Monday, July 18, 2016

One Week to Score (Tall, Dark, and Texan #3) by Kate Meader: Blog Tour Excerpt & Giveaway


A sexy category romance from Entangled's Brazen imprint . . .

He’s the man she loves to hate . . .

Olivia Kane’s wedding day has just imploded spectacularly. Shots lined up at the bar? Bring it. Hot stranger on the hook? Come on down. What this party does not need is six feet and change of home-grown Texas cockiness in the form of her brother’s best friend, the man who broke her heart seven years ago.

She’s the woman he has to have . . .

Flynn Cross won’t stand by while Liv finds sensual solace in the arms of a stranger, not when his own hard-for-her body is more than up for the task. For one week, he’ll make her honeymoon-for-one a sizzling party for two.

Breaking the rules, one steamy night at a time . . .

But the taboo they’re breaking is only the beginning . . . and Flynn’s part in Liv’s wedding debacle could bring about their end.

Click to Buy the Tall, Dark, and Texan Series on Amazon:


About the Author:

Originally from Ireland, Kate cut her romance reader teeth on Maeve Binchy and Jilly Cooper novels, with some Mills & Boon thrown in for variety. Give her tales about brooding mill owners, oversexed equestrians, and men who can rock an apron or a fire hose, and she’s there. Now based in Chicago, she writes sexy contemporary romance with alpha heroes and strong heroines who can match their men quip for quip.

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She frowned at Flynn, as if he hadn’t been paying attention. “I need to get laid.”

His lungs went on hiatus. He could not have heard that right. Should not have heard that right. More likely, Liv didn’t know what she was saying. She was mighty upset, in a weakened state, vulnerable. She’d downed at least three shots, though he’d seen her put away more and still walk a straight line in five-inch heels.

Stop trying to rationalize this, man. There is no scenario here that ends with you between this woman’s thighs.
Eyeballing him, she seemed to give her brain an inward mental shake, and that soft, hopeless expression turned as hard as the cherry wood bar. She leaned in, a move that displayed the tops of her ample breasts as they strained for freedom.

Come on, beauties, make that border break.

He swallowed. Hard. And then his cock got on the “hard” train and he was officially on an express to hell. Because who the hell lusts after a woman—after his best friend’s sister—when she was having the worst day of her life? A day that had Flynn’s bloody fingerprints all over it?

Though it went against every instinct raging through his veins, he kept it cool. “Can’t help you there, Livvie.”

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped. “I’m not a kid.”

“You’ll always be little Livvie to me.” Getting this back to their usual dynamic was imperative, for his sanity and the stress levels of the fabric covering his straining dick. They annoyed the hell out of each other, like any brother and sister. That’s how it had always been. Though their dynamic had also been overlaid with a confusing mix of sexual tension and something deeper he had a hard time labeling.

Liar, liar.

Now she wanted to find comfort. Not wholly unreasonable after the day she’d had.

“So you want to get laid.” Said so damn casually it had its own whistling soundtrack.

She squared her shoulders and delivered a look that should have given his dick frostbite. The little bastard merely turned harder.

“Flynn Cross, if we were the last two people on earth and the fate of the human race depended on us procreating, I would happily go to my grave knowing mankind’s blip in the universe’s history had just come to an end.”

“No guilt?”

“Not one iota.” She leaned in again, showcasing those breasts with their own gravitational pull. “I’m glad you’re here, because I want you to play my wing girl.”

“Don’t you mean wing man?”

“No, wing girl. You’ve always felt like a sister to me—an older one I despise but am obliged to talk to because, y’know, family.”

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