Tuesday, November 10, 2015

This one's for all my South Florida folks: Richelle Mead is coming!

Richelle Mead is going on tour and, lucky for us, she will be stopping by my favorite indie book store! Richelle will be at at Books & Books on Sunday, November 15th at 1:00pm. The event will be held at the Books & Books Coral Gables location.

Signing Guidelines:

-Richelle will sign three books per person, one will be personalized and the other two will just have signatures.
-You may bring books from home. (Books will also be available for purchase onsite)
-Pictures will be allowed if time permits.
-Many bookstores have perks for buying Soundless from them, like going to the front of the signing line. Contact Books & Books to find out about perks and other event details.

If you pre-order a SIGNED copy of the breathtaking, new fantasy novel from bestselling author RICHELLE MEAD from participating indie bookstores, you will receive an additional EXCLUSIVE DELUXE COVER!

You can find out more information about which stores are participating HERE. Please make sure you take a look at their specifications (some don’t take online orders, and some ONLY take online orders so give them a call).

Now to top everything off with an extra layer of awesome. Our local Geek Girl Brunch chapter has an amazing opportunity for you all.

Who's ready to meet Richelle Mead?!

We have had many conversations with Books & Books to make sure this event is fun for you lovely ladies. We are being set up to have a meet and greet with Richelle prior to the signing event that will be open to the public. GGB will have the opportunity to get together and enjoy a continental breakfast and mimosa for $20 each at Books & Books. We will then be introduced to Richelle and be given a wrist band so when the signing begins, we can be first in line to get our books signed! The event will be capped at 50, being held at the Coral Gables Books & Books on Sunday, November 15th at 11am.  If you live in South Florida and want to attend the brunch (Believe me, you do NOT want to miss out on this amazing brunch) head on over to Geek Girl Brunch to sign up and become a member. If you have any additional questions regarding the brunch, head on over to their Facebook page and they'll sort everything out for you. 

Hope to see you all there!

Friday, October 23, 2015

Virtual Book Tour, Excerpt, Review & Giveaway: Irresistibly Yours by Lauren Layne

Title:  Irresistibly Yours
Series:  Oxford Series Book 1
Author:  Lauren Layne
Release Date:  October 6, 2015
Publisher:  Loveswept 

Meet the men of Oxford magazine! In the first captivating spin-off of Lauren Layne’s Sex, Love & Stiletto series, a not-so-friendly battle of the sexes turns into a scorching office romance.

Hotshot sports editor Cole Sharpe has been freelancing for Oxford for years, so when he hears about a staff position opening up, he figures he’s got the inside track. Then his boss drops a bombshell: Cole has competition. Female competition, in the form of a fresh-faced tomboy who can hang with the dudes—and write circles around them, too. Cole usually likes his women flirty and curvy, but he takes a special interest in his skinny, sassy rival, if only to keep an eye on her. And soon, he can’t take his eyes off her.

Penelope Pope knows all too well that she comes off as just one of the guys. Since she’s learned that wanting more usually leads to disappointment, Penelope’s resigned to sitting on the sidelines when it comes to love. So why does Cole make her want to get back in the game? The man is as arrogant as he is handsome. He probably sees her as nothing more than a barrier to his dream job. But when an unexpected kiss turns into a night of irresistible passion, Penelope has to figure out whether they’re just fooling around—or starting something real.

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I'm feeling pretty lucky these days.  I've managed to read a couple of books with pretty awesome female protagonists and this book was no exception.  This was my first foray into a Lauren Layne series and, I gotta say, I really liked her writing style.  I enjoyed her main and side characters and I especially loved her description of New York City.  Having been there several times I would say it was spot on.

As I mentioned earlier, I got lucky with yet another awesome female lead.  Penelope Pope would describe herself as a guy's girl.  To the point where she feels she automatically gets placed on the friend zone bench.  I would describe Penelope Pope as someone who I would want to be besties with.  She's a smart, sweet, easy going tomboy who LOVES sports.  Our male protagonist is no slouch though.  Cole Sharpe is a smart, ridiculously good looking ladies' man with a heart of gold that he tries very hard to hide from others. The first time these two meet is pretty funny (you can get a taste of it from the excerpt below).  Watching their relationship unfold was so much fun to watch.  It was hilarious watching their friends "helping them out" along the way.

This story was kind of like a breath of fresh air for me.  It's nice to read about people you can relate to while simultaneously getting wrapped up in a story that's believable.  I highly recommend this feel good read.  I tip my hat to you Ms. Layne.  Thanks for such a fun story.

Cole had been watching the brunette for the better part of three innings.

Which was just wrong on a couple of levels.

For starters, it was a rare woman who could come between Cole Sharpe and baseball. Or between Cole and any sport, for that matter.

And at Yankee Stadium in particular, the game came first. Especially a game in which the Yankees were trying to establish early dominance over the Blue Jays in the American League East division.

Cole’s eyes should have been glued to the field. Not only because the Yankees were his team—he’d been a die-hard fan since his Little League days—but because Cole was a sportswriter. Come tomorrow morning, Cole would be expected to know the details of every single at bat.

And yet . . .

His eyes shifted once more to the narrow figure of the brunette as he took another sip of beer.

There was something about her that demanded a second look and at the same time, there was nothing about her. She was utterly, completely unremarkable.

And that was the other reason why Cole’s fascination with the woman made no sense.

Cole loved women almost as much as he loved sports, but this woman?

Cole liked women curvy, but this one was slim to the point of being skinny. There was no noticeable definition of her waist through her Jeter jersey. No womanly flare of her hips.

Plus, Cole preferred blondes, and this one’s messy ponytail was just a couple shades lighter than black.

As for her face? Well, he hadn’t seen it yet. Not fully. But she’d turned her head once in the third inning, giving Cole a quick glance at her profile. The upturned nose was cute enough, but the rest of her features were hardly so arresting as to explain why he continued to stare at her.

It took Cole another half inning to realize what it was that had captivated him.

For the first time in his life, he was seeing a woman who was more absorbed with a baseball game than he was.

Tiny Brunette, as he’d started thinking of her, hadn’t lost interest in the game once. Even between innings, when the rest of the stadium was refilling on beer and peanuts, she merely scribbled like crazy in a little notebook she kept in her lap.

It was like clockwork. The third out would signal the swap of the players on the field, and Tiny Brunette’s attention would dip toward the damn notebook.

Her left hand would sneak around to twirl her ponytail around a finger while her right hand busily wrote . . .


What did she write in that notebook? And exactly why did he want to know so badly?

Normally Cole would just ask. The seat beside Tiny Brunette was free. Everyone else in the suite was there more for the networking and the free food and booze than the game. It would have been so easy just to plop down beside her, strike up a conversation. Flirt.

But for some reason he was hesitant.

Cole told himself it was because he didn’t want to interrupt whatever it was she was so diligently working on, but there was an unfamiliar fear too.

The fear of rejection.

Because nothing about this woman signaled that she’d be interested in a conversation with him.

And that would be a first.

Can't wait?  Buy It Now: Amazon | B & N | iTunes | Kobo

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Lauren Layne is a USA Today Bestselling author of contemporary romance.  Prior to becoming an author, Lauren worked in e-commerce and web-marketing. In 2011, she and her husband moved from Seattle to New York City, where Lauren decided to pursue a full-time writing career. It took six months to get her first book deal (despite ardent assurances to her husband that it would only take three). Since then, Lauren's gone on to publish ten books, including the bestselling Stiletto series, with several more on the way in 2015.

Lauren currently lives in Chicago with her husband and spoiled Pomeranian. When not writing, you'll find her at happy hour, running at a doggedly slow pace, or trying to straighten her naturally curly hair.

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Tuesday, September 29, 2015

Book Blast, Excerpt & Giveaway: Keeping What's His by Jamie Begley

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Title:  Keeping What's His
Series:  Porter Brothers Trilogy
Author:  Jamie Begley
Release Date:  September 29, 2015
Publisher:  Young Ink Press 


The Porter Brother's were raised to live and die by Three Rules

One, a Porter stands his ground
Two, a Porter leaves no enemy standing

Sutton Creech was a cheat and a liar. Tate Porter had found that out when he was eighteen, and he had no intention of letting her make a fool out of him again. He didn’t care how much pain he saw in her eyes or how old memories tugged at his unforgiving heart until, the night a hidden secret is revealed and everything Tate had believed about their past is shattered, proving he had let the woman he loved get away.

Between trying to protect his family and running their pot growing business, Tate doesn't have time to play the "Nice Guy". He'd just have to remember the most important rule his father had given them: A Porter always keeps what's his.

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“She’s not had an easy time since she’s been gone.” Rachel’s soft voice didn’t rouse his sympathy.

The soothing warmth he was receiving from his sister’s hand on his arm didn’t dispel the churning anger in his stomach, and Tate refused to talk about Sutton any longer.

Rachel sighed. “Your temper is going to be your downfall, Tate. Greer may be a hothead, but he gets over it fast. You hold a grudge forever.”

“Yes, I do.” He and Cash had a contentious past over women, but the only one Cash had succeeded in angering him over was Sutton.

“You’re an asshole. I never touched Sutton, but you’re not going to change your mind despite me telling you the truth. Ask me about any woman in town, and I’ll tell you the truth; why would I lie about her?”

“Maybe because your wife is sitting right here,” Tate replied sarcastically.

“I’ve never denied my past to Rachel,” Cash snapped back.

“Then it’s because you knew I cared about her.”

Cash snorted. “You didn’t care about Sutton. You let her go easily enough. If you were as into her as you’re acting, you would have whipped my ass over her. Greer tried to give me a beating over that slut Diane. You just asked Lisa to the prom, instead. You were just tired of having blue balls, and it gave you the excuse to do what you wanted to do all along.”

“Which was what?” Tate snarled.

“Breakup with Sutton and fuck Lisa.”

Tate stood, his chair scrapping back. “I’ve gotta go before I knock the shit out of you. I can’t afford to do any jail time right now. Bye, Rach.”


He ignored his sister trying to call him back. He didn’t bother paying his bill, either, knowing Cash would take care of it. The son of a bitch deserved to pay his tab.

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About Jamie Begley:

"I was born in a small town in Kentucky. My family began poor, but worked their way to owning a restaurant. My mother was one of the best cooks I have ever known, and she instilled in all her children the value of hard work, and education.
Taking after my mother, I've always love to cook, and became pretty good if I do say so myself. I love to experiment and my unfortunate family has suffered through many. They now have learned to steer clear of those dishes. I absolutely love the holidays and my family puts up with my zany decorations.
For now, my days are spent writing, writing, and writing. I have two children who both graduated this year from college. My daughter does my book covers, and my son just tries not to blush when someone asks him about my books.
Currently I am writing five series of books- The Last Riders, The VIP Room, Predators MC, Biker Bitches, and The Dark Souls.
All my books are written for one purpose- the enjoyment others find in them, and the expectations of my fans that inspire me to give it my best.”

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Thursday, September 3, 2015

Vitual Book Tour, Guest Post, Excerpt & Giveaway: Delayed Penalty by Sophia Henry

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Title:  Delayed Penalty
Series:  Pilots Hockey Book 1
Author:  Sophia Henry
Release Date:  September 1, 2015
Publisher:  Loveswept 


She closed her heart long ago. He just wants to open her mind. For fans of Toni Aleo and Sawyer Bennett, the debut of Sophia Henry’s red-hot Detroit Pilots series introduces a hockey team full of complicated men who fight for love.

Auden Berezin is used to losing people: her father, her mother, her first love. Now, just when she believes those childhood wounds are finally healing, she loses something else: the soccer scholarship that was her ticket to college. Scrambling to earn tuition money, she’s relieved to find a gig translating for a Russian minor-league hockey player—until she realizes that he’s the same dangerously sexy jerk who propositioned her at the bar the night before.

Equal parts muscle and scar tissue, Aleksandr Varenkov knows about trauma. Maybe that’s what draws him to Auden. He also lost his family too young, and he channeled the pain into his passions: first hockey, then vodka and women. But all that seems to just melt away the instant he kisses Auden and feels a jolt of desire as sudden and surprising as a hard check on the ice.

After everything she’s been through, Auden can’t bring herself to trust any man, let alone a hot-headed puck jockey with a bad reputation. Aleksandr just hopes she’ll give him a chance—long enough to prove he’s finally met the one who makes him want to change.

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Hello party people!  Hope you guys are having a stellar week.  I, for one, am pretty stoked.  We've got Sophia Henry, author of Delayed Penalty, with us today and she's going to fill us in on why she decided to write about Hockey.  Take it away Sophia...

Why Hockey?

I grew up in Detroit, Michigan, which was nicknamed Hockeytown in 1996-1997. But when I was a kid, the Red Wings were coming off a sad period where they were known as the “Dead Things” after a string of abysmal seasons. Yet something about the sport drew me in. Maybe because my uncle made me watch it every time he baby sat. Maybe because it was played on ice; which was really freaking awesome. Or maybe because it was so fast. Constant movement, just like soccer— the sport I played.

Kid’s soccer—a clarification, for those who think soccer is slow and boring. Kid’s soccer is fast-paced and action-packed. Little strategy; all scoring—or trying to.

I thought of Hockey as soccer on ice. The two sports seem similar to me, though soccer has no ice or skates and far more players on the field at one time. Maybe my warped-kid-mind wanted to find connections between the sports because I couldn’t play Hockey. (Too expensive.)

I’m from a family of sports lovers. Football, Baseball, Basketball, Golf, Bowling. (Yes, bowling). But not Hockey. My uncle was the only real Hockey fan, as far as I could remember.

Why Hockey?

Football stops too many times. Basketball wasn’t my thing (admittedly, because I couldn’t hit a basket for the life of me—still can’t). And Baseball, Golf, and Bowling were just plain boring to watch and play (sorry fans of those sports).

But Hockey. Sigh. Hockey is skill and speed and grace on skates. And you have to control a tiny little puck with a thin stick while grown men are trying to hit you as hard as they can.

I waited with baited breath for the Red Wings epicness to come back. I took notes. I kept record of every game. Every goal scorer and everyone who assisted on those goals. And then it happened—the Detroit Red Wings began another dynasty of awesomeness during my youth. AND they brought Russians onto the team.

Obsession doesn’t begin to describe it. Even to this day.

I haven’t kept written record of games since high school. Mostly because I don’t have time, but also because I wasn’t sure if I’d ever find a husband if my “baggage” was literal baggage—as in, boxes and boxes of spiral notebooks filled with stats on every Red Wings game since the mid-80’s.

Why Hockey?

I can’t imagine someone NOT loving Hockey. I know there are people out there who don’t, but I can’t even fathom it. Then again, they probably can’t fathom why I don’t LOVE baseball. Everyone has their thing.

Hockey is mine. Actually, it’s ours. I’ll share with anyone who—like me—cries every time the Captain of a Championship team hoists the Stanley Cup above his head. (Even if it’s a hated team). Hockey transcends rivalries—at least, it does for me. I can shed a tear and feel happiness for a team I hate for one moment in time. And then we’re back to normal. Because Hockey.

Why Hockey?

You tell me…

Thank you so much, Not Now…I’m Reading!, for having me on your blog! I truly appreciate the opportunity!

Thank YOU Sophia for taking the time to stop by.  I enjoyed reading about your passion for Hockey.  Amiright guys?!

When you’re twenty years old, there’s nothing music and a drink can’t cure.

At least that was my best friend’s response when I told her I’d been cut from Central State’s women’s soccer team that morning.

The overzealous stylings of two drunk chicks bellowing “It’s Raining Men” wafted through the air, and I’d just received my vodka club from the bartender, so why did it still feel like someone scratched my heart out with a serrated shovel?

Maybe “It’s Raining Men” wasn't the right song?

Or maybe my friend’s remedy lacked one vital piece. Like, five minutes locked in a bathroom stall with the crazy-haired hottie approaching me. His head was buzzed short on the sides, leaving a thick patch of dark locks, gelled into a neat pompadour in front. Sort of like 1920s gangster, except less slicked, more height.

Every muscle in Crazy Hair’s body rippled under his clothing as he walked. He had to be over six feet tall, with a broad chest and massive arms stretching the seams of his long-sleeved black Henley. His skin was smooth and pale, a contrast to the thick dark eyebrows resting above his jump-in-and-drown-in-me blue eyes. From the scar on his left cheek to the smug smirk of his lips, he was exactly my type: dangerous, confident, and totally lickable.

I flipped my long blond hair behind my shoulder and glanced to my left, pretending Crazy Hair’s advance had no effect on me. In reality, I’d checked to make sure that he wouldn’t pass me up on the way to some beautiful bombshell I hadn’t noticed standing in the vicinity.

Like when you see someone wave, so you wave back. Then you realize they weren’t waving at you but the person behind you. So you try to play off your lame wave like you were batting away mosquitoes, which aren’t there because it’s December in Canada. Just trying to avoid an awkward situation like that.

Crazy Hair continued to close in, before stopping just inches away.

I’d opened my mouth to ream him out for stepping too far into my personal space, but the sweet scent of clove cigarettes flooded warmth through me like a sip of hot chocolate on a January morning in the Upper Peninsula.

“You work at post office?” he asked in a thick Slavic accent.

“Um, no.” I took a swig of my drink. Though I was unsure where he was going with that line, he was hot enough for me to stick around.

The left corner of his mouth curved into that sexy little smirk. “Because I see you check out my package.”

Carbonation stung my nose as I snorted and choked trying to hold in my laugh. Without time to turn my head, I sprayed vodka club and saliva across the front of Crazy Hair’s shirt.


“Weak!” I heard from somewhere behind me.

I turned to see who had yelled, still coughing as I noticed a group of guys and girls at the high-top table behind me. Shaggy blond hair bounced against one guy’s forehead as he snickered. The dude next to him held his fist in front of his mouth in a horrible attempt to hide his laughter. A brunette in a tight red sweater didn’t look amused. At all.

Crazy Hair threw the guys not one but both of his middle fingers.

“That girl’s a fucking smoke show. Why’d he use a shitty line like that?” the blond one said.

Smoke show? I bit down hard on my lip to fight back a smile. The last time I’d heard that phrase was in high school from my hockey-playing best friend, who’d informed me that “smoke show” was player lingo for “hot girl.”

Unsure of how to recover any semblance of cool after spitting my drink across Crazy Hair’s muscular chest, I spun around and shuffled back to the table my friends occupied in front of the karaoke stage.

It felt weird to drink in public, though we’d been to Canada on multiple occasions. As lifelong residents of Detroit, Michigan, we thought of Windsor—the Canadian city connected to Detroit by a bridge and a tunnel—as the next town over, rather than a foreign country. Nineteen was the legal drinking age in Windsor, so it made sense for underage Americans like us to cross the border for some legit cocktails.

My butt had barely brushed my seat when I heard my name, and my name alone, called over the speakers. I lifted my eyes to the outdated popcorn ceiling, as if the voice resonated from the heavens beyond, rather than the karaoke host.

“Why is he calling my name?” I asked Kristen.

“I picked you a song,” she responded, taking a swig of her beer.

“You picked us a song, you mean?” Emphasis on the us, because I’d never sung alone in my life—not counting the shower and car, of course.

“Nope. Just you.” Kristen placed both hands on my back and pushed me toward the stage. “You need to sing it out. Keeping shit bottled up never works.”

I had no problem singing it out if I was singing with other people, but not when it was just me. Hadn’t I been embarrassed enough today?

My short-lived “smoke show” happiness vanished, and the embarrassment of making a fool of myself in front of Crazy Hair returned. I tried to reverse, but Kristen’s trampoline-like hands propelled me back toward the stage.

Climbing onto the stage, I snatched the microphone out of the host’s hand. I almost felt bad about taking my anger out on him until I saw the lyrics to “Proud Mary” light up in white against the teleprompter’s blue screen. Fuck.

What the hell? I exhaled and lifted my eyes to Kristen.

“Girl power!” She saluted me with her glass.

Was “Proud Mary” a girl-power song? I thought it was about a boat.

“Do you have ‘Good Feeling’?” I asked the karaoke host. He was around my age, with big brown eyes matching his neat, trimmed beard and his shoulder-length hair.

“Flo Rida?” he asked, as disapproving wrinkles formed on his smooth forehead.

“Oh, no,” I said. “The Violent Femmes.”

A smile spread across his lips, and he nodded. “Give me a second.”

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Sophia Henry, a proud Detroit native, fell in love with reading, writing, and hockey all before she became a teenager. She did not, however, fall in love with snow. So after graduating with an English degree from Central Michigan University, she moved to North Carolina, where she spends her time writing books featuring hockey-playing heroes, chasing her two high-energy sons, watching her beloved Detroit Red Wings, and rocking out at concerts with her husband..

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Tuesday, September 1, 2015

Virtual Book Tour, Excerpt & Giveaway: Fire Me Up by Rachael Johns

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Title:  Fire Me Up
Series:  The Deacons of Bourbon Street Book 2
Author:  Rachael Johns
Release Date:  September 1, 2015
Publisher:  Loveswept 


Can a scorching affair with a bohemian beauty tame a motorcycle man with a dark side? Rachael Johns takes the wheel in the sexy series co-written with Megan Crane, Jackie Ashenden, and Maisey Yates.

Travis “Cash” Sinclair values only two things from his days with the Deacons of Bourbon Street: his prized Harley Davidson and the man who gave it to him. But now Priest Lombard is gone, and Cash has inherited the Deacons’ clubhouse—not to mentions its unexpected tenant. She’s exactly the type of woman he tries to avoid: all incense and art, with a sharp tongue that promises trouble. So why does Cash want to push aside those flowing skirts and lose himself between her legs?

Billie Taylor fled a bad marriage to start a new life among the grit and glamour of the French Quarter. She refuses to let another man distract her from her dreams, especially an outlaw biker with nothing to offer except hot sex and an eviction notice. Cash is dangerous, with an untamed streak he tries desperately to conceal. He drives Billie wild, sending her too close to the edge for her own good. And she won’t fall under his spell—or into his bed—without a fight.

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“This room is mine,” she said, folding her arms and glaring at him with more bravado than she felt as he turned to look at her with his dark, smoldering eyes. She shivered despite herself and almost forgot to add, “If you insist on staying, you’ll have to choose from one of the others.”

He took his time replying, his gaze sliding downward, scalding her body as if he’d actually touched her. For a moment she thought he was going to object—tell her that not only would he share her house but also her bed—but eventually he shut her wardrobe and nodded. “I always preferred the one next to this anyway.”

She swallowed. Of all the rooms in the house, he wanted to choose the one right next to hers? How would she sleep knowing he was mere yards away? Still, she was hardly in a position to argue, and if it would get him out of her personal space, well, that was a start.

“Fine.” She stepped back and gestured for him to leave. The only good thing about having Travis right next door was that she could keep an eye on him. Or was that a bad thing? Argh.

Surprisingly, he obeyed, stalking past her and smirking again as he did. She hated that she caught a waft of some raw, masculine cologne, which sent ripples of need through her body, rousing places she’d given little thought to over the last year. How ironic that the first sign of life down there had sparked because of a man who seemed intent on messing up her life. Why were the sexiest guys, the best-looking ones, always the biggest jerks?

He didn’t head straight for his room, instead going into the kitchen, and she found herself following. Her hackles rose as he opened the refrigerator and leaned inside, giving her a perfect view of his perfect butt. Oh help me, God! Had any guy she’d ever known looked so damn fine in faded jeans? Her thighs involuntarily clenched.

“No beer,” he said as he straightened.

Despite the traitorous hormones rushing through her body, she shook her head. It went against the grain of every single cell in her body not to be hospitable, but then again she hadn’t invited him to stay here with her. “Nope. Sorry. But there’s a bar next door.”

She wished he’d go back to it. He had to be one of the Deacons that had been hanging around The Priory the last few days. Sophie had given her a brief history of the motorcycle club—apparently it had disbanded around the time of Katrina—and informed her that it would be unlikely any of its members would hang around after her father’s funeral. But, dammit, it looked like she’d been wrong on that account. Billie needed to go see Sophie, make sure this guy was for real. For all she knew he could be anybody. He hadn’t shown her any proof that he owned the building, but something—maybe the way he’d leaned into her face when he told her no one tells him what the fuck to do—made her cautious. He was like a wild animal, and she didn’t want to make any sudden moves.

He smiled wickedly and leaned back against the counter, looking her over again, making her feel aroused and insulted all at once. “I know it. The bar and this place used to be my home.”

“Is that right?” She wondered about Travis Sinclair. He had the leather jacket, the swagger in his step and the don’t-mess-with-me attitude of a biker, but there was something about him that didn’t fit the image. He wore no patches like a couple of other guys she’d seen hanging around next door, but that wasn’t it. There was something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on. “And where is your home now?”

She waited for him to tell her it was none of her fucking business, but he shrugged off his jacket, hung it over one of the odd chairs that sat around her kitchen table and then pulled back the seat and straddled it. “Tallahassee,” he said as he leaned down and yanked a laptop out of his pack. It was a flashy MacBook Air—not at all the type of computer she’d expect of a biker. He didn’t even glance her way as he put it on the table in front of him, lifted the lid and tapped his boots against the tiled floor as he waited for the computer to spring to life.

No idea where Tallahassee was—geography had never been her thing—she vowed to google it later. Leaning back against the kitchen counter, she wiped her palm across her brow, feeling hot and more than a little bothered. Being warm in itself wasn’t unusual in New Orleans or in Western Australia where she came from, but the weather had nothing to do with the rise in her body temperature. And that disturbed her.

Her eyes zoned in on the bad-boy ink that traveled the length of his sculpted and tanned forearms, and the heat that had been simmering inside her boiled over.

Until this moment she’d have said she wasn’t a fan of body art—personally, she preferred her art on walls or in gardens—but Travis’s tattoos changed her opinion. And that was bad, because with her divorce only recently official, the last thing she wanted in her life was another man who thought he could walk all over her.

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Rachael Johns is an English teacher by trade, a mum 24/7, a supermarket owner, a chronic arachnophobic, and a writer the rest of the time. She rarely sleeps and never irons. She writes contemporary romance for HQN and Carina Press and lives in rural Western Australia with her hyperactive husband and three mostly-gorgeous heroes-in-training. Rachael loves to hear from readers and can be contacted through her website at www.rachaeljohns.com.

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