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Digital Bluefire Download Copy of
LAST FIRST KISS
RIGHT WRONG GUY
Brightwater #2
by Lia Riley
Released: Aug 4th, 2015
Avon Romance
The
fun and flirty second installment in Lia Riley’s fantastic Brightwater series.
Sometimes two wrongs can
make a right...
Bad
boy wrangler, Archer Kane, lives fast and loose. Words like responsibility and
commitment send him running in the opposite direction. Until a wild Vegas
weekend puts him on a collision course with Eden Bankcroft-Kew, a New York
heiress running away from her blackmailing fiancé…the morning of her wedding.
Eden
has never understood the big attraction to cowboys. Give her a guy in a
tailored suit any day of the week. But now all she can think about is Mr.
Rugged Handsome, six-feet of sinfully sexy country charm with a pair of green
eyes that keeps her tossing and turning all night long.
Archer
might be the wrong guy for a woman like her, but she's not right in thinking
he'll walk away without fighting for her heart. And maybe, just maybe, two
wrongs can make a right.
In
fairness, Brightwater, California, didn’t host a large population. For a
healthy man who liked the ladies, it didn’t take long to make the rounds at The
Dirty Shame, the local watering hole. Vegas getaways meant variety, a chance to
spice things up, although a threesome with Crystal and Donna—Deborah? Deena? Dazzle?—was akin to
swallowing a whole habanero.
He reached
into the shower and flicked on the tap as a warm furry body hopped across his
foot. “Shit!” He vaulted back, nearly going ass over teakettle, before bracing
himself on the counter. A bewildered white rabbit peered up, nose twitching.
“You’ve got
to be kidding me.” He squinted into the steam with increased suspicion.
Hopefully, Crystal’s act didn’t also involve a baby crocodile or, worse, a boa
constrictor. He hated snakes.
The coast
was clear so he stepped inside, the hot water sending him halfway to human.
There was a tiny bottle of hotel shampoo perched in the soap dish and he gave
it a dubious sniff. It smelled like flowers but would do the job of rinsing
away stale perfume and sex. He worked a dollop through his thick hair, shoulder
muscles relaxing.
He’d always
prided himself on being the kind of good-time guy who held no regrets, but
lately it seemed like there was a difference between dwelling on past mistakes
and reflecting in order to avoid future ones. Did he really want to live out
these shallow morning-after scenarios forever like some warped version of Groundhog Day?
The hair on
the back of his neck tingled with the unmistakable sensation of being watched.
He swiped suds from his eyes and turned, nearly nose-to-nose with the blank
stare of the old-man ventriloquist’s dummy.
“Fuck,” he
barked, any better word lost in shock.
“Great
Uncle Sam don’t like it when menfolk cuss,” the dummy responded in a deep,
Southern drawl. Other than the puppet on her hand, Dixie-Dorothy-Darby wore
nothing but a suggestive smile.
“Uh …
morning, beautiful.” Thank God for matching dimples, they’d charmed him out of
enough bad situations.
“No one’s
ever made me come so hard.” The puppet’s mustache bobbed as he spoke and more
of last night’s drunken jigsaw puzzle snapped into place. Desdemona-Diana-Doris
had gone on (and on) about her dream of becoming a professional ventriloquist.
She’d brought out the puppet and made Great Uncle Sam talk dirty, which had
been hilarious after Tequila Slammers, Snake Bites, Buttery Nipples, and 5
Deadly Venoms, plus a few bottles of champagne.
It was a
whole lot less funny now.
“Hey, D,
would you mind giving me a sec here? I’m going to finish rinsing off.” When in
doubt, he always referred to a woman by her first initial, it made him sound
affectionate instead of like an asshole.
“D?”
rumbled Great Uncle Sam.
Damn.
Apparently an initial wasn’t going to cut it.
Okay think … Dinah? No. Two rocks glinted from her lobes—a
possible namesake. “Diamond?”
Great Uncle
Sam slowly shook his head. Maybe it was Archer’s imagination, but the painted
eyes narrowed fractionally. “Stormy.”
And so was
her expression.
Not even close.
“Stormy?”
he repeated blankly. “Yeah, Stormy, of course. Gorgeous name. Makes me think of
rain and … and … rainbows … and …”
“You called
it out enough last night, the least you could do is be a gentleman and remember
it the next morning!” Great Uncle Sam head-butted him.
Add
splitting headache to his current list of troubles.
Archer
scrambled from the shower before he got his bare ass taken down by a puppet.
You don’t fight back against a woman, even if she is trying to bash your brain
in with Pinocchio’s demented elderly uncle.
A British literature fanatic at heart, Lia considers Mr. Darcy and Edward
Rochester as her fictional boyfriends. Her very patient husband doesn't mind.
Much. When not torturing heroes (because c'mon, who doesn't love a good
tortured hero?), Lia herds unruly chickens, camps, beach combs, daydreams about
future books, wades through a mile-high TBR pile and schemes yet another trip.
Right now, Icelandic hot springs and Scottish castles sound mighty fine.
Thank you for hosting RIGHT WRONG GUY!
ReplyDeleteVery Happy to. Thanks for planning and coordinating the entire thing!!
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