Blog Tour: THE TROUBLE WITH CHRISTMAS by Amy Andrews

“How is this book both adorable and sexy? The Trouble with Christmas is a big city meets small town, opposite attract hilarious romance full of holiday shenanigans, family, love and sigh-worthy moments. It's one of the must-reads of 2019! I absolutely loved it!" --Naima Simone, USA Today bestselling author

The Trouble with Christmas, an all-new opposites attract romance from USA Today bestselling author Amy Andrews, is available now!

All Suzanne St. Michelle wants is an over-the-top, eggnog-induced holiday with her best friend in Credence, Colorado. But when her hoity-toity parents insist she come home for Christmas in New York, she blurts out that her sexy landlord is actually her boyfriend and she can’t leave him—Joshy loves Christmas. The more twinkle lights the better.

Rancher Joshua Grady does not love Christmas. Or company, or chatty women. Unfortunately for him, the chattiest woman ever has rented the cottage on his ranch, invited her rich, art-scene parents, and now insists he play “fake rancher boyfriend” in a production of the Hokiest Christmas Ever. And somehow…she gets him to agree.

Apparently, he’ll do anything to get his quiet life back. At least there’s mistletoe every two feet—and kissing Suzy is surprisingly easy. But in the midst of acres of tinsel, far too many tacky Christmas sweaters, and a tree that can be seen from space, he’s starting to want what he lost when he was a kid—a family. Too bad it’s with a woman heading back to New York before the ball drops…

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Excerpt:

Grady barely felt the chill as he stripped off his freezing, sodden shirt in the equally freezing concrete shell of the mudroom. The silence was distracting. Too distracting, and he could think of little else. The last three mornings, he’d gone about his chores serenaded by chanting monks. Which was strange but…whatever. It didn’t bother him or the animals, and it gave his ranch hands something to laugh about. Except now there was no music. And that was bothering him, because he suddenly realized he was thinking about her—something he’d been trying not to do. Had her power gone out? Was she sick? Had she fallen in the cottage and smacked her head on the stone floor? Had some kind of seizure? Was she unconscious? Had she decided to up and leave? Yeah, right…he should be so lucky. Grady shook his head, growling to himself as he flicked off the running faucet and plunged his hands into the steaming-hot sink of water, washing off the caked-on muck from his hands and arms and chest courtesy of a calf that had gotten itself bogged in a freezing quagmire caused by recent rain and melting almost-frozen ground. He’d managed to rope it out with the help of two of his hands, its plaintive mooing and the distress of its mother keeping everyone focused on the job but somehow, when they were almost there, he’d managed to lose his balance and fall into the frigid mud. His hands had laughed their asses off as they’d dragged his out of the muck. The hot water felt good on his chilled skin as he picked up the cake of soap and lathered his arms and chest and neck. He needed a real shower, of course, but he’d learned a long time ago to wash up before he went inside. The plumbing in the mudroom was way more forgiving than the more delicate pipes inside the cabin. Thankfully his jeans weren’t as mucky. Ordinarily he’d have stripped them off in the mudroom, too, and walked from the barn to the cabin in his underwear—isolated living did have its advantages—but he wasn’t about to do that with Suzanne St. Michellenearby. And great…just great. He was thinking about her again. He obviously wasn’t getting laid enough. Just how long hadit been since he’d been with a woman? Well over a year ago. Probably closer to two. Because that had to be it, that had to be the reason he couldn’t stop thinking about the curvy New Yorker even though she’d stayed on her turf exactly as he had demanded. Reaching with one hand for the fresh towel that hung over the hook above the sink, he pulled the plug with the other, then proceeded to towel dry. At least up until he heard a faint gasp and spun around to find the woman on his mind standing just inside the doorway, her curves hidden in a huge red coat, that green knitted cap pulled down low over her forehead and ears. His hands paused mid drying the back of his neck. The room wasn’t big, maybe five feet by five feet, which meant she was way closer to him than he was comfortable with, given his state of undress. “Oh…I’m…sorry.” Her breath misted into the frigid air as her voice faltered. “I didn’t know you were in here.” Her eyes fell to his chest, zeroed in on the nickel-size scar just beneath his right collarbone courtesy of some shrapnel, before straying to his pecs and abs for what seemed like forever, the awkward silence stretching. Normally Grady wouldn’t bother filling it because silences were where he felt most comfortable and the other person generally rushed in to fill them up. But Suzanne wasn’t bothering, either. At least not with her mouth anyway. Her eyes were a different story. They were having an entire conversation as they roved all over his chest. She was looking at him like he was a slice of one of Annie’s pies, and Christ if that wasn’t like a bullet straight to his dick. The kind of friendly fire he could do without. Fucking hell. He didn’t want to be pie. Not this woman’s. Not any woman’s. He wanted to be…tofu. Nobody lusted after tofu. “Had some trouble with a calf.” Grady felt like an explanation might help the situation, but he still felt like an idiot making small talk. “Was it being born?” She pulled her gaze from his abs to his eyes. “Did you have to stick your hand up inside and drag it out? I saw that on a documentary once and couldn’t believe how messy it was. And how calm the mother was. I mean, I’m not sure I’d be okay to just stand there while someone stuck their entire arm up my hoo-ha, right?” She hesitated for a moment like she’d done the first day they’d met, like she wasn’t sure this was a topic for polite conversation. But her mouth had already committed, so she jutted her chin and went for it. “I know it has to be done and, let’s face it, a calf is much bigger than a man’s arm—” Her gaze dropped to his arms via the scar, his chest, and his belly button. She was looking at him like pie again. Annie’s pecan pie with melted butter. Sweet and savory all at once. An orgasm for the tongue. Not tofu. Plain, tasteless, orgasmlessTofu. “Even yours,” she continued, forcing her gaze back to his face, and it took Grady a moment to pick up the thread of her ramblings. She shuddered. “But no thank you. I mean, seriously, females of all species really do get a raw deal. I bet you if the males had to push out disproportionately bigger babies through the passage provided for the process, they’d have invented some kind of handy zipper system a long time ago. Some dude would have patented the bejesus out of it.” She stopped abruptly, snapping her lips closed as if her mouth had finally received the frantic shut the fuck upmessages from her brain. Her cheeks looked pink, but then so did her nose, so it was probably just the nippy December weather. Grady stared at her, not only at the amount of words she’d spoken but at the content of her monologue. “We…” He spoke because it felt like his turn, but he didn’t even know what to do about cows with zippers. “We don’t calve in winter.” “Oh, right.” She nodded briskly, her cheeks definitely growing pinker now. “That makes sense. Who wants to be cold and in pain, right?” She gave a funny little half smile that ended quickly and awkwardly. Then they just stood and stared at each other for several beats longer than was normal or even comfortable, their warm breaths misting into the air. Tucking her hands into the pockets of her red coat, she said, “I hope it’s okay to have a look around?” Grady gave a brief, terse nod. “Just don’t go too far or go near the animals.” Last thing he needed was to rescue some damn fool city slicker who’d wandered off and gotten herself lost. She nodded absently as her gaze drifted again, licking over his chest, lingering on the scar. He should be freezing, half-naked in a room that was little more than an icebox, but with her looking at him like she was trying to commit every line and chest hair to memory, he only felt hot. Really fucking hot. Melted butter on pecan pie hot. “I hope—” Her voice sounded a little uneven, and she cleared her throat. “I hope my music hasn’t been disturbing you the last few days.” He wasn’t sure why she was making small talk—although it was preferable to incessant observations about cow hoo-has and zippers. Nor was he sure why he was standing ramrod straight in front of her, thinking about pie when he should be grabbing the spare shirt he kept in the cupboard above the washbasin and getting decent. But up had been down since the moment she’d arrived. “It’s fine,” he dismissed. It hadn’t been the music that had been disturbing him, that was for sure. She nodded again, glancing around the room briefly before settling her eyes back on his chest. “Well…I guess I’ll…” She didn’t finish the sentence as her gaze once again zeroed in on the scar, and her lips rolled together in contemplation. “Do you mind—?” She stepped forward and raised her hand tentatively. When he didn’t move because he was paralyzed by the realization she was actually going to touch him, she became bolder, stepping in closer again as her fingers made contact. She was so close now, he could smell her. Coffee and snickerdoodles? And something sharp, maybe chemical. Paint, he supposed. “Is it a bullet wound?” Grady flinched as she touched the scar, her fingers like icicles as they sunk into the small indentation. He closed his eyes as heat bloomed from the center, spreading like a ripple, burning like a furnace down the length of his body. Blood pulsed hard and thick, everywhere. Damn it, she might as well be wrapping that cold hand around the throbbing hardness pressing into the zipper of his fly. It was probably forty degrees in this concrete box, but it felt like a sauna, and it was an easy 120 inside his boxers. He swallowed. “It’s from…shrapnel.” He had no idea why he wasn’t stepping back. He should step back. He should have said, Yes, I do mind, told her it was none of her business. He should be finding a shirt. Find a fucking shirt, idiot. “Did it hurt?” Surprised by the question, he glanced down to find the bulky knit of her hat a whisker away from brushing the underside of his chin. “Like a bastard.” She looked up and they were close—her mouth was close—her fingers a balm to the old wound that still made his shoulder ache on cold winter mornings. His heart thumped like a jungle drum and god almighty, it was hot enough in here to grow bananas. “Was it bad? Did you bleed a lot?” His throat was dry as the concrete beneath his feet. “It bled some.” Then, finally getting his shit together, he took a step back, and her hand slid away. If his distancing bothered her, she didn’t show it, just simply said, “Thank you for your service.” Grady didn’t know what to say. He never knew what to say to this standard platitude. He appreciated the sentiment, but he’d just been doing his job. So he nodded, his pulse reverberating like a dinner gong in his ears, as she slowly backed out of the room and disappeared from sight. Reaching for the sink, Grady gripped the curved edge in both his hands and hunched over, dropping his head down between his shoulder blades and taking some deep steadying breaths. January could not come soon enough.

About Amy Andrews:

Amy is an Aussie author of hot contemporary romance who believes in multiple orgasms, mighty wangs and happily ever afters. She’s been penning them for over twenty years and has 70+ books to her name.

As well as unforgettable characters and great sex you’ll also be treated to some laughs and a dollop of quirk because Amy doesn’t seem to know how to write a book without a bit of both. You might also cry a little because there’s nothing she loves more than a laughy-criey book!

She also loves sunsets and rainbows, unicorns and mermaids, booze and travel. And her home that overlooks the ocean. She may also happen to believe she was a Roman goddess in her past life because its the only thing that explains her adoration for all things Italy.

Connect with Amy:

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Website: http://amyandrews.com.au/

Blog Tour: KISS ME TONIGHT by Emma Hart

What do a wrong number text, a burning building, and a quirky florist have in common?

A hunky firefighter with an extra-large…hosepipe.

Kiss Me Tonight, an all-new hilarious standalone romance from New York Times bestselling author Emma Hart is available now!

In hindsight, I never should have opened that text message. The last thing I needed first thing on a Monday was a picture of some stranger’s, um, eggplant, in my inbox.

I also should have replaced the batteries in my fire alarm, because my Friday night did not need to end with my apartment building going up in flames.

But it’s fine. It’s fine. Everything is fine.

I’m only lying in a hospital bed with more split ends than I’ve ever had, almost all my Earthly possessions have turned to ash, and apparently, they don’t serve wine to patients in this place.

But like I said, it’s fine.

Until he walks in.

The guy who saved my life. My hero. Noah Jacobs.

And the universe is amusing itself at my expense, because the dirty photo I woke up to on Monday?

It’s his.

Download your copy today!

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Excerpt:

“Hi.” I glanced over at him, my lips curving. “Hi.” “You ready?” “To escape the madhouse? What do you think?” “That I should put my foot down.” I winked and clicked my belt into place. “Let’s go. Where are we going?” Noah pulled away from the curb. “I was going to let you direct me. I haven’t been in town long, like I said, and I definitely haven’t been out for lunch.” I leaned back in the seat. “Hmm. What do you want to eat?” “You’re the one breaking out of jail. I’m happy to go wherever you want to.” “Oh, no. I hate making decisions like this. Do you know how difficult it is to pick somewhere to eat?” I shifted my whole body so I could look at him. “Do you want Chinese? Thai? Steak? Korean? Pizza? Burgers? Caribbean? Mexican? Spanish? French? Italian?” Noah’s gaze darted my way. “Do you have all those places in Creek Falls?” “No, but that doesn’t make the decision any easier,” I replied. “Well? Burgers? Pizza? Mexican? Italian? Steak? Or Chinese?” “I don’t—shit me, I feel like I’m being interrogated by the fucking Government.” “You may as well be. Pick somewhere and I’ll tell you where to go.” “I said you can pick.” “I don’t care. I’ve been everywhere. They’re all good. You’re the new boy in town. Pick somewhere.” “You’re demanding, do you know that?” “Yes, Preston—oh, he’s my brother—regularly points out how demanding and difficult I am.” I paused. “If you really want me to pick, I will, but you can’t complain after.” He turned the blinker on so we’d head in the direction of Main Street. “You just said they’re all good.” “They are, but it’s not my fault if you feel like pizza and end up with a taco.” “I can honestly say that I do not care what I eat for lunch as long as it’s edible.” “Right. Then turn left, then right, and pull into the parking lot next to the liquor store.” “I see you’re taking us to a reputable location.” “Oh, no. The liquor store is a pit stop. It just happens to be on the way to the Mexican place I like.” “I see. So you’re using me for liquor.” “You’ve met my great-aunt. Damn straight I’m using you for liquor.”

About Emma Hart:

Emma Hart is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of over thirty novels and has been translated into several different languages.

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She is a mother, wife, lover of wine, Pink Goddess, and valiant rescuer of wild baby hedgehogs.

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Emma prides herself on her realistic, snarky smut, with comebacks that would make a PMS-ing teenage girl proud.

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Yes, really. She's that sarcastic.

Connect with Emma:

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Release Blitz: Reveal by K. Bromberg

I play to win, and I won’t let anything—or anyone—get in the way of what I want.

REVEAL, the raw, sexy, and jaw-dropping finale to the Wicked Ways series by New York Times bestselling author K. Bromberg, is available now!

The first time I met Vaughn Sanders, I knew I wanted her. Confident, intelligent, and downright sexy. I thought I knew how to play her game. I was ready and willing for the challenge. Little did I know she was full of secrets and surprises.

But so am I.

Charming a woman into my bed has never been my problem. It’s the relationship part that is. They want it. I don’t. But can you blame me? Broken marriages are how I make a living. Hell, no self-respecting man would let a woman own his thoughts, invade his dreams, and steal his heart. So how in the world has Vaughn done that to me?

I’ve fallen in love with her. There. I said it. But that acknowledgment comes with a heavy price.

Everything and everyone seem to be working against us, leaving us both to question whether what we have is worth the cost.

I’ll be damned if I go down without a fight.

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Start the series today with RESIST

Download your copy today or read FREE in Kindle Unlimited!

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Text Kbromberg to 77948 to stay up to date on all things, Driven movies and new releases!

About K. Bromberg:

New York Times Bestselling author K. Bromberg writes contemporary novels that contain a mixture of sweet, emotional, a whole lot of sexy, and a little bit of real. She likes to write strong heroines, and damaged heroes who we love to hate and hate to love.

A mom of three, she plots her novels in between school runs and soccer practices, more often than not with her laptop in tow.

Since publishing her first book in 2013, Kristy has sold over one million copies of her books across sixteen different countries and has landed on the New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal Bestsellers lists over twenty-five times. Her Driven trilogy (Driven, Fueled, and Crashed) is currently being adapted for film by Passionflix with the first movie slated to release in the summer of 2018.

She is currently working on her Everyday Heroes trilogy. This series consists of three complete standalone novels—Cuffed, Combust, and Cockpit (late spring 2018)—and is about three brothers who are emergency responders, the jobs that call to them, and the women who challenge them.

She loves to hear from her readers so make sure you check her out on social media or sign up for her newsletter to stay up to date on all her latest releases and sales: http://bit.ly/254MWtI

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Releae Blitz: COLLATERAL by Natasha Knight

 

COLLATERAL: An Arranged Marriage Mafia Romance by Natasha Knight 

Release Date: September 23rd

 

Add to Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/46900176-collateral

   

AVAILABLE NOW!! 

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Blurb: Gabriela

Stefan Sabbioni showed up uninvited in my bedroom on my sixteenth birthday. He stood in the shadows smelling of whiskey and death and wrapped a broken, blood-crusted necklace around my neck. I thought he’d strangle me with it.

That night, he left a message for my father. He said he’d be back to take something precious.

I never delivered that message, though. I wonder if things would be different if I had because now, two years later, he’s back. And he’s not hiding in any shadows.

He’s come to make good on his promise.

He’s back to take that something precious.

Me.

Stefan

Marchese is the manipulator of my family’s tragedy. I won’t just bring him to his knees. I’ll bury him for what he did.

Taking his daughter is only the beginning. I’ll do it knowing I’m starting a war. I’ll do it knowing my enemies will become his allies. They’ll stop at nothing to destroy me and he’ll stop at nothing to get her back.

I’ve never shied away from war, though. I’m not one to play nice and I don’t share my toys. I’ll demolish you if you touch what’s mine.

And she is most definitely mine.

   

About the Author: USA Today bestselling author of contemporary romance, Natasha Knight specializes in dark, tortured heroes. Happily-Ever-Afters are guaranteed, but she likes to put her characters through hell to get them there. She’s evil like that.

Connect w/Natasha: 

Website: https://natasha-knight.com/ 

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