Author:
TERI ANNE STANLEY
Release
Date: July 21, 2015
Book
Synopsis: Justin Morgan would
happily drown the pain of his injured leg—and the guilt he brought back from
Afghanistan—in bourbon. Except, there won’t be
any booze if he doesn’t rescue his family’s century-old distillery from
financial ruin. The problem? Allie McGrath—youngest daughter of the
distillery’s co-owners, and the one woman he can’t have.
Allie
has been in love with Justin since…well, she's always been in love with him.
Now he's home, broken up over the death of her brother, and he needs help. She
can fix the distillery—she’s sure of it—but no one’s taking her or her sweet
new idea seriously. Convincing Justin is her only hope.
Allie is more tempting than Justin expected, threatening a
promise he swore he’d never break. If he can’t keep their attraction under
control, there’s a solid chance they’ll send the whole enterprise crumbling to
the ground…if he doesn’t crash and burn first.
Excerpt 2: Justin tucked the towel around his waist and hoisted himself up onto his
good leg, holding on to his crutches with one hand. Allie put a shoulder into his side and an arm around his waist. He tried not to lean on her, he really did. He tried not to put his
free arm around her and smell her hair.
“Holy shit, Justin, you’re heavy.”
He couldn’t think about her soft body beneath his,
those green eyes staring up at him, all soft and wanting. He
was Justin the Buddy, not Justin the Creeper. “It’s because
my manly muscles are extra dense. Like Superman, except
instead of steel I’m a man of granite.
“You are the most full-of-crap person on the planet, do
you know that?”
And yet she didn’t pull away. If anything, her hand
tightened on his waist.
“Let me go, babe. I can hobble in there under my own
steam.”
She let him go, but hovered close by. From the corner of
his eye, he could tell she was checking him out.
He tried to gimp a little faster to keep her from noticing
that his towel wasn’t hanging flat in the front.
They made it to the bathroom, and Allie turned on the
faucets to fill the tub. She patted the edge, and he lowered
himself to sit, his bum leg sticking awkwardly out into the
room. He had to put his hand in hers to steady himself.
She knelt and began unfastening the Velcro strips
holding the brace in place.
Jesus, Mary, and Uncle Steve. She was on her knees in
front of him, and he was wearing a damned towel. He had a
moment of dream déjà vu. A strand of rich honey hair had
come loose from her ponytail and curled in the steam rising
from the tub. He reached out to tuck it around his finger,
but then pulled up short of actually touching her. She was
Dave’s kid sister. No touching.
She looked up, something like heat in her eyes that was
quickly masked by humor. “Do you want some Mr. Bubble
in your tub?”
He actually considered it. She was going to have to help
him in and out of the tub. But he couldn’t quite figure out
how he was going to casually scoop a handful of bubbles
over his semi-stiffy between dropping his towel and getting
into the water.
He turned a little, to maneuver his good leg into the tub.
He took a breath and grabbed the side of his towel, ready to
yank it off.
Allie must have realized the reality of his predicament,
because her face was red. She met his eyes with a stricken
expression, then dropped her gaze like his groin was an eye
magnet.
“It’s just a dick, Sneezy,” Justin said, pulling the towel
off Band-Aid-style—all at once, to get the agony over with.
He lowered himself into the water while she cradled his
damaged ankle.
She stared at his crotch. And kept staring.
Justin almost reached for the towel again.
“You’re right. It’s just a dick,” she said, once he was
settled. She turned to walk out. “I’m going to get started on
some work. Holler when you want to get out of the tub.”
“It’s not just a dick,” he called after her. “It’s a really
nice dick!”
Author Bio: Teri Anne
Stanley began her writing career with scientific articles—followed by a
three-ingredient recipe column, but wasn't allowed to write naked parts for
them—so now she writes romance.
She's
also worked as a fashion designer for female body builders and a sex therapist
for rats. In her spare time, she’s a neuroscience research assistant. Along with a variety of offspring and dogs, she
and Mr. Stanley live just outside of Sugartit, which is—honest to God—between
Beaverlick and Rabbit Hash, Kentucky.
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