Friday, April 20, 2018

Pretending He's Mine: Review, excerpt, giveaway @MiaSosaRomance @AvonBooks @puretextuality




 
 
 

Mia Sosa returns with another fun, flirty romance in her critically-acclaimed Love on Cue series!
For Hollywood agent Julian Hart, representing his best friend—megastar Carter Williamson—means it’s nearly impossible to keep his personal life and career separate. To make matters worse, Carter’s younger sister has been starring in Julian’s wildest fantasies more often than he’d care to admit. He knows she’s off-limits, but when Ashley shows up on his doorstep, needing a place to crash… suddenly his greatest temptation is sleeping down the hall.
Free-spirited Ashley Williamson doesn’t do commitment. Jobs, apartments, men… why let herself be tied down? But she’s had a crush on her older brother’s best friend for years and she’s committed to making Julian want her, one towel-clad midnight encounter at a time. But just as things start heating up, their steamy flirtation is interrupted by Carter’s east coast wedding. Ashley has no desire to go home and face her reputation as the family disappointment. But living with—dare she say dating?—a successful, sexy film agent could give them something else to talk about.
Julian can’t believe he agreed to fake a relationship with the one woman he can never have. And it’s going to take more than a little willpower to remember it’s all pretend. Or is it?

Review

It doesn’t get better than this book. I’ve been aware of Mia Sosa for awhile, but I can’t say I’ve read her – until now. When the tour materials came through for Pretending He’s Mine, and I had three weeks off from teaching, I found the perfect treat.

Pretending He’s Mine pairs a crush on a brother’s best friend with a pretend relationship that goes oh-so-wrong from the beginning. Sosa’s writing adds a fresh, addicting twist.

The opening line hooked me instantly, and the story had me laughing throughout. While Ashley Williamson is figuring out her life, she crashes at the home of long-time friend Julian Hart. Ashley may have a bit of another motive – seducing the guy she’s wanted for oh-so long!

The setup makes for some hilarious interaction, and Sosa captures the mindset of Julian well. As an entertainment agent, Julian represents Ashley’s superstar brother, and while he’s used to negotiating deals, he doesn’t like to give on the home front:   

“This is my domain, though, and going commando is nonnegotiable. If a man can’t let his balls hang free in his own home, then it’s no longer his sanctuary.”

The sexual tension is hot and heavy, and pays off well. Ashley and Julian may be searching for something more in their lives, but together, they find themselves.

Finally, the best thing – for me – when finishing Pretending He’s Mine: There’s a first book in this series, Acting on Impulse, that’s next on my list, and from the end … there’s another one on the way. I’ve found another must-read author.

So what are you reading this weekend?    

About the Book

Pretending He’s Mine
by Mia Sosa
Series
Love On Cue (Each book is a standalone.)
Genre
Adult
Contemporary Romance
Publisher
Avon Impulse
Publication Date
April 10, 2018
Amazon  |  Avon Romance  |  Barnes & Noble  |  Google Play  |  iBooks

PRETENDING HE’S MINE by Mia SosaFrom Chapter Seven
The next morning, my doubts return, and I chuckle at my naïveté. Because why, oh why is the simple act of making breakfast together a challenge, too?
It’s not my fault, really. Several factors are conspiring against me.
The first? Biceps porn. Holy shit, it’s a thing. When he lifts the pan from the stove, his biceps flex like thick rubber bands. If he were to hold himself above me during sex, I’d see them at close range. Up, down, swivel, and repeat.
The second factor? That apron looks fucking glorious on him. The strings are tied snugly around his trim waist, which emphasizes the nearly perfect V formed by his broad chest and shoulders. Damn, it’s hot as hell in here. I fan myself, but it doesn’t help. So when I’m sure he’s not looking, I grab the mister off the counter and spritz my face.
He catches the sound, though, and draws back. “Jesus. Did you just spray yourself with that?”
“Yeah. Why?” I pull on the collar of my T-shirt to let in some air.
He snickers, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Ashley, that’s olive oil. You need to wipe that off.”
Great. My cheeks are on fire, and now that there’s oil on them, I just might be the first human cooking surface in existence. Swallow me whole, Mother Earth.
Shaking his head at my gaffe, he preps the waffle mix while I use a paper towel to clean myself. I should use a cleanser or something, but I don’t want to miss the biceps porn—or the apron porn for that matter. Besides, olive oil must be good for the skin.
“No blueberries, right?” he asks.
“You remember.”
“Yeah. And I remember you love strawberries, but I’m not putting them in my waffle maker. I’ll toss them on top.”
“Fine with me.”
I squeeze my fists at my sides when I discover there’s more porn. Whisk porn. He’s got a mixing bowl in one hand and a whisk in the other, and he’s beating that waffle mix like he’s its daddy.
He looks up and finds me staring at him. “Everything okay?”
I nod like a human bobblehead. “Mm-hmm.”
He transfers the mix to a measuring cup and pours the batter into the waffle maker. Then he flips it over. Oooh, it’s a double waffle maker. Fancy. Unaware that he’s the new host of my personal cooking show on the Julian Channel, he bends at the waist and wipes the metal plate with a kitchen towel, giving me a DVR-worthy view of his butt. His Nielsen ratings would go into the stratosphere every time he made that move.
“Can you wash the strawberries?” he asks.
Sure, no problem. That ass is going to get someone arrested one day.
“Ash?”
Julian’s voice snatches me out of my happy place. “What?”
“The strawberries. Can you wash them?”
I shake my head and push out my lower lip. “Didn’t you hear me? I said, ‘Sure, no problem.’ ”
He laughs. “In your mind, maybe, but not out loud.”
“Sorry. Watching you cook requires my full attention. You’re so precise, and there are so many steps.” I retrieve the strawberries from the fridge and rinse them in the sink. How do I get these thoughts out of my head? What can I do to stop myself from wanting him? I should probably confiscate his apron. That would be a good place to start.
Beside me, Julian wipes down the counter. When he’s done, he bumps me with his hip and reaches for a clean strawberry, breaching my personal space to get to it. I try to bump him back, but he blocks me with his body, lifts the fruit over his head, and drops everything except the crown into his mouth.
The moment he bites into it, I sway on my feet. When he slides his tongue over his bottom lip to catch the juices, I swoon. Screw you, Julian. Screw you. But not really. What I really mean is, screw me, Julian. screw me.

From PRETENDING HE’S MINE. Used with permission of Avon Impulse. Copyright © 2018 by Mia Sosa.

Tour Wide Giveaway

To celebrate the release of PRETENDING HE’S MINE, we’re giving away three paperback copies of ACTING ON IMPULSE by Mia Sosa!

GIVEAWAY TERMS & CONDITIONS:  Open to US shipping addresses only. Three winners will each receive a paperback copy of Acting On Impulse by Mia Sosa.  This giveaway is administered by Pure Textuality PR on behalf of Avon Romance.  Giveaway ends 4/21/2018 @ 11:59pm EST. Avon Romance will send the winning copies out to the winner directly. Limit one entry per reader and mailing address.  Duplicates will be deleted.  CLICK HERE TO ENTER!
About Mia Sosa
Mia Sosa was born and raised in New York City. She attended the University of Pennsylvania, where she earned her bachelor’s degree in Communications and met her own romance hero (spoiler alert: she married him). Mia once dreamed of being a professional singer, but practical considerations (read: the need to generate income) led her to take the law school admissions test instead.

A graduate of Yale Law School, Mia practiced First Amendment and media law in the nation’s capital for ten years before returning to her creative roots. Now she spends most of her days writing contemporary romances about smart women and the complicated men who love them. Mia lives in Maryland with her husband and two daughters and will forever be on the hunt for the perfect karaoke bar.

Mia’s Links

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Wednesday, April 18, 2018

KISS ME, BITE ME by @SayaraStClair

She’s a scientist at a blood bank. He’s a newbie vampire with control issues. Is theirs a match made in heaven? Or hell?


KISS ME, BITE ME
(Blood Kissed, Book 1)
By Sayara St. Clair

I’d learned early on in life not to show weakness. Like messy emotions. Shedding tears in front of my family had a similar outcome to busting out of a shark cage wearing blood cologne.

The world hasn’t treated Kayana Castello Branco particularly kindly. So it’s no surprise to her when she literally bumps into her soul mate, only to find he’s already taken. He’s gorgeous, strong, smart, kind—every woman’s ideal guy. Of course he’s unavailable for soul-matey business.

When fate shows pity, putting Greg Morgan in her path a second time, the resulting collision is colossal. Their connection is epic, the stuff of romantic legends, fairy tales, sonnets. They’re like Romeo and Juliet (only, the R-rated version).

But something has happened to Greg. Now, every time he gets near Ana, he gets long and hard…and pointy in the fang area. He doesn’t know whether he wants to kiss her, lick her, do-that-thing-that-rhymes-with-duck her. Or bite and deprive her of every last molecule of haemoglobin.

Loving a newbie vampire with control issues really and truly sucks.

Excerpt:

When I reached Dean’s Coffee House, I was relieved to see my usual table in the back was the only one not taken in the otherwise crowded café. I rushed in before anyone nabbed my spot, sat down, and was busy rifling around in my bag, trying to get my hands on my book, when I felt someone standing beside my table.
I saw a pair of long legs clad in worn jeans. I looked up farther to see a muscular chest, broad, broad shoulders and bulging biceps that strained against a fitted grey T-shirt. This guy was a big, big bastard. I started to feel a little shaky and was almost too nervous to look at his face. Swallowing hard, forcing myself to do it, I looked up, way up, until I met his gaze. And was confronted by the most amazing deep green eyes I had ever seen in my entire life.
Or rather, that I’d seen once before in my entire life.
Holy. Freaking. Mother. Of. God!
Seemed like suddenly my physiological systems went all out of whack. I couldn’t breathe right and my heart took off with a rhythm like a white boy dancing.
Did Tall Dark and About To Give Me a Heart Attack remember me? Probably not. Perhaps he made a habit of grabbing girls in corridors all the time. Oh, plus I’m not six feet tall. Or blonde. Or a model. My nips went hard, though, at the sight of him. And since he must be attracted to hard N.I.Ps… But then, he didn’t even know I’d named his lover Nordic Ice Princess, a.k.a. N.I.P., so he wouldn’t get the connection—
‘Um, since you’re sitting in my chair,’ he began in that deep voice I remembered so well—the one that haunted my dreams. ‘I mean, my favourite chair,’ he amended, ‘the one I sit in every Saturday morning. And since all the other tables are taken, I was wondering if you’d be prepared to share?’
I blinked at him in utter disbelief. And had the urge to start screaming obscenities. His ass—his perfect, gorgeous ass—had been warming my chair on Saturdays, while my stupid ass had been sitting at home?
Well, fuck a goddamn duck!
I sat there gaping at him, unable to formulate a response. Attempting to calm myself, I tried some deep breathing, soon realizing it would take way more than a few ins and outs of my breath to regain my equanimity.
I heard chairs scraping the floor and my gaze flicked to the adjacent table, where the couple was leaving. The attention of the man who was waiting to share my table, however, didn’t waver. He stared into my eyes with such intensity it was as though he were willing me to comply by the sheer magnetic pull of his eyeballs. Lucky for him, he ignored the fact that there was now a free table. Because after all this time, if he went and sat somewhere else, I think I’d pick up a chair and brain him with it.
Apart from this strange potential for violence, I felt all teenage-crush fluttery. Be cool. Just be cool. It’s entirely likely he doesn’t even remember you.
I inhaled one last big breath—an attempt to suck up some nonchalance along with my oxygen. ‘So what—you think I’m like, Goldilocks perhaps, sitting in your chair?’  Ah, my level of nonchalance was awesome.
He bit the inside of his cheek and looked at me for a handful of seconds. ‘Yes, I think so.’
‘And if I’m Goldilocks, then I guess you must be…Papa bear?’
‘I might just be.’
‘Well, you’re certainly big enough…to be a bear.’ My voice did not waver. No sir, it did not.
‘I am indeed.’ He gave me a closed-lipped grin. And oh my hell, just kill me now, dimples appeared in his cheeks when he did it.
‘Problem with this scenario,’ I paused to tug at one of my own very un-goldy locks, ‘wrong hair colour.’
He eyeballed my long dark locks appraisingly, which caused a slight shiver to run through me. ‘No, not at all. Actually, your hair is…just…right.’ He said the last two words slowly, for emphasis.
I clamped my hand over my mouth so I wouldn’t laugh outright. After a few moments of us both pretending I wasn’t smiling behind my hand, I said, ‘Well, I’ll have you know, this happens to be my chair Monday to Friday.’ I watched his eyebrows as they took a trip towards his hairline. ‘But since it’s Saturday, and it’s usually your chair on Saturdays, I guess we can share. The table, I mean. You can sit over there,’ I said, pointing to the chair across from me. ‘I don’t think you’ll fit on this chair with me. Besides, I’ve already broken one of the chairs in your little cottage in the woods.’
‘There are a couple of ways we could both fit on that chair,’ he answered, now sporting the most beautiful, devious grin. ‘But maybe I’ll sit here for now and…we’ll see.’





If someone told a young Sayara St. Clair that one day she would be an erotic/paranormal-romance-writing Aussie expat living in Thailand, she would have snort-laughed and yelled, “You. Be. Crazy!”
If someone told her the same thing now, she would not yell, only nod solemnly. Because that actually happened.

Sayara has a science degree, with majors in both microbiology and biochemistry. Working in the fields of serology and tissue banking, she got to do lots of cool and sometimes slightly weird stuff. She was employed as the manager/buyer for furniture retail stores, where she had a chance to unleash her inner interior decorator. (Interior design is one of her great passions.) And for a time, she taught English to students in Asia. (Hanging about in a roomful of extremely loud, pint-sized humans is not one of her great passions.) She has written: ads for TV, print and radio; real estate brochures; website copy; and a screenplay. Now she’s writing fiction and has discovered it’s her favorite thing to do. She’s also learned that writing sultry romances is so much more fun than writing dry old scientific journal articles. No one has sex in scientific journal articles. Not the ones she wrote anyway.

When not writing, she may be most commonly found in a horizontal position reading, in the kitchen baking, in the garden planting, or somewhere else singing at the top of her lungs. She loves music and is prone to spontaneous bouts of dancing.

With regards to vampires and chocolate: she bites one on a daily basis and has had a lifelong obsession with the other. And she’s not telling which one’s which.



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