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Deserving It -Book Blitz

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Deserving It

by Angela Quarles
Publication Date: February 8, 2018
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romantic Comedy

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Stranded by a hurricane. Check. Hotel secured. Check. Hot guy to share it with. Check. No, wait. Not him!

A tough girl with an awkward flirt-game, Claire has long ago given up on catching the eye of Irish hottie Conor and she refuses to change. If he doesn’t like her as is, then screw him.

A loner workaholic too busy to notice, Conor isn’t looking to nail the next chick–even one as hot as Claire–just his next bonus-earning presentation.

But when a hurricane strands them in Atlanta and they’re forced to shack up in the same hotel room for several days, things tend to get…exposed.

DESERVING IT is a steamy, standalone romantic comedy from RITA Winning and USA Today bestselling author Angela Quarles with a happy-ever-after and no cheating or cliffhangers.

About Angela Quarles

An avid reader herself, Angela Quarles writes books she’d like to read–laugh-out-loud, smart romances that suck you into her worlds and won’t let you go until you reach The End. She is a RWA RITA® award-winning and USA Today bestselling author of contemporary, time travel, and steampunk romance. Library Journal named her steampunk, Steam Me Up, Rawley, Best Self-Published Romance of 2015 and Must Love Chainmail won the 2016 RITA® Award in the paranormal category, the first indie to win in that category. Angela loves history, folklore, and family history and combined it with her active imagination to write stories of romance and adventure.

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Musings of a Gossip Queen – Blog Tour – Excerpt Post

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Today we have the blog tour for MUSINGS OF A GOSSIP QUEEN by Victoria Bright! Check it out and be sure to grab your copy today!

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Title: Musings of a Gossip Queen

Author: Victoria Bright

Genre: Romantic Comedy


About Musings of a Gossip Queen:

Thoughts of the day:


  1. Silas is a sex bomb
  2. Madison is determined to ruin my life
  3. Nothing online is EVER private, no matter how insane your “strong” password is.



Gossip queen Blake Spencer thought she received the opportunity of a lifetime when she was offered a writing position as a gossip columnist at Hot Topic magazine. By day, she’s a model columnist that quickly earns the respect of her team and boss but by night, she writes all the secrets of those around her in a password-protected blog.


When the office mean girl has Blake’s not-so-private blog hacked and uploaded to the magazine’s home page, the secrets are out and Blake’s “awesome life” starts to crumble around her. With her friendships, budding relationship, and job on the line, Blake will have to decide whether being a gossip queen is worth losing everything she’s worked to rebuild.


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Saks Fifth Avenue


“Taylor, I don’t care how ‘in’ this dress is, I look like I’m auditioning for the role of broccoli in VeggieTales,” I complain after trying on the fourth dress she thinks will “look cute” on me. Maybe I just don’t understand fashion, but I’m not paying $2,000 for a sheer tutu over a cotton skirt. Unless that skirt is made from the hair of Jesus and blessed with his tears, I won’t be caught dead in it.

“Apparently our styles are very different,” she says, admiring her reflection in the mirror as she spins around while wearing a white dress covered in feathers. “This is so cute.”

If by cute she means that she looks like Mother Goose, then be my guest. But seriously, I hopes she isn’t serious with that dress. It will NOT go over well with Silas and his vegan thing.

I leave her in the dressing area and go to browse through the other dresses. This store is completely out of my element. The price tags are enough to send me into cardiac arrest and yet nothing has caught my eye.

Until I see it.

An antique silver sequin-embroidered gown with a beautiful illusion style calls to me from the rack in the center of the store. I grab it and run my hands over the silk material. It definitely feels expensive; there is no way I can look at the price tag until I try this bad boy on. The skirt is sheer, decorated with sequins and beautiful crystals along the bottom and trailing up.

I rush back over to the dressing room where Taylor is trying on yet another dress from the “Old McDonald Had a Farm” collection. Apparently now she’s trying to achieve the cow look.

“I’m going to try this one on really fast,” I say, holding the dress up.

She gasps. “O.M.G. Hell yes! I have to see this!


About the Author:

Victoria Bright is from a small town in North Carolina and currently resides in Greenville, South Carolina. You can usually find her hoarding bottles of Cool Blue Gatorade, playing The Sims when not writing, or obsessing over Camaros.


Connect with Victoria:

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Musings of a Gossip Queen – Chapter Reveal

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Today we have the chapter reveal for MUSINGS OF A GOSSIP QUEEN by Victoria Bright! Check it out and be sure to pre-order your copy today!
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Title: Musings of a Gossip Queen
Author: Victoria Bright
Genre: Romantic Comedy
Release Date: January 4th
About Musings of a Gossip Queen:

Thoughts of the day:

1. Silas is a sex bomb

2. Madison is determined to ruin my life

3. Nothing online is EVER private, no matter how insane your “strong” password is.


Gossip queen Blake Spencer thought she received the opportunity of a lifetime when she was offered a writing position as a gossip columnist at Hot Topic magazine. By day, she’s a model columnist that quickly earns the respect of her team and boss but by night, she writes all the secrets of those around her in a password-protected blog.

When the office mean girl has Blake’s not-so-private blog hacked and uploaded to the magazine’s home page, the secrets are out and Blake’s “awesome life” starts to crumble around her. With her friendships, budding relationship, and job on the line, Blake will have to decide whether being a gossip queen is worth losing everything she’s worked to rebuild.

Musings of a Gossip Queen PRE-ORDER BANNER
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Exclusive Chapter Reveal:

Monday, January 12th

4:37 a.m.

In bed

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

I huff and take a pillow and hold it over my head. My neighbor, Taylor’s, headboard bangs against my wall, so hard that I’m sure she and her slutty fuck buddy, Brendan, will end up in my bedroom after a while. Who the hell wakes up at four in the morning and thinks, “Hey, how about we bang and see if we can put a hole in the wall this time?” It wouldn’t even be such a bad thing if Taylor’s moan didn’t sound like someone was shoving their dick in a dog’s squeaky toy. It’s a miracle that Brendan can stay hard long enough when his girlfriend sounds like something straight out of Animal Planet. My Shih Tzu, Milo, jumps up on my bed and begins yapping at the wall. Fucking great.

“Down, Milo,” I mumble, blindly reaching out to pet him. He whimpers for a few moments before yapping some more. “Shh…shh, it’s okay, boy. Hush, boy.”

The poor dog probably thinks his favorite toy was stolen. He jumps off the bed and runs out of the room. I press the pillow harder over my head, hoping to muffle the sounds coming from next door. Milo returns back to the bedroom, the bell on his collar jingling as he pads across the floor and jumps on the bed. Just as I close my eyes again, Milo barks and starts chewing on his squeaky toy.

How is this my life right now?!

5:01 a.m.

Still in bed

Annoyed AF now

They’re STILL going at it. What the actual FUCK?!

Of course Milo is keeping up with his squeak toy.

5:33 a.m.

Still in bed

Fed up

There’s less than thirty minutes left until I have to get ready to be at the office, but here I am wasting it listening to these humping hyenas through my paper-thin walls. I hate this piece of shit apartment and my dickhead neighbors. Bastards.

5:41 a.m.

Obviously still in bed

Ready to slap a bitch

I sit up in bed and pound the wall with my fist. The noise stops momentarily as Taylor laughs. Yeah, he-he hell, I think, settling back under my blankets and closing my eyes. As soon as I get comfortable, the pound fest starts once again. “SERIOUSLY?” I shriek, sitting back up. I get on my knees and face the wall, pounding on it with both fists. “PEOPLE ARE TRYING TO SLEEP, YOU CUNTS! SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

“Fuck you!” Brendan yells, pounding the wall with his fist. Taylor laughs again, which does nothing but piss me off.

“Fuck YOU and your nonexistent dick, Brendan! How about I call the cops?” I counter.

There’s a loud squeak as if someone’s hopping off the bed. “Who the fuck is Brendan, Taylor?” he questions.

Whoops. Wrong guy.

I giggle to myself. It isn’t my job to keep up with who she’s taking to bed. Though she’s a sweet girl, her apartment door is a revolving one. It wouldn’t surprise me if it were to be later revealed that her apartment is in fact some incognito brothel or something else sinister or prostitution-like.

I settle back into bed and close my eyes, a slight grin settling on my face as their moans of passion turn into bickering. Hey, anything to stop the pounding on my wall and the mewling projecting from her strained vocal cords.

It’s as if city people transformed at night. During the day, Taylor’s great. Her bubbly personality, fiery red hair, and freckles drew me in when I first moved into the building. It’s tough enough trying to adjust to moving to NYC after leaving everything and everyone I know behind in North Carolina to obtain my dream job at Hot Topic magazine, but she welcomed me with open arms and even showed me around. But as soon as her “boyfriend” (and I use this term loosely, because in the two weeks I’ve been here, she’s already introducing a new one) comes over and waves a penis in her face, she morphs into Wolverine or something, howling at the moon during sex.

Milo continues chewing on his toy, feeling as if he’d won the squeak war by out-squeaking the Squeak Queen. After I’ve had enough of his noise, I lift the pillow from over my head, feel around the bed for the toy, and throw it out the door.

5:54 a.m.

In bed

Ha, Wolverine.

If she sounds like that, I wonder what her “O” face looks like. On second thought, I probably don’t. I don’t think I’d ever be able to look at her the same.

6:00 a.m.



To make sure I’d get up in the morning, I purposely had my alarm clock on the other side of my bedroom. Yeah, nice going, Blake. I stare up at the ceiling as the radio blasted at high volume, contemplating whether or not I really need this job. I mean it’s only my first day; no one would care if I didn’t show up, right?

“PEOPLE ARE TRYING TO SLEEP! TURN THAT RACKET OFF!” the guy in Taylor’s apartment yells, pounding on the wall. A smirk pulled at my lips. Looks like that makes us even, Not-Brendan. I ponder whether or not I can survive off of soup kitchen meals and huddling around a New York City fire with a cool group of hobos in an alley. My mind reels at all the possibilities of how I can decorate my soon-to-be new cardboard box home. Thanks to sites like Pinterest, I’ll have the coolest cardboard box on the block.

Who the hell am I kidding? I can’t survive a day being homeless. I couldn’t even survive a night of camping in Girl Scouts when I was younger. Looks like I need this job after all. Milo confirms my thought when he jumps onto my pillow and licks my face.

“Okay, okay, I’m up,” I mumble, picking him up and moving him aside as I sit up. If I had a decent night’s rest, I would be excited about my first day at Hot Topic tabloid magazine. It isn’t every day when you land your dream job. To be able to gossip and get paid for it? Perfect! All those years of gossip blogging has finally paid off! But how in the hell am I going to be able to scoop up any dirt on anyone when the only thing I want to do is bury my head in it and sleep?

My senses immediately jump into high gear the moment my bare feet touch the icy, wooden floor. Milo pounces off the bed and run in circles in front of me, his bell jingling as he moves about. I feel around the cold floor for my slippers and put them on before pulling myself off the bed, feeling my way across the room to the alarm clock. I can hear Milo moving around but can no longer see him in the dark.

“Milo? Where are—FUCK! GOD DAMN IT!”

I hop around on one foot as I cradle my throbbing toe. Stupid bedpost!

Milo whimpers nearby, the jingling disappearing down the hallway as he leaves the bedroom. I stumble around my room, using my hands as a guide as I cautiously cross over to the alarm clock and slap the snooze button on top of it. What a way to start a morning.

6:05 a.m.

Living room

“Okay, okay, I’m coming,” I say to a yipping Milo, bouncing around on one foot while trying to shove my other foot into my Ugg boot. He runs around in circles in front of the door and continues to bark and growl.

“You gotta go potty, boy?” I coo, slipping on my coat and grabbing his leash. “Who’s a good boy? Milo’s a good boy! Yes, you —OW!”

I jerk back when he snaps at my hand and growls. Glaring at him, I snap the leash on his collar and open the door. Of all the dogs I could’ve adopted, the one I happen to choose turns into a dickhead when he has a full bladder. Such an ungrateful pup.

6:09 a.m.


Milo prances down the stairs as we make our way out of the apartment building. When we reach the second floor, I pause momentarily when the door to apartment 2C opens and a man that isn’t Mrs. Keller’s husband walks out. He’s fairly young looking, appearing as if he belongs in an Abercrombie or Ralph Lauren ad. He definitely doesn’t look like anyone who would creep around with a married woman who looks a bit like a surprised goldfish with too much botox and a botched nose job. Ew to the no.

I start to move along. Eh, it’s probably nothing. Or at least I thought so until the guy turns back around and nearly shoves his tongue down her throat. She leans against the door frame with a dreamy expression on her pale face as she watches him leave. The moment her eyes fall on mine, she gasps and quickly steps inside and all but slams the door. Geez, does everyone in the building like to sleep around?

The guy leaves just in time though. As soon as my foot hits the first step and puts me on the first floor, Mr. Keller walks into the building, brushing arms against the man that’s probably just banged his wife from here to Mars. He looks up from his phone and utters an apology and continues walking, giving me a small smile and nod as he passes. Luckily the guy left when he did; otherwise I would’ve been late for work watching this Jerry Springer episode air. I can see the title of it now: I’m a Cradle-Robbing Cougar.

6:29 a.m.

Still outside because Milo is being a cunt

“Damn it, Milo, can you just pee already?” I grit, shivering against the sharp winter wind that whips around me. He keeps stopping and sniffing the same area about forty times and barking at the passing people going to their cars. Milo continues to bark long after the people disappear, so much so that someone from our building sticks their head out of the window and yells, “Quit that barking, you little rat!”

I look up to see who it is, but only see the window closing instead. Milo trots back over to the same spot by the tree that he’s sniffed twenty times already and does his business.

Fucking finally.

6:34 a.m.

Outside of my apartment door

Taylor’s apartment door opens just as I pull my keys out of my jacket pocket. Dressed in nothing but a long t-shirt, she kisses the blond-haired beau and smiles. “Thanks for last night,” she purrs.

Yeah, and thanks for waking me up before I had to be awake, I think. Milo barks and growls at him, averting their attention to me.

“Oh, good morning, Carolina,” Taylor says with a small wave. “Sorry about all the noise.”

Her fiery red hair is thrown in a messy bun, a few tendrils framing her perfect oval face. Her pink lips pucker as she blows a cloud of smoke in my direction and smiles, showing two rows of perfect white teeth.

Fucking models, I tell you.

“Yeah, sure,” I mumble, averting my eyes away from her when I notice her nipples pushing through the cotton material of her shirt. My fingers fumble with my keys until I locate the right one. “And for the millionth time, my name is Blake.”

“Well, Blake, maybe you should get laid yourself so you won’t be so worried about what we’re doing. My lady is a screamer,” the guy says with a cocky grin, grabbing Taylor by the hips as she giggles.

“Oh Cliff, don’t make me blush,” she says, kissing him once more.


More like his lady swallowed a chew toy if he wants to be technical. Sure, she has the body and face of a porn star or Playboy Playmate, but that moan of hers won’t get her very far. I wonder if they have any kind of surgeries to fix that kind of thing…

I bring my attention back to Taylor, refusing to acknowledge the meathead standing next to her. “Or maybe you can be more courteous and remember that other people have actual jobs to go to—”

“I have a job, thank you very much,” Taylor says with a frown.

“I mean a steady one,” I say, narrowing my eyes at her.

“If it weren’t steady, I wouldn’t be able to afford to live here, now would I?” she counters.

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. There’s been a few times in my short weeks of being here where she’s sat on my couch crying because another girl was picked at a casting call. Her whining usually consists of, “What am I going to do,” or “How am I going to pay rent this month,” and my personal favorite, “Maybe I’m not meant to be a model.” Well, I’ll have to agree considering she’s yet to book a serious gig that doesn’t involve her taking her clothes off.

“Riiight…I’m going to go now. See you around,” I say, unlocking my door and quickly closing it behind me once I’m inside.

“Your neighbor is a certified bitch,” I hear the guy say as I remove the leash from Milo’s collar. Taylor only laughs in response before the hall goes quiet after another set of disgustingly cute goodbyes. Bleh.

6:52 a.m.


Do I really need this job? Like, on a scale of one to ten, how fucked will I be if I don’t go to work and just go back to bed?

6:54 a.m.

Still in the bathroom

You need this job, Blake. This is your dream job. Get it together!

6:55 a.m.

STILL in the bathroom because I can’t get it together


7:47 a.m.


I look at my reflection one more time in the mirror and sigh. The girl looking back at me doesn’t reveal any of the mixed emotions I feel. She looks confident and assertive, ready to take on the world. Her beige turtleneck sweater dress accentuates all of her curves and her black leggings and thigh-high boots completes her look. Nerves run rampant within me as I pass a brush through my brown mane once again, wishing I’d curled it instead of frying it with the hair straightener. Pretty sure if I don’t stop brushing my hair, I’ll probably be bald before I even get to the train station.

7:56 a.m.

Front door

“Okay, Milo, be a good boy while mommy is at work, okay?” I say to him as he jumps on the couch. He simply looks at me, his tail wagging and his tongue flopping around his face. I won’t be surprised if a herd of dogs pass me as I leave the building to attend some kind of weird gangbang Milo set up on BangPuppies.com. With the way my dog behaves sometimes, I’m almost certain he lives a secret life I don’t know about.

I lock up my apartment, twisting the doorknob just to make sure. Taylor exits her apartment just as I turn around. Shit.

“Oh, hey again, Carolina,” she says, locking her door and turning to face me. Her t-shirt from before has been replaced with a bright blue windbreaker and black, skintight running pants that are made up of mesh material from the middle of her thigh down to her ankles. She may as well have worn shorts.

“Hi, Taylor,” I say, adjusting my bag on my shoulder. Not knowing what else to say to her other than to state the obvious, I continue. “Going for a run or something?”

“I may as well since I’m up so early. With my job, I have to look good, you know,” she says with a smirk before bounding down the stairs.

“With my job, I have to look good, you know,” I mimic under my breath as I follow behind her.

We both reach the second floor at the same time, running into Weird Marty and his elderly mother who always smells like cheap perfume and mothballs.

“Looking for a workout, baby? You know where to find me,” he says, dabbing at his forehead with a dirty handkerchief. I can’t see how he can be sweating profusely as chilly as it is in the building. His “white” tank top is dingy and spotted with stains of different shades and sizes, the collar of it soaked in sweat. Gross.

“You’re not much of a workout, Marty. I think I’ll stick to running,” Taylor replies with a flip of her ponytail.

My eyes widen as I gawk at her. “You….him…no!”

“No is right,” she says and laughs. “Only way that guy would end up with me is if my body was found chopped up in his freezer or something. That guy screams John Wayne Gacy.”

I snicker. She’s right about that. He definitely looks the part with his balding head, the lopsided grin that’s always plastered on his face, and his black beady eyes that always follow you. The only thing probably saving a lot of women in the building is the fact that he lives on the second floor and can hardly carry his own body weight up the flights of stairs, let alone a body to dismember.

We step out of the building and into the windy air. Taylor begins to stretch. “Are you nervous?”

I turn to look at her. “About what?”

“I remember you saying you were starting a new job at that gossip mill or something. You’ve been chewing your lip the whole way down here.”

“I’m more anxious than I am nervous, I guess,” I say with a light sigh. “Still can’t believe I work at a magazine.”

“A shitty one at that.” When I glare at her, she holds her hands up defensively. “Hey, they have a reputation of putting some very hurtful things out about people, sometimes without even knowing the facts.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be like that,” I snap. Well, maybe. Perhaps.

“I sure hope not,” she says, slipping her iPhone into a pouch strapped to her upper arm and untangling her ear buds. “I’ve seen a lot of friendships and relationships damaged due to gossip and tabloids. Don’t get sucked into the madness.” With a parting wave, she turns and runs in the opposite direction of me until she fades into a group of commuters. Realizing the time, I skip down the stairs and rush down the sidewalk. I better pray I make it there in time or else I’ll need to start thinking about how I’m going to decorate my cardboard box for when I’m homeless.

8:20 a.m.


The train is crowded as it usually is, but I lucked out and am able to find a seat near the back. I pull out my iPad Pro, flip out my keyboard, and open my password-protected Tumblr blog.

Blake Unfiltered blog post #782

A few thing important things before 9 this morning.

1) Taylor would make a horrid porn star. Instead of modeling, she should try out for a Planet Earth animal voiceover or something. And her new guy looks like an Ashton Kutcher reject. Can you say desperate? Can’t believe he had the nerve to tell me I needed to get laid so I’d stop worrying about the noise. I wouldn’t have to worry about the late night wolf calling if my own dog didn’t take it as a dog toy challenge at nearly five in the morning. Just thinking of the sleep I missed and how tired I am pisses me off.

2) I should really hide my bunny slippers from Milo. Wouldn’t be surprised to come home one day to see a bunch of baby bunny slippers moving around. Okay…that was just dumb. That couldn’t even physically happen.

3) The lady in 2C is going to get caught one of these days and it’ll be glorious. How in the hell do women cheat on their husbands or boyfriends and then end up kissing them on the mouth after all of that? Just the thought of swapping spit and God knows what other kind of bodily fluid makes me want to vomit my entire existence.

4) Marty really does have a John Wayne Gacy vibe about him. Totally creepy and predator-like. He actually reminds me of that weird guy that was in the second Human Centipede movie. Oh my fucking goodness. What if he’s creating a human centipede in his apartment?! Nah, his mom would probably have a fit, but that’s if his victims don’t die of suffocation from the extreme mothball stench that permeates their apartment and entire hallway of the second floor.

Today I start at Hot Topic magazine. Still can’t believe I’m working at a magazine! The opportunity to meet celebrities, do what I love (which is writing, of course), and getting paid to gossip is an absolute dream. Hopefully today will be great! All in the name of gossip, right?



About the Author:

Victoria Bright is from a small town in North Carolina and currently resides in Greenville, South Carolina. You can usually find her hoarding bottles of Cool Blue Gatorade, playing The Sims when not writing, or obsessing over Camaros.

Connect with Victoria:
Enter Victoria’s Giveaway:


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Possum Hollow Series, Book One
Romantic Comedy, Contemporary Romance, Chick-lit
Date Published: October 2017
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Jimmie Joe Johnson has spent years living up to his hound dog reputation. If he can’t have the one female he truly wants, then any female will do. When he isn’t off diddlin’ some female, he’s practicing for pool playoffs, determined to get his pool team to Vegas. Not only for bragging rights, but for the free trip to ‘Sin City’ and cash prize that comes along with it.
Baylee Jean Brown has never gotten over her first and only love, Jimmie Joe Johnson. So when she discovers the truth about why he really ended things with her all those years before, she sets out to get her man back. And no other thigh-parting female is going to stand in her way. She just has to find a way to make him take notice of her, considering he’d been avoiding her since that day her spell-threatening aunt (yes, she does come from a long line of witches), threatened to place his man-parts in a jar on her windowsill.
Avoiding Baylee Jean Brown in a town the size of Possum Hollow is hard enough, but all of the sudden she’s dressing sexy and aiming all that female heat in his direction. He tries to convince her that she’s better off without him, but how can he expect her to listen to reason when his own heart and body refuse to? Now his man-parts are in a whole different kind of danger. Not because her aunt might still carry through with her threat to pickle them, but because he knows no other woman will ever do.
Recent Praise for His Redneck Girl:
“Irreverent, bawdy, laugh out loud funny. The most hilarious book I’ve read in years–maybe ever! In fact, I’m pretty sure this book is the reason the term “ROFLMAO” was invented. If you combined Jeff Foxworthy’s humor and Jason Stackhouse’s good looks and libido, you’d end up with Jimmie Joe Johnson, one smokin’ hot hound dog and one hilarious read!” –New York Times bestselling author C.L. Wilson
 photo His Redneck Girl by Lindsey Brookes print on wood_zpsjf3dowqa.jpg
“Hey there, Jimmie Joe.” A hand grabbed my ass through my jeans, giving it a firm squeeze.
The cue ball missed the rack completely, bringing about another round of snickers from my teammates. I knew, even without lookin, who that sugar sweet voice and bolder-than-hell hand belonged to. Memories from the past came rushing back. Baylee Jean always knew just how to touch me to drive me wild.
I turned to face her. “What the hell…?”
My eyes bugged out just like one of them there cartoon characters. And I was pretty sure my mouth was hanging open, too, but I couldn’t say for certain. All my thoughts were centered on the female standing in front of me. My gaze slid down Baylee Jean’s curvy form. Where the hell were her bibs? They hid a lot more flesh than what she was wearing and the last thing I wanted to be at that moment was tempted.
“Baylee Jean?” I choked.
Smiling, she tucked her hands into the back pockets of the cut-off jean shorts she wore, drawing my gaze back up to the pair of tits ready to burst out of the Bedazzled halter top she had on. Big, round, make-a-man-want-to-nibble-on-them kind of breasts.
Her smile widened. “You like? Randi Lynn gave me a few fashion tips.”
The words—Hell, yeah! —ricocheted around inside my brain. Instead, all that came out was, “Does your aunt know you’re runnin’ around town dressed like that?”
Her smile sagged for all of about two seconds, then it returned full force. She tipped her chin upward. “I’m old enough to dress like I please. And I decided it’s time for a new style.”
It had been hard enough avoiding her all these years the way she used to dress. My gaze slid over her again and I bit back a groan. Now, it was gonna be damn near impossible.
Bo let out an appreciative whistle. “I like your new style.”
The rest of my team, nodding in agreement, stared at Baylee Jean like she was the last beer left in the cooler.
“Thanks,” she said and then her gaze slid back to me. “You ain’t said what you think ‘bout my new look, Jimmie Joe.”
I was thinking that her breasts would be way too easy to access in that top. And damned if I wasn’t tempted to run my hand up between those tanned thighs and feel the heat I knew existed there.
“It looks good on you,” I muttered, trying like hell to tamp down my desire.
Her lips parted, drawing my gaze. The tip of her tongue slid out, moving over her lips in a slow, deliberately teasing swipe that had my cock stirring beneath the fly of my jeans.
Think of anything but how damn good she looks standing there, I told myself. The only thing guaranteed to come out of my diddling with Baylee Jean Brown was trouble.
She reached up to run her fingers back through her long, silky black hair. Not the straight hair I had always seen her with, but hair that had been curled just enough to make it look soft and touchable.
“I’ve been dreamin’ ’bout you,” she said with a sexy smile.
Damned if her words didn’t send a bolt of sexual hunger straight to my cock. I didn’t wanna hear about her dreams. Didn’t wanna think about her sprawled naked across her sheets period!
“Ooh,” Hit Man said with a grin. “Ain’t you a lucky son of a bitch? Havin’ a woman dream about you.”
“Most women do,” I replied, shooting a cocky grin to my buddies. Besides, it wasn’t the first time a woman told me she dreamed about me. I couldn’t help that I was the kind of man female fantasies were made of.
“Reckon so.” She moved to brush up against me like a cat in heat. “So watcha doin’?”
I knew what I wasn’t doing. I wasn’t gonna give in to my thumping cock. And I sure as hell wasn’t accomplishing what I’d come there for—shooting pool.
“Gettin’ drunk,” I replied stiffly as I set her away from me. I already had a laundry basket imprint on my ass. I sure as hell didn’t wanna add Callie Rae’s talon marks to my already-tender flesh.
“So I can take advantage of you?” she asked, not the least bit deterred in her pursuit. “’Cause I would, you know?” she said, not giving me a chance to reply. And followed that up with another dart of her pink tongue across those glossy lips.
Thump. Thump.
Hearing her say those things, all grown up and dressed like that was threatening my sanity. With a curse, I tossed the bar stick down on the table and walked back to the bar. “Duffster, you’re up.”
“Reckon I ain’t the only one,” he said with a grin as he walked past me.
I looked down at the fly of my pants with a groan.
“Not gonna take her up on her offer?” T-Bone asked as she reached for her beer.
“Hell, no.” I was glad I didn’t have to ask a Magic 8-Ball that question, because I had a gut feeling its response would be—SIGNS POINT TO YES. And there was one big sign doing the pointing right at that moment, just below my favorite GOT BEER belt buckle.
The front door swung open and Randi Lynn stepped into the bar.
“Well, if it ain’t little Miss Smell-Good,” Skeeter hollered.
“Better than smellin’ like a stinky ol’ fish,” she replied with a toss of her long black hair.
He sniffed himself with a grin. “You mean my catch-of-the-day cologne ain’t makin’ you wanna strip me naked?”
“Only thing I’d be strippin’ you naked for would be a bath.”
“You offerin’?”
She muttered something under her breath I’d have guessed was a curse or two if she were Baylee Jean. But Randi Lynn’s mouth was about as clean as they come. I reckon their momma had used up all the cursing genes on Baylee Jean.
Ignoring Skeeter, who tended to set her off anytime they were near each other, Randi Lynn scanned the room. “Baylee Jean,” she said. “Aunt Callie’s lookin’ for you.”
“Shit,” Baylee Jean cursed with a frown. Every bit the girl I remembered. Gotta love a female with a dirty mouth.
“She’s drivin’ around town. I cut through the woods to warn you.”
“I’ll be right out,” Baylee Jean replied, the frustration clear in her voice.
With a nod, her sister turned and disappeared behind the closing door.
Baylee Jean’s toe-peeping, red high heels clicked across the cigarette-butt-littered floor as she moved toward the front door. Halfway there, she stopped and turned.
I might have had my back to her, but I knew she was looking my way and wanting what she couldn’t have. It was a family gift all us Johnson men had. E.S.P—Extra Sexual Perception. We knew when a woman wanted us.
“One of these days, Jimmie Joe,” she said, “you’re gonna be servicin’ me again and only me.”
She had no idea how close she was to being serviced right then and there. The second the door closed behind her, air whistled through my teeth.
“Holy shit, Jimmie Joe,” Bo said, dragging a hand down over his bushy beard.
I reached for my beer, taking several long swallows. Holy shit was right. The button at the top of my fly was about to give in to the pressure beneath it and launch across the smoke-hazed bar.
What the hell was going on? Baylee Jean had barely spared me a glance for the past ten years—deservedly so. Now, all of a sudden, she was oozing honey and coming after me like a Bluetick coonhound fixing to tree a coon.
My cock twitched. I wanted to be that coon. And despite knowing it was best to keep things the way they had been between Baylee and me, I had to admit I was real tempted to let myself get treed by her. Just once. Maybe then I’d finally be able to get her out of my blood—for good.
 photo His Redneck Girl by Lindsey Brookes on tablet by wine glass_zpsber77e2s.jpg
About the Author

Award-winning romance author Lindsey Brookes is a four-time RWA Golden Heart finalist, as well as a past American Title III finalist, and winner of Harlequin’s Great American Romance Novel contest. She has written for, Kensington Publishing, Amazon Publishing, and has indie-pubbed several of her young adult and adult contemporary romances. She is represented by Michelle Grajkowski with 3 Seas Literary Agency.
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Sex, Spoons,& Salsa – Book Blitz

Sex, Spoons & Salsa Tour Graphic
Isla Dennes
Genre: Romantic Comedy
Publisher: Totally Bound Publishing
Publication Date: April 11, 2017
Thrown into salsa lessons by her therapist, Fiona stumbles her way from depression to happiness and, numerous disasters later, finally finds her rhythm again.
Sex, Spoons & Salsa
As if it wasn’t bad enough to be living back home with her parents after leaving the Two-timing Lying Bastard, Fiona also finds herself socially ostracized after a drunken dancefloor disaster at the Returned Servicemen’s League disco, resulting in her father practically frog-marching her off to a psychologist. Sounds very Hollywood, right? Except, when your parents are Scottish, it goes without saying that any therapist is of the budget variety.
As part of her plunge into the surreal world of therapy, Fiona’s instructed to have dance lessons to raise her self-esteem, in the process emptying her father’s wallet and threatening the sanctity of his prized spoon collection to foot the bill. And that’s despite Fiona’s three left feet, all of which are rhythm challenged.
Salsa lessons, secrets and lies, a riotous bachelorette night and a disastrous wedding see Fiona’s life spiraling as wildly out of control as her salsa. With her therapist’s help, she should be able to see the truth lurking just below the surface and finally take back control once and for all—that is, unless her so-called friends have anything to do with it.

An Excerpt from the Book

Take an inside look at Sex, Spoons & Salsa. Read this sizzling excerpt from the book.
“I have nothing. No husband. No friends. No life. Nothing. I might as well be dead!”
Through a veil of tears, I stared at the wilting rubber plant in the corner and tried to pretend I was anywhere but there. I don’t think I could have been any more mortified. I sounded like a hack Shakespearean actor.
Crossing her arms over her matronly bosom, Margarita pushed a fresh box of tissues toward me before settling back in her chair. She didn’t appear the least bit put out by my hysterics and I wondered what it would take to get some kind of reaction from her. Talk about detached. Fifty minutes into our first session and she hadn’t even opened her mouth to impart any words of life-altering wisdom? For all I knew, she could be compiling her week’s menus and their subsequent shopping list in her head. Was it possible my father had stumbled across the only deaf-mute therapist in the country?
“Therapy. I still can’t believe I’m here,” I mumbled tearfully. Had I not been so totally consumed by my own misery, I would have been burning up with shame. “Who goes to therapy, anyway?” I cried, ignoring the frown appearing on Margarita’s face. “I’ll tell you who—celebrities, bored middle-aged housewives, people who’ve taken to curling up in corners and sucking their thumbs. Total nutters, that’s who! Not me.”
This had to be a mistake. I didn’t belong there. I didn’t want to belong there. I wanted to have my life back. But the very act of coming to therapy was in itself an admission I had failed at being a grown-up and was in need of rescuing.
On the drive there, I’d made a promise to myself not to get all caught up in that whole touchy-feely crap. Sure, I might have been led dazed and blinking from the dark recesses of my room?and my mind for that matter?clutching a ratty old stuffed rabbit, my normally well-behaved shoulder-length mousy-brown hair long gone wild and my usually striking blue eyes dulled and barely recognizable. But make no mistake, I was there for one reason and one reason only, and that was to get Dad off my back and, in the process, prove to him what a complete waste of everyone’s time and money this was. Alas, once I’d settled into that arse-numbing chair?no sign of a comfy leather couch, much to my disappointment?the silence, combined with the sympathy emanating from every pore of Margarita’s round face, had triggered something in my brain—the blabbing switch. Before I could stop it, my runaway mouth had embarked on a journey of its own, climaxing in my recent outburst, still hovering in the air between us like a bad smell no one wants to acknowledge.
God, what have I done? Unfortunately, I couldn’t take it all back now. I looked expectantly across to the Beige Linen Oracle—as she was from that moment christened—for any sign she’d come up with the magical solution for my ruined life. I’d done my bit. Surely it was up to her now to sort out this mess? But no, she merely stared back expectantly.
Waiting for exactly what, I wondered? A complete mental breakdown? By this time, I was little alarmed. Am I a lost cause? Maybe I really was losing my mind. Great, this is all I need. If it wasn’t bad enough to be a twenty-six-year-old recently discarded wife, on top of that I was doomed to suffer the additional humiliation of losing the plot, going la-la, floundering in the emotional cesspool of life without a float.
Plummeting headlong into Loser Hell without a safety net….


Sex, Spoons & Salsa Giveaway Graphic
Contest runs from November 2 – 8, 2017.

About Isla Dennes

Isla Dennes

Married, mother of one son and three daughters, Isla Dennes developed a love for writing while employed in her dream job as the owner of a book shop situated in a seaside resort town in NSW, Australia. Not content in simply reading every book in the store, she found herself compelled to create novels of her own.
Had she concentrated more on sales and less on writing she might well have retired a wealthy woman, but writing won out in the end, with the result being a lifelong passion for creative writing across a number of genres, including a brief but regrettable sojourn into horribly sentimental New-aged poetry which is best forgotten.
Connect with Isla Dennes on social media: Facebook | Twitter

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