separated the living room and kitchen. “Did you invite the offensive line over for breakfast or something?” Colin, still dressed in his pajama pants and a plain white t-shirt, whisked something feverishly at the stove while I gaped at the steaming, mouth-watering spread on the butcher-block kitchen island. Buttery scrambled eggs. Waffles. French toast. Crispy bacon. Sausage. Hash browns. Flaky buttermilk biscuits. And fresh strawberries with homemade whipped cream to top it all off. I’m pretty sure I gained five pounds just looking at it all. So much for that workout. “I’d need a lot more food than this, if that was the case,” he contended as he shot me a teasing smile. Momentarily abandoning the baked beans in the saucepan, he set the wooden spoon down on the counter, turned the heat down to low, and closed the distance between us to kiss my forehead. “Morning, gorgeous. I’d give you a proper hug, but my hands are all greasy. How was your workout?” I scrunched my nose up and gave a sharp shake of my head. “It sucked.” His chest shook with laughter as he bent down to rub the tip of his nose against mine. An Eskimo kiss, it was called, according to Colin. My mom wasn’t big on any kind of kisses, hugs, or demonstrations of love for anyone other than her current boyfriend or husband, and since I’d never had a boyfriend before him, it took me some time after Colin and I started dating to get used to his open displays of affection—both public and private—but soon…soon I began to love them. To live for them. They were my drug. He was my drug. All I needed to keep my perfect world balanced and me grounded. “You knew better when you took that final glass of wine last night. I saw the hesitation in your eyes,” he half-scolded, returning to the food I still contended was not a breakfast food at all, despite his and his parents’ claim otherwise. I didn’t care that Google backed them up, maintaining beans were common in breakfasts throughout many countries that were once a part of the British Empire. The only way I was eating them at nine in the morning was if I was camping, or it was the apocalypse. Otherwise, they were a lunch or dinner-only menu item. “Yeah, I did.” Sighing, I shuffled inside the gourmet kitchen and plopped down on one of the four bar stools situated around the island, where we ate ninety-nine percent of our meals. It was my seat while we were in this room, which was more often than not if we were home. When we originally bought the house after Colin was drafted by his hometown team, the first thing we did was have the entire thing gutted and redesigned to our liking. The kitchen was my husband’s pet project, as he claimed it would be the heart of our home. He personally selected everything from the mahogany cabinets and black-and-tan marble countertops, to the natural wood accessories and the toaster that had more settings than a spaceship. Warm, cheery butterscotch walls. Restaurant-quality stainless steel appliances. Ornate hardware on all of the drawers and cupboards. It didn’t make sense to me then, but as we settled into our life together, I soon discovered that if we weren’t in our bedrooms, chances were we were in the kitchen—either comparing our daily schedules over coffee and a healthy breakfast in the mornings or catching up at night at night over dinner. It was our place. Just like this was my stool. Unfortunately, our already-busy schedules only seemed to be growing more and more hectic over the previous few months, and we’d been missing each other more frequently than I’d have liked. “You never told me what this is all for,” I reminded him before I snuck a piece of bacon and shoved it in my mouth. “We’re celebrating.” Peering over his shoulder, he smirked as he watched me chew the heart-attack inducing deliciousness. “And get your grubby little fingers out of the bacon until it’s time to make our plates.” I moaned as I swallowed. I couldn’t help it. It was that good. Bacon was my weakness; I could never have a pet pig. Once I’d finished climaxing with Wilbur’s belly, I realized my husband was still staring at me, his expression unreadable. “I hope you don’t do that in public, Roe. That sound would give a hundred-year-old man on his deathbed a woody.” My right eyebrow arched high up into my forehead, a combination of confusion over the celebration comment and a where-in-the-hell-did-he-come-up-with-some-of-this-stuff look. I opted to ignore the old-guy-with-a-boner explanation and found out when I could have more bacon. “What are we celebrating?” He twisted back around to stir the beans, even though I could see the burner was off and they were clearly ready and didn’t need stirring. The only time Colin didn’t face me when he was talking was when he was nervous. And only one subject made Colin nervous. “Well, the success of the gala, of course. I know I said it last night, but I was so impressed with everything. You kicked ass, babe.” He paused briefly to exhale loudly then continued on. “This is also my last Sunday home before the season starts. After this, we won’t get to do our Funday Sundays until after playoffs next February, and I knew you were going to meet with Allison later, so I wanted breakfast to be awesome.” Another pause. Longer this time. Two deep breaths. “And after we got home last night—” “This incredible guy showed up,” a familiar male voice that belonged to Colin’s childhood next-door neighbor and best friend finished the sentence from behind me. I quickly spun around to find Seth Andrews closing in on where I sat, wearing only a pair of loose athletic shorts and with his brown hair all a bedhead mess. He scooped me up off the seat and twirled me in the air as he covered both sides of my cheeks with kisses. I squealed with delight. “Roe, baby girl, you were amazing last night!” he exclaimed as he eventually lowered me back on the cushion then parked himself two stools away from me. His spot. “Not only did you look absolutely stunning, your speech was fuckin’ killah. Those snooty assholes were eating out of the palms of your hands.” “You do know you’re one of those snooty assholes, right?” Colin scoffed from the refrigerator while pulling out the milk and orange juice. “And watch your language in my house, especially around Monroe.” Seth rolled his eyes and snatched two pieces of bacon from the platter, giving one to me and keeping the other for himself. I giggled as Colin flared his nostrils when he caught us. “Roe doesn’t care if I curse. She works with teenagers. Kids these days throw fuck around like it’s an everyday word. I bet Oscar the Grouch teaches them how to spell it on Sesame Street now or some shit.” I wanted to agree that he probably wasn’t far off, but instead of riling up Colin even more and forcing him to get out the swear jar, I redirected the conversation. “I was wondering if I was gonna see you here this morning,” I said to Seth, “but when you weren’t around at the end of the gala, I thought maybe you had to take Effie home and didn’t feel like driving back into town.” “Nah,” he shook his head as he grabbed a strawberry, “she wanted to go meet some of her friends at a bar, and I didn’t want her on the streets by herself, especially considering the fancy shit she was wearing. So I escorted her there and hand-delivered her to a girl I somewhat trust. Then, I ran into a guy I knew from school, so I stayed and had a couple beers while I waited for you two to get home.” “You must’ve been quiet when you got here. Or I was so tired that I just passed out, oblivious to the world around me.” I shrugged my shoulders, not surprised. Erin Noelle is a Texas native, where she lives with her husband and two young daughters. While earning her degree in History at the University of Houston, she rediscovered her love for reading that was first instilled by her grandmother when she was a young child. A lover of happily-ever-afters, both historical and current, Erin is an avid reader of all romance novels. Her titles published include the Book Boyfriend Series, the Dusk ‘Til Dawn Series, the Luminous Duet, Conspire — co-authored with SE Hall, Surviving Us, MILF: Wrong Kind of Love, Spark and Flame. Her books have been a part of the USA Today Bestselling list and the Amazon and Barnes & Noble overall Top 100.
Mixing business and pleasure is never a good idea. Or is it?
Find out in Slave to Love by
Julie A Richman releases January 14th!
Add to your TBR at: http://bit.ly/SlaveToLoveTBR
There are risks to mixing business with pleasure...
IF A MAN HAS AN AFFAIR AT WORK, HE'S A STUD.
He was a royal prick.
The night we met, he ignored me.
Then Mr. Big Shot CEO grabbed my ass in a business meeting.
My boss just loaned me out to this guy.
Now, we’re working on a major project together.
And our chemistry is dangerous.
If I allow it to ignite, I’ll risk losing that promotion.
Worse, what if I lose myself in him?
IF A WOMAN HAS AN AFFAIR AT WORK, SHE'S A SLUT.
From the moment I saw her I knew she was trouble.
It was the combination of her fresh face, smart mouth and nipples that seemed to know my name.
This woman could satisfy my needs both in the boardroom and the bedroom.
But there was more to it than that.
I wanted her.
Really wanted her.
And I was in the position to change the course of her life.
But I’ve got secrets, secrets that could destroy her.
And either make her mine or drive her away forever.
Slave to Love
© 2015 Julie A. Richman
Parking the Lotus, I quickly head to her side to help her out. She gives me a look and I laugh, “I’m only trying to be a gentleman.” I feign innocence.
“Mmm-hmm.” Even her mmm-hmm is dripping sarcasm.
Not commando. White lace. Oh God, she’s destroying me. I want to rip them off and lower her onto my lap. Impale her and discover what kissing does to her with my cock inside her.
Damn it. Will I be able to keep the promises I want to make?
Our waiter comes by and I order two Manhattans, smiling at Sierra.
“Craving cherries?” Her eyebrows are raised.
Oh man, she really is going to kill me tonight.
“Only if they are yours.”
“You want mine?” she asks and I can see she feels it. She feels our energy.
“More than you can imagine.”
“I would hate to deny you.”
“Good girl. Then don’t.”
The waiter places the Martini glasses in front of us and I lift mine, “Good to see you again.” And I hope she can see how sincere I am.
“Good to see you.” She takes a sip and her nose scrunches up. “This tastes different.”
“They make theirs with rye whiskey instead of bourbon.”
Another two sips and the cherry is no longer submerged. Sierra reaches into the glass and plucks it out. About ready to pop it into her mouth, she catches my eye and smiles. She’s just messing with me. Reaching out, I grasp her slender wrist and slowly pull it to me. Taking the tips of her thumb and forefinger into my mouth, I suck the cherry out from between her fingers and show it to her on my tongue before slowly chewing it, a smile firmly planted on my face.
I’m still holding her wrist and with my free hand, I signal to the waiter for two more.
“We need to talk, Hale.”
I can see she is struggling. We are in such dangerous territory and we escalate there quickly and too easily. She is clearly unnerved and I’m not sure if it’s by her own behavior, mine or what happens when we’re together. Her eyes search mine as if she is hoping to find some truth. I loosen my hold on her wrist and pick up my drink.
“Let me start by first saying something I have yet to say to you. I’m sorry, Sierra. I’m sorry I disrespected you.”
About the Author:
USA Today Bestseller Julie A. Richman is the author of the highly acclaimed NEEDING MOORE SERIES trilogy (SEARCHING FOR MOORE, MOORE TO LOSE & MOORE THAN FOREVER), BAD SON RISING & HENRY'S END. Saddled with the affliction of serious wanderlust, Julie can often be found behind a camera lens in locales from Paris to Alaska.
STALK HER: Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Pinterest
REEVE IS HERE!
Meet Reeve & Emily in First Touch by Laurelin Paige! This highly anticipated release is NOW LIVE!
Barnes & Noble: http://bit.ly/1QcYftH
Google Play: http://bit.ly/1lWuKkT
When Emily Wayborn goes home to visit her mom while on hiatus from her hit TV show, she receives a voicemail from her former best friend, Amber. Though the two were once notorious party girls, they haven't spoken in years. Although the message might sound benign to anyone else, Amber uses a safe word that Emily recognizes, a word they always used to get out of sticky situations during their wild days. And what's more chilling than the voicemail: it turns out that Amber has gone missing.
Determined to track down her friend, Emily follows a chain of clues that lead her to the enigmatic billionaire Reeve Sallis, a hotelier known for his shady dealings and play boy reputation. Now, in order to find Amber, Emily must seduce Reeve to learn his secrets and discover the whereabouts of her friend. But as she finds herself more entangled with him, she finds she's drawn to Reeve for more than just his connection to Amber, despite her growing fear that he may be the enemy. When she's forced to choose where her loyalty lies, how will she decide between saving Amber and saving her heart?
About the Author:
Laurelin Paige is the NY Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling Author of the Fixed Trilogy. She's a sucker for a good romance and gets giddy anytime there's kissing, much to the embarrassment of her three daughters. Her husband doesn't seem to complain, however. When she isn't reading or writing sexy stories, she's probably singing, watching Game of Thrones and the Walking Dead, or dreaming of Michael Fassbender. She's also a proud member of Mensa International though she doesn't do anything with the organization except use it as material for her bio.