Friday, February 13, 2015

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Title: Floored (Frenched Series Book #3)
Author: Melanie Harlow
Genre: NA, Contemporary Romance, Humor
Release Date: February 5, 2015

Erin Upton is too embarrassed to tell the cops what she was really doing while her townhouse was burglarized, especially since the first officer on the scene is former nuisance next door Charlie Dwyer. Where’s the justice in the world when a neighborhood know-it-all grows up to be six-foot-three inches of solid muscle with gorgeous green eyes and a slow, sexy please-arrest-me-now-officer smile? It’s bad enough she’s wearing her robe and slippers—did he have to notice her fuzzy hand cuffs on the bathroom sink?
He’s arrogant as he ever was, which is fine by her—she’s too busy with her dance studio’s grand opening to make time for a man. But they keep crossing paths, and
when Charlie offers to help her put in new flooring at the studio one night, things go from hammering nails to hammering each other in a hurry. And about those hand cuffs…
They agree it’s a one-time thing. But when that becomes a two-time thing, then a three-time thing, Erin starts to wonder if maybe she and Charlie could be a life-time thing. Her best friends Mia and Coco found love in unexpected places. Is it finally her turn?

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Title: Frenched (Frenched Series Book #1)
Author: Melanie Harlow
Genre: NA, Contemporary Romance, Humor

When Tucker Branch, playboy heir to Branch Bolt and Screw, screws and bolts a week before their wedding, Mia Devine wants nothing more than to crawl under her newly monogrammed sheets and plan a funeral for her dignity. But her friends convince her that bitter tastes better when it’s drowned in Bordeaux, so Mia grits her teeth and packs her bags, determined to make the best of her luxurious Paris honeymoon—alone.

She never planned on meeting Lucas Fournier.

The easygoing bartender’s scruffy good looks and less-than-sympathetic ear annoy her at first, but when she takes him up on his offer to show her around the city, she discovers that the romance of Paris isn’t just a myth.

Nor is the simultaneous O.

The last thing Mia needs is another doomed love affair, but since she only has a week, she figures she might as well enjoy la vie en O with Lucas while she can. But each day—and night—with Lucas is better than the last, and suddenly her heart is telling her this is more than a rebound fling.

Is it just the seduction of Paris…or could this be the real thing?

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Title: Forked (Frenched Series Book #2)
Author: Melanie Harlow
Genre: NA, Contemporary Romance, Humor
Release Day: October 20, 2014

Twenty-eight year old Coco Thomas knows the recipe for disaster:

1) Agree to plan last-minute engagement blowout for spoiled Mafia princess before you realize her choice of caterer is Nick Lupo, a despicably gorgeous young chef with a hot new restaurant in town, a reality TV show victory, and a romantic past with you—one that did not end well.

2) Strike a deal with Nick in which you agree to spend a weekend with him in exchange for his services, under the strict conditions there will be no talking about the past, no second chances, and definitely no sex.

3) Violate all three conditions within 24 hours and spend two glorious days remembering what made you fall for the sexy, egotistical bastard in the first place, and why it hurt so much when he broke your heart.

Add one road trip, plenty of good scotch, and endless spoonfuls of chocolate cake batter drizzled over your body and licked off inch by oh-my-God-yes-right-there inch, then just admit it.

You’re totally FORKED.

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Frenched Series Bundle: Frenched, Yanked & Forked

Excerpt Options (please feel free to choose one option to include in your post)
Excerpt #1 (Clean)

I waited under my covers the entire time the police were checking the house, about twenty minutes. I had the phone under there with me, and I called both Mia and Coco, but neither of them answered their phones. I left messages, telling them what happened and begging both of them to call me back. I wouldve called my mother, but shed left this morning for a twelve-day religious pilgrimage to Spain. I should have gone with her, like she wanted me to. Now God is punishing me! He knows I have unholy thoughts about Brad Pitt (a married man!) and now I have to pay for it!
A knock sounded on my locked bedroom door, making me jump.
“Maam? Weve checked the house. Theres no one here.” The officers voice was deep and reassuring. “When youre ready, wed like to speak with you. Well wait in the kitchen.”
I peeked out from the covers, eyeing the door suspiciously. “How do I know youre really the police and not the intruder?”
“Well, you could open the door and take a look at me in uniform.”
“No way. Slide your badge under the door or something.” Thats what they did in the movies, right?
“Come on, Erin. Open the door.”
“No. And how do you know my name?”
“The police department has all kinds of useful information, like who lives where. Either that or Im psychic.”
I made a face at the door. Did I know this guy? His voice was familiar somehow, but I couldntthink of who it could be. “Im not in the mood for jokes.”
“You never did have much of a sense of humor. Now come on out and see me in uniform. I think youll be impressed. The ladies usually are.”
My jaw dropped. Who on earth was this? Curiosity got the better of me, and I threw the covers off and jumped out of bed. In front of the door I paused for a second, my hand on the handle, thinking that if it was a scary hairy madman Id be ready to give him a great big grand battement to the balls. Then I turned the handle and yanked it open.
Oh dear.
Oh dear.
The crazy thing was, he was so handsome I had the fleeting thought this whole burglary thing was a hoax and this “cop” was actually a stripper. For a second I just stared at him, half expecting him to rip open his shirt at the chest and start gyrating.
Confession: I really, really wished he would. (For a couple of reasons.)
But he didnt.
“Have I changed that much, Red?”
It hit me. “Oh my God. Charlie Dwyer. Youre a cop?”
He smiled, and if he hadnt been such a turd when we were younger, I might have melted right there at his feet. As it was, I could only shake my head in disbelief at this nightmare—not only had more than two thousand dollarsworth of electronics been stolen from my townhouse while I was upstairs getting myself off, but here to protect me was the bully next door whod kidnapped my hamster for ransom and held up my charity lemonade stand with a Taser. And he was drop-dead gorgeous! Where was the justice in the world?

The power went out completely.

Oh my fucking God.
“Panting, I lay my cheek on the cool marble, unsure of what to do next. Between my ears, the message was this is scary. Between my legs, it was this is hot.
No, don’t give up. Fight me. Come on. Struggle.” His voice was different now—deeper, quieter even, yet more intimidating.
Adrenaline coursed through my body, my heart pounding with fear, with arousal, with shock. I tried moving my arms—he pulled them tighter, clamped my wrists harder. I tried moving my legs—he pinned my hips against the marble, his erection pushing firmly into my flesh. I flexed my fingers—he laughed softly.
“Thats it. Try everything. Scream if you like.”
I couldnt scream even if I wanted to. It felt like the darkness had weight, like it was bearing down on my back with a force stronger than gravity. Breathing required all the lung strength I had, and I wasnt even sure I could keep that up.
Tell me Im hurting you.”
He was hurting me.
But I liked it.
He yanked my arms mercilessly behind me. “Tell me.
“Youre hurting me,” I said weakly.
“Tell me to stop.”
“Stop.” Dont stop.
“Tell me you dont want this from me.”
I don’t—want this—from you.” Each word was its own struggle. I meant the words, and yet I didnt. I wanted him, but knew I shouldnt. And was this only a game? Was he just testing me? Or, worse, was he back there laughing at me in the dark? I had no way to tell.
Good girl. You dont want this from me, sweet thing.” He backed off slightly and somehow imprisoned both my wrists with one of his hands. The other one snaked around to my belly.
And down the front of my pants.

About the Author:
Melanie Harlow likes her martinis dry, her lipstick red, and her history with the naughty bits left in. She lifts her glass to readers and writers from her home near Detroit, MI.

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