Right
Wrong Guy
Brightwater #2
Brightwater #2
By: Lia Riley
Releasing August 4, 2015
Avon Impulse
Blurb
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.
Link to Follow Tour: http://www.tastybooktours.com/2015/07/right-wrong-guy-brightwater-2-by-lia.html
Goodreads Link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23575442-right-wrong-guy
Goodreads Series Link: https://www.goodreads.com/series/141818-brightwater
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.
Lia Riley writes offbeat New Adult and
Contemporary Adult romance. After studying at the University of
Montana-Missoula, she scoured the world armed only with a backpack,
overconfidence and a terrible sense of direction. She counts shooting vodka
with a Ukranian mechanic in Antarctica, sipping yerba mate with
gauchos in Chile and swilling XXXX with stationhands in Outback Australia among
her accomplishments.
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.
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.
a Rafflecopter giveaway
1 comment:
Thank you so much for hosting RIGHT WRONG GUY!
Post a Comment