Happy First Day of (Unofficial) Summer SALE!
Welcome to Summer! Well, sort of, I guess if you aren't a Druid.
I am celebrating but YOU reap the rewards.
My publisher and I are doing a serious price slash on 3 of Liz's Favorite Books through July.
When I started pondering my "favorites" I had to first name PARADISE HOPS. This is a book that sort of appeared to me in a vision, started out one thing and became something else completely. It was flat out rejected by an existing publisher but welcomed by Tri-Destiny, my publisher of choice "as is" as in "write it the way you want, we'll edit it and publish the story the way it's meant to be told."
Blurb:
soon, she might just explode with lust. For now, Grace would settle for his body, his lips, tongue, hands and that cock throbbing against her. But later she knew she'd want more.
ONLY $1.99 THRU JULY!
Amazon
B&N
ARe
Finally, without a doubt, one of my favorite books ever, that I've written and read (yes I can say that) is ESSENCE OF TIME. This book is also a menage but one "of convenience" at first as 2 men who love each other and want a family hire a woman to carry their child. But this book is part of the larger story arc of the STEWART REALTY SERIES, a top selling, award winning set of books that currently has 7 novels available, with a prequel coming in June and the final novel slated for November release with a Barnes and Noble Ann Arbor book signing 11/16/13.
When, as an author, you decide to exert your power to play God, as it were, with your characters it is a very tough moment. When Hans, my well known six-foot-five-inch blond-haired, blue-eyed muse revealed the ending of this book to me it took me several days to come to terms with its reality. However, I think it worked out because it is a book that has brought new readers into the Stewart Realty fold AND has won several awards, including several readers' choice "votes" AND a national E-Lit Book Award for Erotic Fiction.
While part of the series, it is structured as a stand alone as well, and as intro to the series. BUT reading it first may spoil a few things for you.
Blurb:
For years, Rob Frietag has resisted anything resembling a true emotional connection, preferring instead to explore life, and his own desires, without committing to anyone for very long. The reason remains known only to a few, among them Jack Gordon, his college cohort in female conquests, and life-long friend. At thirty-seven, while he is close to achieving his career goal, head chef at a five-star restaurant in Chicago, he is still very much alone.
After an intensely emotional relationship with Suzanne Baxter in Ann Arbor, Blake's heart is left shattered. Completely broken by what he believes was his one true love, he arrives at a Chicago food and beer festival, prepared to drink his sorrow away. When the two men meet, their lives change forever. But time is of the essence. When Rob acknowledges his true feelings, he will stop at nothing to keep them together, including finding a surrogate mother for the child Blake so desperately wants.
Lila Warren is recovering from a nasty divorce, needs cash and believes carrying their baby will fulfill her in ways marriage never did. None of them could suspect that the connection they share would provide the final emotional key to their life-long puzzle.
When Rob’s secret is revealed, time becomes the one luxury they don't have, setting in motion a chain of events that destroys the fragile illusion of happiness for them, and everyone who loves them.
Excerpt:
Blake took a long breath. The day had been a blur of what he kept excusing as hangover recovery but was really more like “holy shit I gotta see that guy again-itis.” His his head pounded, and he kept looking up from either his tasting tables or their company’s booth hoping to catch sight of those chocolate brown eyes, that amazing shock of white blond hair. Rob. He shivered. By six o’clock however, exhaustion stole over him and with it came despair. The sadness born of loss that he’d been clutching close for so long. But for some reason, it was not as acute as usual and when his phone buzzed with a text, he knew it had to be. Rob: “Hey. You ok?” Blake started to type a reply, then smiled at the next message. “Oh, Rob here btw.” “Whew. Thought it might be my other stalker.” “Very funny.” He got no reply, and the tension nearly killed him. After six long hours of standing, talking, tasting, explaining, talking and explaining some more, his feet and throat ached. He shifted from foot to foot, keeping an eye on his phone. Realizing that for the first time in months he wasn’t obsessively checking for a message from Suzanne, but from Rob, he smiled at himself. “She must have been hot stuff boss,” Cal handed him a cup of a stout from the next table over. Blake set it down. He was still weak in the stomach from yesterday’s over indulgence. “What? Oh, yeah, it was, ah, intense.” He put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “You know me, got one in every port.” “I’ll tell ya Blake, that may not be true but we are all relieved you are getting over Suzanne. That whole thing,” he made a circling motion with his finger. “Muy caliente and muy loco. You’re better off without her.” Blake shot him a look and the guy had the good sense to blush and look away. “She is a fine woman, Blake. But too many issues. You’re a young man, with lots of good years ahead of you…” “I get you,” Blake muttered, squinting into the later afternoon sunlight, a sudden tightening in his chest at the realization that his relationship with Suzanne was fodder for company discussion. His phone buzzed and he grinned as he saw the message from Rob: “I’m done here. Heading to the market, then home. Will make dinner. Remember, I am not doing this to impress you. But would welcome your company. You know the address.” He typed out a quick reply: “I don’t impress easily. And am starving. Will see you in about an hour.” He stared at the screen a minute longer, then typed one more word: “Thanks.” The reply came back fast: “What was I going to do? Leave you lying in your own puke on the street? Give me some credit.” Blake smiled as he tapped his reply. “I do. Although I did think you could have been a serial killer, preying on young drunk men.” “For all you know, I still am. Maybe I like to play with my food before I eat it.” Rob shot back. “Well, if your play continues as it started I shall die a happy man.” “Then get your ass over here. Soon.” It took a couple of hours to wrap everything up and break free. By the time they had the bar broken down and loaded into the trailer, Blake was surprised to find himself antsy with anticipation of Rob—his lips, hands, and more. The guy was funny, hotter than any many had a right to be, and Blake couldn’t wait to get back to him. He knew his heart was seeking something to fill the black hole Suzanne had left there, but he’d have that discussion with Rob again, tonight. No relationships. Just some seriously hot sex, and a lot of good food—the guy was a French-trained chef after all. He smiled, waved at the crew from Big House and climbed into his truck, headed in the opposite direction of Ann Arbor. Before he knew it he stood at the door as mouthwatering smells drifted past him. Garlic, oil, something tangy, all reminded him he had not really eaten much that day. Rob’s advice about finding the breadiest possible food had been well taken, but the reality of an event like today's meant little time to yourself, and certainly not much to eat. His body pulsed like one huge, exposed nerve ending. And he wasn’t positive which urge was the strongest, to eat or to fuck. The door swung open and Rob stood, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, the delicious odors following him, spatula in one hand. Blake took a breath, “Hi.” He barely managed even that. The vision before him was one of tall, male, blond perfection and Blake had to bite his tongue to avoid begging him for a kiss. Instead, he followed him into the kitchen, accepted a glass of rich red wine and leaned against the counter. Alt rock flowed around them from unseen speakers. The sounds of a busy Chicago street filled in around the edges. Blake had a split second of sheer joy, imagining the amazing vision of this man in the kitchen, wine, music and shared happiness on a regular basis. Oh hell, get a grip. He invited you over to fuck you, remember? At that thought, his body responded in kind and he moved closer to Rob’s tall frame hunched over a couple of large cast iron skillets. Sounds faded as he leaned in to sniff the incredible mix of fresh vegetable and what looked like scallops. “Hmm.” He reached across and stuck his finger in the mix, putting it to his lips, never taking his eyes from Rob’s. The moment spun out between them. “Needs more garlic.” Rob frowned, stuck his own finger into the perfect blend of ingredients and tasted it. Blake stepped back, then was surprised when Rob smiled, grabbed what looked to be another four or five cloves already minutely chopped beside the stove and tossed them into the pan. Blake sipped his wine and shrugged. “It really is the simplest meals, made with the fewest, freshest ingredients that are the best.” Rob’s words interrupted his mental fantasy loop of mutual nudity. “Yeah, I agree. Same with beer, frankly. All this faddish ginger root, saffron-infused, chamomile tea, Muscat-grape bullshit makes me want to hit somebody. If you can’t do something interesting with water, malt, hops and yeast, you need to find something else to do.” Rob glanced over his shoulder, making Blake shiver. He forced himself forward, plucked a plump, buttery scallop from the pan and popped it into his mouth. It coated his tongue with richness, slid down his throat with garlic infused perfection. “Needs something…” He couldn’t help himself. Ignoring Rob’s frown he opened the giant fridge and pretended to poke around seeking the perfect addition while his body cooled from the whoosh of air. Rob’s hand on his shoulder made him jump. “What about this,” Rob’s arm stretched in front of his face, reaching for something, Blake no longer cared what, as long as his amazing skin was close to his lips. He pulled back, holding a bottle of capers. “I mean,” he opened the jar, dipped in and plucked out a few of the salty tidbits and threw them into the skillet. A delicate vinegary essence underscored the symphony of odors already suffusing the air. “I think you’re right. It needed…something.” He smiled, setting the jar on the granite counter. Blake nodded sagely, as if he would have chosen that very thing. “Since you are such an expert, tell me what you think of that.” Rob pointed to a bowl of perfect-looking guacamole alongside what had to be homemade pita chips. “Where did you get it?” He teased knowing damn good and well the labor intensity behind a decent guac. “Whole Foods?” Rob scowled at him turning back to flip the scallops once more, throwing another splash of what had to be fifty dollar olive oil on the mix of rich shellfish, zucchini, sweet onion, red pepper and sun dried tomato. Blake looked around and took in the pasta press, the floured surface of a stainless steel section of countertop. “You don’t fuck around with this do you?” He dredged a crisp pita chip in the mix of avocado, and tomato, loving the explosion of flavor on his tongue. Rob poured him more wine before turning back to pull the pasta from the stove. “Check that will you? See if it’s properly al dente?” Blake nodded, rising to the challenge. He tasted, found it perfect. “You know, it probably could have used another minute or two.” He sipped and watched the blood rise in Rob’s fair cheeks. He had no idea why he felt a need to provoke but loved it. “I’m sure it will be fine.” He turned away, lest he yank the tall handsome god-like man to him and do something foolish. The table was set, with no-fuss white ceramic dishes, simple flatware and one candle. They shared a few anecdotes about random drunk idiots that peopled every decent beer festival as Blake sat on the couch and tried to summon self-control. He had no business here. The odd connection he felt with Rob was surely born of nothing but simple lust. But while his body continued to thrum with erotic anticipation of what would no doubt be an amazing lay, his heart had relaxed its tight, anxiety-ridden contraction for the first time in nearly a month. This man might be exactly what he needed, on a physical level at least, but the promise of more gave him some pause.
By the time Rob emerged from the kitchen, a bowl of the pasta tossed with the amazingly prepared simple fish, vegetables, garlic and cheese in one hand and a basket of no-doubt fresh-baked bread in the other hand, Blake had to grip his knees to keep from launching across the room at him. He stood, slowly, stretching, trying to stay non-committal and uninterested. They sat in uncomfortable silence, clinked wine glasses and sipped. Blake was relieved that Rob seemed as flustered as he was, at least for now. Once they started eating and the true supremacy of the man’s kitchens skills became apparent, Rob seemed to visibly relax. He speared a fat scallop, held it to Blake’s lips. Blake took it, bit down and let the oily, sweet, rich concoction fill all his senses once more. He shut his eyes, chewed, swallowed, then opened them. “Pretty good. But a bit over salted, wouldn’t you say?” He grinned and kept eating, breaking bread into small bits and dragging them through the garlic oil at the edges of his plate. Rob frowned, then lifted his chin, eyes narrowed. “You’re a smart ass, you know it?” “Yeah. So I’m told.” Blake ate two entire plates of the amazing stuff, and they relaxed into conversation about beer, wine, food, the restaurant business, segued into Blake’s gastro pub dream for a moment. Finally, they pushed their plates away, appetites for food sated. “So, after years of training, practice and food science I stand by the mantra: the simpler the better,” Rob declared, holding his wine glass up to the light, letting it catch the thick legginess that slid down the inside of the bowl. Blake nodded, allowed himself a small second of contact between their legs at the small table before leaning back so he could better observe the man with whom he was prepared to … “Except of course,” Rob interrupted his reverie. “When it comes to dessert.” Rob stood, put a hand on Blake’s shoulder. “Because real desserts are truly a perfection of complexity.” “Of course, there is the simple perfection of a strawberry dipped in chocolate.” Blake insisted, the contrarian in him rising to the bait. Rob chuckled, and emerged with two ramekins of crème Brule and a blowtorch. Blake grinned. “What a showoff,” he mumbled, standing and cupping a hand behind Rob’s neck. “Now kiss me before I’m intimidated by your kitchen prowess and run screaming into the night.”
NOW just $1.99 THRU JULY!Buy it:AmazonB&NARe
HAPPY READING! If you have read these already $1.99 is a GREAT way to spend a couple of bucks to "gift" a book to a reader friend to help spread the Liz Crowe word!
cheers
Liz
I am celebrating but YOU reap the rewards.
My publisher and I are doing a serious price slash on 3 of Liz's Favorite Books through July.
When I started pondering my "favorites" I had to first name PARADISE HOPS. This is a book that sort of appeared to me in a vision, started out one thing and became something else completely. It was flat out rejected by an existing publisher but welcomed by Tri-Destiny, my publisher of choice "as is" as in "write it the way you want, we'll edit it and publish the story the way it's meant to be told."
Blurb:
soon, she might just explode with lust. For now, Grace would settle for his body, his lips, tongue, hands and that cock throbbing against her. But later she knew she'd want more.
ONLY $1.99 THRU JULY!
Amazon
B&N
ARe
Finally, without a doubt, one of my favorite books ever, that I've written and read (yes I can say that) is ESSENCE OF TIME. This book is also a menage but one "of convenience" at first as 2 men who love each other and want a family hire a woman to carry their child. But this book is part of the larger story arc of the STEWART REALTY SERIES, a top selling, award winning set of books that currently has 7 novels available, with a prequel coming in June and the final novel slated for November release with a Barnes and Noble Ann Arbor book signing 11/16/13.
When, as an author, you decide to exert your power to play God, as it were, with your characters it is a very tough moment. When Hans, my well known six-foot-five-inch blond-haired, blue-eyed muse revealed the ending of this book to me it took me several days to come to terms with its reality. However, I think it worked out because it is a book that has brought new readers into the Stewart Realty fold AND has won several awards, including several readers' choice "votes" AND a national E-Lit Book Award for Erotic Fiction.
While part of the series, it is structured as a stand alone as well, and as intro to the series. BUT reading it first may spoil a few things for you.
Blurb:
For years, Rob Frietag has resisted anything resembling a true emotional connection, preferring instead to explore life, and his own desires, without committing to anyone for very long. The reason remains known only to a few, among them Jack Gordon, his college cohort in female conquests, and life-long friend. At thirty-seven, while he is close to achieving his career goal, head chef at a five-star restaurant in Chicago, he is still very much alone.
After an intensely emotional relationship with Suzanne Baxter in Ann Arbor, Blake's heart is left shattered. Completely broken by what he believes was his one true love, he arrives at a Chicago food and beer festival, prepared to drink his sorrow away. When the two men meet, their lives change forever. But time is of the essence. When Rob acknowledges his true feelings, he will stop at nothing to keep them together, including finding a surrogate mother for the child Blake so desperately wants.
Lila Warren is recovering from a nasty divorce, needs cash and believes carrying their baby will fulfill her in ways marriage never did. None of them could suspect that the connection they share would provide the final emotional key to their life-long puzzle.
When Rob’s secret is revealed, time becomes the one luxury they don't have, setting in motion a chain of events that destroys the fragile illusion of happiness for them, and everyone who loves them.
Excerpt:
Blake took a long breath. The day had been a blur of what he kept excusing as hangover recovery but was really more like “holy shit I gotta see that guy again-itis.” His his head pounded, and he kept looking up from either his tasting tables or their company’s booth hoping to catch sight of those chocolate brown eyes, that amazing shock of white blond hair. Rob. He shivered. By six o’clock however, exhaustion stole over him and with it came despair. The sadness born of loss that he’d been clutching close for so long. But for some reason, it was not as acute as usual and when his phone buzzed with a text, he knew it had to be. Rob: “Hey. You ok?” Blake started to type a reply, then smiled at the next message. “Oh, Rob here btw.” “Whew. Thought it might be my other stalker.” “Very funny.” He got no reply, and the tension nearly killed him. After six long hours of standing, talking, tasting, explaining, talking and explaining some more, his feet and throat ached. He shifted from foot to foot, keeping an eye on his phone. Realizing that for the first time in months he wasn’t obsessively checking for a message from Suzanne, but from Rob, he smiled at himself. “She must have been hot stuff boss,” Cal handed him a cup of a stout from the next table over. Blake set it down. He was still weak in the stomach from yesterday’s over indulgence. “What? Oh, yeah, it was, ah, intense.” He put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “You know me, got one in every port.” “I’ll tell ya Blake, that may not be true but we are all relieved you are getting over Suzanne. That whole thing,” he made a circling motion with his finger. “Muy caliente and muy loco. You’re better off without her.” Blake shot him a look and the guy had the good sense to blush and look away. “She is a fine woman, Blake. But too many issues. You’re a young man, with lots of good years ahead of you…” “I get you,” Blake muttered, squinting into the later afternoon sunlight, a sudden tightening in his chest at the realization that his relationship with Suzanne was fodder for company discussion. His phone buzzed and he grinned as he saw the message from Rob: “I’m done here. Heading to the market, then home. Will make dinner. Remember, I am not doing this to impress you. But would welcome your company. You know the address.” He typed out a quick reply: “I don’t impress easily. And am starving. Will see you in about an hour.” He stared at the screen a minute longer, then typed one more word: “Thanks.” The reply came back fast: “What was I going to do? Leave you lying in your own puke on the street? Give me some credit.” Blake smiled as he tapped his reply. “I do. Although I did think you could have been a serial killer, preying on young drunk men.” “For all you know, I still am. Maybe I like to play with my food before I eat it.” Rob shot back. “Well, if your play continues as it started I shall die a happy man.” “Then get your ass over here. Soon.” It took a couple of hours to wrap everything up and break free. By the time they had the bar broken down and loaded into the trailer, Blake was surprised to find himself antsy with anticipation of Rob—his lips, hands, and more. The guy was funny, hotter than any many had a right to be, and Blake couldn’t wait to get back to him. He knew his heart was seeking something to fill the black hole Suzanne had left there, but he’d have that discussion with Rob again, tonight. No relationships. Just some seriously hot sex, and a lot of good food—the guy was a French-trained chef after all. He smiled, waved at the crew from Big House and climbed into his truck, headed in the opposite direction of Ann Arbor. Before he knew it he stood at the door as mouthwatering smells drifted past him. Garlic, oil, something tangy, all reminded him he had not really eaten much that day. Rob’s advice about finding the breadiest possible food had been well taken, but the reality of an event like today's meant little time to yourself, and certainly not much to eat. His body pulsed like one huge, exposed nerve ending. And he wasn’t positive which urge was the strongest, to eat or to fuck. The door swung open and Rob stood, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, the delicious odors following him, spatula in one hand. Blake took a breath, “Hi.” He barely managed even that. The vision before him was one of tall, male, blond perfection and Blake had to bite his tongue to avoid begging him for a kiss. Instead, he followed him into the kitchen, accepted a glass of rich red wine and leaned against the counter. Alt rock flowed around them from unseen speakers. The sounds of a busy Chicago street filled in around the edges. Blake had a split second of sheer joy, imagining the amazing vision of this man in the kitchen, wine, music and shared happiness on a regular basis. Oh hell, get a grip. He invited you over to fuck you, remember? At that thought, his body responded in kind and he moved closer to Rob’s tall frame hunched over a couple of large cast iron skillets. Sounds faded as he leaned in to sniff the incredible mix of fresh vegetable and what looked like scallops. “Hmm.” He reached across and stuck his finger in the mix, putting it to his lips, never taking his eyes from Rob’s. The moment spun out between them. “Needs more garlic.” Rob frowned, stuck his own finger into the perfect blend of ingredients and tasted it. Blake stepped back, then was surprised when Rob smiled, grabbed what looked to be another four or five cloves already minutely chopped beside the stove and tossed them into the pan. Blake sipped his wine and shrugged. “It really is the simplest meals, made with the fewest, freshest ingredients that are the best.” Rob’s words interrupted his mental fantasy loop of mutual nudity. “Yeah, I agree. Same with beer, frankly. All this faddish ginger root, saffron-infused, chamomile tea, Muscat-grape bullshit makes me want to hit somebody. If you can’t do something interesting with water, malt, hops and yeast, you need to find something else to do.” Rob glanced over his shoulder, making Blake shiver. He forced himself forward, plucked a plump, buttery scallop from the pan and popped it into his mouth. It coated his tongue with richness, slid down his throat with garlic infused perfection. “Needs something…” He couldn’t help himself. Ignoring Rob’s frown he opened the giant fridge and pretended to poke around seeking the perfect addition while his body cooled from the whoosh of air. Rob’s hand on his shoulder made him jump. “What about this,” Rob’s arm stretched in front of his face, reaching for something, Blake no longer cared what, as long as his amazing skin was close to his lips. He pulled back, holding a bottle of capers. “I mean,” he opened the jar, dipped in and plucked out a few of the salty tidbits and threw them into the skillet. A delicate vinegary essence underscored the symphony of odors already suffusing the air. “I think you’re right. It needed…something.” He smiled, setting the jar on the granite counter. Blake nodded sagely, as if he would have chosen that very thing. “Since you are such an expert, tell me what you think of that.” Rob pointed to a bowl of perfect-looking guacamole alongside what had to be homemade pita chips. “Where did you get it?” He teased knowing damn good and well the labor intensity behind a decent guac. “Whole Foods?” Rob scowled at him turning back to flip the scallops once more, throwing another splash of what had to be fifty dollar olive oil on the mix of rich shellfish, zucchini, sweet onion, red pepper and sun dried tomato. Blake looked around and took in the pasta press, the floured surface of a stainless steel section of countertop. “You don’t fuck around with this do you?” He dredged a crisp pita chip in the mix of avocado, and tomato, loving the explosion of flavor on his tongue. Rob poured him more wine before turning back to pull the pasta from the stove. “Check that will you? See if it’s properly al dente?” Blake nodded, rising to the challenge. He tasted, found it perfect. “You know, it probably could have used another minute or two.” He sipped and watched the blood rise in Rob’s fair cheeks. He had no idea why he felt a need to provoke but loved it. “I’m sure it will be fine.” He turned away, lest he yank the tall handsome god-like man to him and do something foolish. The table was set, with no-fuss white ceramic dishes, simple flatware and one candle. They shared a few anecdotes about random drunk idiots that peopled every decent beer festival as Blake sat on the couch and tried to summon self-control. He had no business here. The odd connection he felt with Rob was surely born of nothing but simple lust. But while his body continued to thrum with erotic anticipation of what would no doubt be an amazing lay, his heart had relaxed its tight, anxiety-ridden contraction for the first time in nearly a month. This man might be exactly what he needed, on a physical level at least, but the promise of more gave him some pause.
By the time Rob emerged from the kitchen, a bowl of the pasta tossed with the amazingly prepared simple fish, vegetables, garlic and cheese in one hand and a basket of no-doubt fresh-baked bread in the other hand, Blake had to grip his knees to keep from launching across the room at him. He stood, slowly, stretching, trying to stay non-committal and uninterested. They sat in uncomfortable silence, clinked wine glasses and sipped. Blake was relieved that Rob seemed as flustered as he was, at least for now. Once they started eating and the true supremacy of the man’s kitchens skills became apparent, Rob seemed to visibly relax. He speared a fat scallop, held it to Blake’s lips. Blake took it, bit down and let the oily, sweet, rich concoction fill all his senses once more. He shut his eyes, chewed, swallowed, then opened them. “Pretty good. But a bit over salted, wouldn’t you say?” He grinned and kept eating, breaking bread into small bits and dragging them through the garlic oil at the edges of his plate. Rob frowned, then lifted his chin, eyes narrowed. “You’re a smart ass, you know it?” “Yeah. So I’m told.” Blake ate two entire plates of the amazing stuff, and they relaxed into conversation about beer, wine, food, the restaurant business, segued into Blake’s gastro pub dream for a moment. Finally, they pushed their plates away, appetites for food sated. “So, after years of training, practice and food science I stand by the mantra: the simpler the better,” Rob declared, holding his wine glass up to the light, letting it catch the thick legginess that slid down the inside of the bowl. Blake nodded, allowed himself a small second of contact between their legs at the small table before leaning back so he could better observe the man with whom he was prepared to … “Except of course,” Rob interrupted his reverie. “When it comes to dessert.” Rob stood, put a hand on Blake’s shoulder. “Because real desserts are truly a perfection of complexity.” “Of course, there is the simple perfection of a strawberry dipped in chocolate.” Blake insisted, the contrarian in him rising to the bait. Rob chuckled, and emerged with two ramekins of crème Brule and a blowtorch. Blake grinned. “What a showoff,” he mumbled, standing and cupping a hand behind Rob’s neck. “Now kiss me before I’m intimidated by your kitchen prowess and run screaming into the night.”
NOW just $1.99 THRU JULY!Buy it:AmazonB&NARe
HAPPY READING! If you have read these already $1.99 is a GREAT way to spend a couple of bucks to "gift" a book to a reader friend to help spread the Liz Crowe word!
cheers
Liz
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