Last
First Kiss
Brightwater Series Book #1
By: Lia Riley
Releasing June 23rd, 2015
Avon
Romance
New to Avon author Lia Riley makes a
splash with her first sexy, hilarious book in the sizzling Brightwater series!
A
kiss is just the beginning…
Pinterest
Perfect. Or so Annie Carson’s life appears on her popular blog. Reality is...
messier. Especially when it lands her back in one-cow town, Brightwater,
California, and back in the path of the gorgeous six-foot-four reason she left.
Sawyer Kane may fill out those wranglers, but she won’t be distracted from her
task. Annie just needs the summer to spruce up and sell her family’s farm so
she and her young son can start a new life in the big city. Simple, easy,
perfect.
Sawyer
has always regretted letting the first girl he loved slip away. He won’t make
the same mistake twice, but can he convince beautiful, wary Annie to trust her
heart again when she’s been given every reason not to? And as a single kiss
turns to so much more, can Annie give up her idea of perfect for a forever
that’s blissfully real.
Link
to Follow Tour: http://www.tastybooktours.com/2015/06/last-first-kiss-brightwater-series-book.html
Goodreads
Link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23507376-last-first-kiss
Goodreads Series Link: https://www.goodreads.com/series/141818-brightwater
The next knock
rattled the front door’s hinges; whoever was out there meant business. Annie sneezed before drawing a
shaky breath. Drinking wasn’t a personal forte, but chamomile tea didn’t do
much to blunt the first-night-back-in-my-one-cow-hometown blues, even with
extra honey.
Maybe if she took her time,
whoever was out there would go away.
She closed her laptop’s lid,
stood, and walked to the sink, setting the tumbler under the leaky tap. Water
drip, drip, dripped into the brown dregs. Dad’s radio above the fridge, tuned
to a Fresno classical station, piped in Mozart’s requiem on the scratchy
speakers, hopefully due to coincidence rather than cosmic foreshadowing.
More knocking.
This could very well be an
innocent mistake. Someone had confused directions, taken a wrong turn, driven
up a quarter-mile driveway to an out-of-the-way farmhouse . . . to where she
sat wearing a Kiss Me, I’m Scottish
apron with a sleeping five-year-old upstairs.
She hadn’t missed Gregor in
months. Her ex-husband might be a metrosexual philosophy professor, but at
least he stood higher than five feet in socks. Why, oh, why had she enrolled in
yoga instead of kickboxing last summer in Portland? No way would a sun
salutation cut the mustard against a crazy-eyed bunny boiler. An alarmed buzz
replaced the hollow feeling in her chest. Brightwater was a sleepy, safe
backwater. Had it grown more dangerous since she tore out of here on her
eighteenth birthday? Meth labs? Cattle thieves? Area 51 wasn’t too far away, so
throw in possible alien abduction?
Well, she was alone now and would
have to deal with whatever came.
As a rule, killers and extraterrestrials
didn’t announce themselves at the front door. Still, this was no time to start
taking chances. She grabbed her father’s single-malt by the neck and padded
into the living room. The change from bright kitchen to gloom skewed her vision
as blood shunted to her legs. Shadows clung to the beamed ceiling and brick
fireplace. If the rocking chair in the corner moved, she’d pee her pants. That
old gooseneck rocker starred in more than a few of her childhood
nightmares—ever since her sister had mentioned that Great-Grandma Carson had
died in it.
“Hello?” she called, her voice
calm—but, darn, an octave too high. “Who’s there?”
Silence.
The door didn’t have a peephole.
This was the Eastern Sierras, a place where shopkeepers left signs taped to
their unlocked front doors saying “Went to the bank, back in five minutes.”
Think!
Think! What’s the game plan?
Retreat—not a choice. But more
whisky was definitely a viable option. She opened the bottle, and the gulp
seared her throat. At least the burn helped dissipate the cold fear knotting
her stomach. She pressed her lips together while screwing the cap back on. Here goes nothing. Brandishing the
bottle like a club, she flung open the door.
A light breeze blew across her
face, cool despite the fact it was early July. Five Diamonds Farm sat at four
thousand feet in elevation. She glanced around the porch. Empty. Unable to
stand the suspense, she stepped forward, her bare toes grazing warm ceramic. A
baking dish sat on the mat. Annie knit her brow and crouched—a neighborly
casserole delivery? At this hour? Fat chance, but one could hope. She removed
the lid, and an invisible fist squeezed her sternum.
If hope
was a thing with feathers, all she had was chicken potpie.
Literally.
Caught
your hen in my tomatoes.
Chicken
#2 will be nuggets.
Welcome home.
Lia Riley writes offbeat New Adult and Contemporary
Adult romance. After studying at the University of Montana-Missoula, she
scoured the world armed only with a backpack, overconfidence and a terrible
sense of direction. She counts shooting vodka with a Ukranian mechanic in
Antarctica, sipping yerba mate with gauchos in Chile and swilling XXXX with
stationhands in Outback Australia among her accomplishments.
A British
literature fanatic at heart, Lia considers Mr. Darcy and Edward Rochester as
her fictional boyfriends. Her very patient husband doesn't mind. Much. When not
torturing heroes (because c'mon, who doesn't love a good tortured hero?), Lia
herds unruly chickens, camps, beach combs, daydreams about future books, wades
through a mile-high TBR pile and schemes yet another trip. Right now, Icelandic
hot springs and Scottish castles sound mighty fine.
Rafflecopter Giveaway ($25.00 Amazon
or B&N eGift Card)
Thank you for hosting
ReplyDelete