Genre: New Adult Romance
~Blurb~
He's hot, blue-eyed and butt naked.Did I mention he's naked? And I've never seen the guy before in my life! So why is he doing the backstroke in my neighbor's pool?
Myles Bellamy may be a walking wet dream, but turns out he's got the temperament of a bull shark. And yet every time I clash with the new next-door Neanderthal, I find myself fantasizing about all the dirty things he could do to me. Really dumb on my part, considering the timing...
She's certifiably nuts.
I'm not kidding. That chick is wonkier than Willy’s chocolate factory. Between her head-banging music, smoke alarms going off during séances and the dog I'm pretty sure she trained to crap on my lawn, I'm about ready to give Leah Whitfield a piece of my mind. Or better yet, a piece of me. Because every time I catch her sunbathing in that barely-there bikini, my resolve turns to dust.
And her excuse for turning me down? Her birthday's coming up. According to Leah’s weird and warped logic, that day is supposedly cursed.
See what I mean? I can't even...
~Book Review~
5 Stars
Leah Whitfield, 23,
is a mostly care-free spirit except when it comes to one day out of the year. And
that day is looming very soon. But in the meantime, she’s distracted by the man
next door, Myles “Hung-like-a-Russian-Racehorse” Bellamy, 26.
“Oh long Johnson, is he ever hot!”
I’d have to agree
with Leah on that sentiment. While at first he comes off as a little cranky, Myles
is actually quite the prince. In the sea of manwhore billionaires and sport
star romantic heroes, Myles is refreshing as simply an average guy (and *happy
dance* not a manwhore), not looking for love, who happens to find it in his own
backyard.
“‘If you’re wearing anything more than Chapstick, then you’re way overdressed for this party.’”
Leah is spunky and
she holds her own when it comes to verbally sparring with Myles.
“‘Well, butter my
biscuit! Did the jolly green jackass actually just pay me a compliment?’”
While on the surface she
appears flighty, Leah’s actually quite perceptive. But then I probably already knew that. It
turns out, I’ve met Leah before…
Having thoroughly
enjoyed The Firefly Effect, I was
delighted when I saw the author was releasing a new book, and it sounded just as
cute and funny so I signed up for Breaking
The Seventh without even realizing that Leah was Shane’s step-sister who I’d
hoped would get her own book. So I was quite delighted when I made the
connection. And while you don’t have to read The Firefly Effect (but I recommend it for a fun and sexy read) to
follow this one, it was nice to see Shane and Melanie make an appearance.
But back to Leah and
Myles… they have lots of witty dialogue and the writing (told via their dual
first person POV) is entertaining throughout.
“‘Figured maybe you were here for a bedtime story…’‘Hey, I like stories. Do you know any?’‘The ones I know would keep you up all night, little girl.’”
Their chemistry is
apparent through their banter and while their sexual encounters are a slow burn
in the making, the sexual tension is always simmering through the page. And
when it comes to the action, Myles delivers in the dirty talking alpha
department.
“‘I have a twelve-pack of condoms inside with your name written all over each and every one of them. And I have no intention of letting you go until that box and I are both empty.’”
I most definitely recommend
it to romantic readers looking for a lighted-hearted, low angst, safe, and fun
read where love and laughs are in the journey of getting to know one another. I
sure hope to see more like it, and particularly that the two other Bellamy brothers
get their own books.
Keep reading for a special feature on Myles!
Book Boyfriend Data Sheet
Age: 26
Birthday: 🎂 May 7th ♉
Birthplace: 🌎 Crestview, Florida
Measurements 📏
Height: 6'4"
Weight: 215 lbs.
Length: You wouldn't believe me if I told you
Girth: Let's just say I'm quite a mouthful
Turn-ons: 👍Little white bikinis
Turn-offs: 👎People who prefer to stay glued to their cell phone rather than have an actual face-to-face conversation
Guilty Pleasures: 🏊 Swimming au naturel with Leah Whitfield
Least favorite article of clothing: Underwear. Oh, wait - did you mean one of my articles of clothing? Nope, still have to say underwear.
A website I always visit: 💻 SitePoint - has lots of useful information for web developers
Lucky number: 7 (Ironic, ain't it?)
Best meal I ever ate: 🍴 Is this a trick question? Just to play it safe, I think I better go with bacon wrapped scallops from Sunset Island Grill. And dark chocolate raspberry cake for dessert.
Famous celebrity I’d most like to meet: Clint Eastwood
Favorite Books: 📚 Anything by Brian Lumley Movies: 🎥 Old westerns, sci-fi, action flicks like Die Hard TV shows: 📺 Comedy sitcoms (Everybody Loves Raymond is my all-time favorite) or classics like Wagon Train and The Twilight Zone
A big thanks to Allie Gail for making Myles available for this interview feature!
Born and raised in rural Alabama, Allie currently resides in the panhandle of Florida with her schmexy blue-eyed hubby, where they are currently being held hostage by a crabby gray entity disguised as a cat. (If you’re reading this – send help! Oh, and tuna. Send lots of tuna.) Always an obsessive reader, she took to her keyboard on a whim back in 2012 and hasn’t stopped pecking away since. Romance is her genre of choice, though she does harbor a soft spot for paranormal.
When she isn’t busy obsessing over the lexicon of her latest project, Allie can usually be found snuggled up to her hubby watching cheesy B-movie horror, helping out with the family business or playing online RPG games while indulging her hopeless addiction to Tootsie Rolls.
In other words, she’s a total nerd.
Don’t fault her that, though. Her paladin will someday save the world. Or at the very least, have an awesome set of matching plate armor.
~Excerpt~
Without taking my eyes off the V between her thighs, I squeeze some more sunscreen into my hand and start on the other leg.
“You’re wasting your time, you know,” she murmurs.
“How so?”
“You aren’t getting into my pants, Mr. Bellamy.”
“You aren’t wearing any pants, buttercup.”
“Well, then. I was right, wasn’t I?”
Sometimes this girl is really hard to interpret.
No. Scratch sometimes. I can never figure out what she’s trying to say!
“Speaking of which – did you happen to bring over my clothes?”
“No.” My fingers wander dangerously close to the tempting hollow between her inner thigh and the edge of her swimsuit. “I left them in the dryer.”
“The dryer? What, you washed them?”
“Yes.”
“Oka-ay…that was nice of you, but you really didn’t have to do that. I had just put them on. They weren’t dirty.”
“They were when I got done with them.”
It’s all I can do to keep a straight face when her lips part in astonishment. “Come again?”
“And again,” I confess softly, a devious smile unfurling across my face.
Pushing the sunglasses up, she stares at me wide-eyed. “You didn’t.”
“I did.”
“You’re lying.”
“Am I?”
“Myles.” She gives me a slight shake of her head, as if trying to determine whether or not I’m putting her on. “What…um, exactly what did you do?”
“Well, let’s see now. There are a number of subtle illustrations I could use to describe what transpired last night. Sanding wood…debugging the hard drive…applying the hand brakes…taking a load off…”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Liquidating the inventory…”
“You cannot be serious.”
“Straining the main vein…”
“Myles!” She’s laughing now, but somehow I manage to maintain a straight face. I’ll leave it to her to decide whether or not I’m joking.
I’m not, of course.
And I’m not the least bit repentant of the fact that after she waltzed her bare ass off my property last night, I took those lacy red panties inside, wrapped them around the hard-on she produced and jacked off all over them.
I’ve decided I may just keep them.
“Did you really?” She gazes at me speculatively, and I detect a distinct flicker of interest in her eyes.
I merely smile while sliding an erroneous finger along her bikini line. By now her thighs are well oiled and I am aching – fucking aching – to slip my hand inside the swimsuit and make sure every inch of her is covered in a sheen of Hawaiian Tropic.
She tries to keep her voice neutral, but I can hear the slight catch in it when she tells me, “You're pushing your luck there, Sparky.”
Maybe so, but I notice she hasn't made a move to push my hand away.
“Are you gonna try and tell me you don’t hitchhike to heaven every now and then?” I prod her teasingly.
“Quite the wordsmith of pocket pinball, aren’t you?”
“I have my moments.”
“So do I. And if you really must know, I had quite the moment last night.”
“Is that right?”
“Twice, actually.”
“You don’t say.” I continue massaging her thigh, letting my index finger run along the perimeter of her bikini bottom. Almost, almost sliding underneath the fabric. Close, but not quite. “Something in particular get you all hot and bothered?”
The look she gives me is one of dewy-eyed innocence. “No more than usual. I hitchhike to heaven, as you put it, on a pretty regular basis.”
I am never going to make it to Pensacola on time.
“Dealing with a little sexual frustration, are we?” I may as well include myself in this. After all, the thought of what she would look like in the throes of a self-imposed orgasm is bringing about the most agonizing case of blue balls I’ve ever experienced.
Unable to resist, I allow my errant hand to test her boundaries a little further.
Wandering just beneath the edge of her swimsuit, I brush a fingertip lightly against the soft, delicate folds hidden beneath. Her breath hitches, eyelashes fluttering for the briefest of moments. It’s probably a good thing I’m wearing constrictive jeans – otherwise I’d be pitching one hell of an impressive tent right about now.
“You tell me. I’m not the one with the raging boner, am I?” Her gaze drops to the obvious bulge in my pants before sweeping back up to eye me with a smirk.
“Maybe not…” Leaning in closer to her, I lower my voice to a whisper. “…but I’d bet the whole fucking farm that if I moved my fingers just a fraction of an inch, they’d find one very wet and willing feline.”
Smiling sweetly, she whispers back, “As far as I know, you don’t own a farm. So if you want to keep those fingers attached to your hand, then I would suggest you take them out of my bathing suit right now, Mr. Bellamy.”
Thanks so much for hosting me! :)
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