Blitz · Excerpt · Uncategorized

UNTIL I’M YOURS Launch Day Blitz

396e8222-296c-4ef3-827f-63f73977cf62

 

5f1c01a9-3113-4b98-b595-0cc8e1774395

The world knows her face . . .

Mean girl. Goddess. Bitch. Supermodel Sofie Baston has earned those labels . . . yet they don’t scratch the surface of who she really is. Before she can follow her own dreams, Sophie must do her daughterly duty and reel in a “fish” for her father’s business-a tall, brown-eyed entrepreneur who immediately hooks her. He’s a big guy with an even bigger heart . . . but will that heart be open to Sofie once her darkest secret is revealed?

. . . but only one man knows her heart

To Trevor Bishop, Sofie is a beautiful mystery he would gladly spend his life solving. He figures her tough demeanor is armor against a world that’s hurt her too many times. Then Sofie’s deepest wounds are reopened by the powerful, ruthless man who made them. When she musters the courage to take him down, her world shatters. Now Trevor is determined to help Sofie pick up the pieces so they can build a future together. The challenge will be convincing his ice princess that it’s safe to melt in his arms.
Links:


54f8e5b0-ab74-4b02-ade2-e20898e18440

 

Excerpt 2

“And this is his business partner, Trevor Bishop.”

Walsh steps back, and I have my first close up of the fish I’m baiting tonight.

Only I’m the one hooked, immediately. I’m careful not to show it, but that stunned

look I’m used to seeing on other people’s faces? All over my inside face.

This force of flesh and bone and muscle wrapped in heat looms over me.

Trevor Bishop’s presence burns holes in my composure. I could tell from across the

room he was attractive and built like a mountain lion, lean and strong and broad. It’s

only now with proximity that his absolute confidence meets mine head on. He tilts

his head to the left, his chocolate-colored eyes steadily considering me, and I swear

he knows. Even though I’m sure my face doesn’t give it away, I swear he knows that

as I stand in front of him, inhaling his clean scent and waiting for his first smile,

windmills turn in my belly.

“A pleasure to meet you, Miss Baston.” His lips, wide and full, give me a smile

punctuated by dimples. And he has a southern drawl.

Fuck me now.

That’s not a figure of speech. I quite literally want him to toss me over that

hulking shoulder, find a dark corner somewhere and screw me so deeply into a wall

we leave a dent. Or in a bathroom stall. Hell, he could drag me over to the elaborate

buffet table and take me from behind right there by the ice sculpture.

One dark brown brow, a few shades darker than his hair, rises. Holy crap, I

haven’t responded yet.

“Um, nice to meet you, too, Mr. Bishop.” I take my time so my tongue doesn’t

betray the muddled mess of haywire hormones I am right now.

His eyes drift over my shoulder, forcing my mind and manners back to Rip.

“Oh, yes. I’m sorry. How rude.” I turn to Rip, who immediately claims my

elbow and draws me into his side. All of a sudden he’s territorial. I can’t blame him.

If my girlfriend was within five feet of this man, I’d handcuff her to me for the night.

“This is Michael Ripley.”

“Great game Sunday.” Trevor shakes the hand Rip isn’t manacling me with.

“I’m a Falcons fan myself, but I can appreciate a good toss no matter the team. That’s

some arm you got there.”

Rip’s hold on me relaxes a bit. Clever Trevor, disarming him that way. Well

played. Will I be able to strip this fish of his defenses as easily?

Once seated, Rip, Trevor, Harold and Walsh fall into a discussion of football I

don’t even try to follow. Apparently neither does Kerris. She’s texting someone with

a small frown on her face, and mumbles something to Walsh about a sitter. I settle

into my seat beside Trevor, taking a few moments to compose myself and strategize

how I can get that hook in his mouth.

“So you were in Dubai?”

The question startles me a little, I was so lost in my musings. I turn slightly in

Trevor’s direction, creasing my lips politely.

“For a shoot, yes.” I toy with the clamp on my clutch resting on the table. “And

my friend Ardis married a prince over there. I like to visit her every once in a while.”

“A real live prince, huh?” He teases me with a quirk of those full lips.

“Don’t be too impressed.” I lean a few inches closer to him and lower my

voice. “He’s a prince in name only.”

“If he’s a prince in name only, what does that make him in deed?”

I can’t hold onto the humor when I recall the bruises shackling Ardis’ throat

and wrists, or the black and blue mark on her cheek like a brand. I refocus my eyes

and sober my mouth.

“A frog.”

“I thought you ladies kissed all the frogs to find the prince.”

“It happens that way in fairy tales, not in Manhattan.” I sip my champagne.

“Or in Dubai, apparently.”

“So that accounts for your tan.” His dark eyes make a slow, thorough

inspection of my features.

“Hmmm. What accounts for yours?” I toss a skein of silvery blonde hair back

so he gets an eyeful of the bare line of my neck and shoulder. His eyes move down

my neck, warming the skin like a touch, before he looks back into my eyes.

“Haiti.” He laughs a little, lounges back in his chair and links long fingers

across a flat stomach I imagine is corded with muscle. “Well, and my father is

Lumbee, so some of my tan’s natural.”

“Lum what?”

He laughs again, his teeth white against his skin. I really like that it’s because

of something I said.

“Lumbee Indian, a tribe found mostly in Lumberton, North Carolina.”

“So your mother’s responsible for the red hair?”

“She is.” He brushes a hand over his neat hair, disrupting it into a coppery

spill on his forehead. “I was spared the freckles, though.”

“I’m sure there’s one or two.”

His eyes are suddenly hot chocolate, heating up a little as they hold mine.

“You’re welcome to try to find them.”

a1090060-d8b2-4854-8b3c-029321e19c08

 

 

About Kennedy Ryan

I’m a wife, a mom, a writer, an advocate for families living with autism. That’s me in a nutshell. Crack the nut, and you’ll find a Southern girl gone Southern California who loves pizza and Diet Coke, and wishes she got to watch a lot more television. You can usually catch me up too late, on social media too much, or FINALLY putting a dent in my ever-growing To Be Read list!

Kennedy Ryan FB Group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/681604768593989/

Facebook / AmazonTwitter/Newsletter / Goodreads / Instagram

 

 

 

 

 

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s