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Book Details:
Title: Forked (Frenched Series Book #2)
Author: Melanie Harlow
Genre: NA, Contemporary Romance, Humor
Release Day: October 20, 2014
Synopsis:
Twenty-eight year old Coco Thomas knows
the recipe for disaster:
1) Agree to plan last-minute engagement blowout for spoiled Mafia princess before you realize her choice of caterer is Nick Lupo, a despicably gorgeous young chef with a hot new restaurant in town, a reality TV show victory, and a romantic past with you—one that did not end well.
2) Strike a deal with Nick in which you agree to spend a weekend with him in exchange for his services, under the strict conditions there will be no talking about the past, no second chances, and definitely no sex.
3) Violate all three conditions within 24 hours and spend two glorious days remembering what made you fall for the sexy, egotistical bastard in the first place, and why it hurt so much when he broke your heart.
Add one road trip, plenty of good scotch, and endless spoonfuls of chocolate cake batter drizzled over your body and licked off inch by oh-my-God-yes-right-there inch, then just admit it.
You’re totally FORKED.
1) Agree to plan last-minute engagement blowout for spoiled Mafia princess before you realize her choice of caterer is Nick Lupo, a despicably gorgeous young chef with a hot new restaurant in town, a reality TV show victory, and a romantic past with you—one that did not end well.
2) Strike a deal with Nick in which you agree to spend a weekend with him in exchange for his services, under the strict conditions there will be no talking about the past, no second chances, and definitely no sex.
3) Violate all three conditions within 24 hours and spend two glorious days remembering what made you fall for the sexy, egotistical bastard in the first place, and why it hurt so much when he broke your heart.
Add one road trip, plenty of good scotch, and endless spoonfuls of chocolate cake batter drizzled over your body and licked off inch by oh-my-God-yes-right-there inch, then just admit it.
You’re totally FORKED.
Buy Links:
Title: Frenched (Frenched Series Book #1)
Author: Melanie Harlow
Genre: NA, Contemporary Romance, Humor
Synopsis:
When Tucker Branch, playboy heir to
Branch Bolt and Screw, screws and bolts a week before their wedding, Mia Devine
wants nothing more than to crawl under her newly monogrammed sheets and plan a
funeral for her dignity. But her friends convince her that bitter tastes better
when it’s drowned in Bordeaux, so Mia grits her teeth and packs her bags,
determined to make the best of her luxurious Paris honeymoon—alone.
She never planned on meeting Lucas Fournier.
The easygoing bartender’s scruffy good looks and less-than-sympathetic ear annoy her at first, but when she takes him up on his offer to show her around the city, she discovers that the romance of Paris isn’t just a myth.
Nor is the simultaneous O.
The last thing Mia needs is another doomed love affair, but since she only has a week, she figures she might as well enjoy la vie en O with Lucas while she can. But each day—and night—with Lucas is better than the last, and suddenly her heart is telling her this is more than a rebound fling.
Is it just the seduction of Paris…or could this be the real thing?
Review
She never planned on meeting Lucas Fournier.
The easygoing bartender’s scruffy good looks and less-than-sympathetic ear annoy her at first, but when she takes him up on his offer to show her around the city, she discovers that the romance of Paris isn’t just a myth.
Nor is the simultaneous O.
The last thing Mia needs is another doomed love affair, but since she only has a week, she figures she might as well enjoy la vie en O with Lucas while she can. But each day—and night—with Lucas is better than the last, and suddenly her heart is telling her this is more than a rebound fling.
Is it just the seduction of Paris…or could this be the real thing?
Review
Meet Mia, a 28 year old woman who was essentially left at the altar. Only one week from her huge wedding, the groom, Tucker, leaves her without her knowledge and heads for Vegas where he gets drunk and pussy. Her friends talk her into still going on her all expense paid honeymoon to Paris. She goes, grudgingly, into the foreign country, not knowing a soul and stumbles into a Canadian sports bar on her first night. What happens when the snarky bartender essentially hops her up on good wine? Will he help her forget her past, or will he show her around the amazing city of love? What happens when Tuckers comes back into Mia's life? Will she stand up for what she wants, or will she take him back? 4 out of 5!
Buy Links:
Title: Floored (Frenched Series Book #3)
Author: Melanie Harlow
Genre: NA, Contemporary Romance, Humor
Release Date: February 5, 2015
Synopsis:
Erin Upton is too embarrassed to tell the cops what she
was really doing while her townhouse was burglarized, especially since the
first officer on the scene is former nuisance next door Charlie Dwyer. Where’s
the justice in the world when a neighborhood know-it-all grows up to be
six-foot-three inches of solid muscle with gorgeous green eyes and a slow, sexy
please-arrest-me-now-officer smile? It’s bad enough she’s wearing her robe and
slippers—did he have to notice her fuzzy hand cuffs on the bathroom sink?
He’s arrogant as he ever was, which is fine by her—she’s
too busy with her dance studio’s grand opening to make time for a man. But they
keep crossing paths, and
when Charlie offers to help her put in new flooring at the
studio one night, things go from hammering nails to hammering each other in a
hurry. And about those hand cuffs…
They
agree it’s a one-time thing. But when that becomes a two-time thing, then a
three-time thing, Erin starts to wonder if maybe she and Charlie could be a
life-time thing. Her best friends Mia and Coco found love in unexpected places.
Is it finally her turn?
Preorder Links:
Frenched Series Bundle: Frenched, Yanked & Forked
B&N: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/frenched-series-bundle-melanie-harlow/1120793263?ean=2940150728646
Excerpt Options (please feel free to
choose one option to include in your post)
Excerpt #1
“Spend
the weekend with me.”
I
shrank back. “Spend the weekend with you! Are you crazy? No!”
“Why
not?” he asked, like it would be perfectly normal to spend a weekend with
someone you hadn’t seen since he ditched you in the Bellagio bridal suite seven
years ago.
“Because
it’s ridiculous! I can’t even believe you’re asking me to…do that.” I gestured
wildly between us, totally hot and bothered.
“Do
what?”
“That.”
“I
just want to spend time with you,” he said, his face the picture of innocence.
“You’re the one who’s reading into it.”
I
dropped my hands in my lap and cocked my head. “Really. You ask me to spend the
weekend with you and you’re telling me you’re not thinking about sex?”
“Well,
now that you mention it—”
“I’m
not mentioning it. I’m vetoing it. Unequivocally.” I looked at the glasses on
our wooden tray, desperate to find some drop of alcohol we’d overlooked. The absinthe
was the only thing left, and even though it wasn’t my favorite, I took a
less-than-advisable sized swallow. And then another, grimacing as the alcohol
burned its way down my esophagus.
“What’s
the problem?” he asked.
“You.
Trying to get me in bed after all these years.”
“I’m
not trying to get you in bed, Coco. I mean, I wouldn’t kick you out of it, but
I was serious about wanting to spend time with you. Look.” He put his hands on
the tops of my legs and leaned into me, the bastard. “I know you don’t really
forgive me for leaving you in Vegas. And maybe you’re right—maybe getting
married so young was a dumb idea, maybe it would have failed anyway, but
leaving the way I did was wrong, and I’ve spent the last seven years feeling
horrible about it. We spent all that time together, and I don’t even know you
anymore. I’d like to know you again. As a human being. As a friend. That’s
all.”
It
was exactly what I’d been thinking earlier, but somehow it didn’t sound
plausible coming from him. “This would be a little more convincing if your
hands weren’t on my thighs.”
“But
I like your thighs.”
My
brain struggled to move beyond the feeling of his palms through the fabric of
my dress. I had the crazy feeling that if I lifted my skirt I’d see his
handprints burned into my skin. “Is this how you get to know all your female
friends? Invite them to move in for a weekend?”
“Not
all of them. Just the hot ones.”
“Funny.”
He still thinks I’m hot. Warmth flooded my veins. I was starting to get
that dangerous feeling, the one I get when I really, really want something, and
no matter how impractical the shoe or fattening the cheesecake or expensive the
scotch, I just can’t bring myself to walk away. How easy, how delightful
it would be to jump back into his bed. But then what? Could I trust myself not
to fall for him again?
Excerpt #2
Smiling
gleefully, I hopped up on the counter while he filled two cake pans with
batter, tucked them into the oven, and set the timer. “Twenty-five minutes.”
Grabbing the mixing bowl, he set it next to me. “And I know exactly how I want
to spend them.”
Peering
into the bowl, I was delighted to see it still had plenty of batter left in it.
He took the spatula, scooped some off the side of the bowl, and I thought he
was going to feed it to me, but he didn’t. He smeared it on my thigh.
And
licked it off.
S l
o w l y.
At
the feel of his hot tongue on my leg, my stomach tightened, and I held my
breath.
Next,
he pulled down a black lace strap of my tank, fully exposing one breast,
smearing it with batter. My nipple was already hard and tingling, and when his
lips closed around it, sucking off the chocolate, I gasped and arched, my
fingers curling around the edge of the counter. He circled the stiff peak with
his tongue, taking it between his teeth and biting gently before dragging his
mouth up to my neck.
“Get
down,” he breathed softly in my ear, one hand curling around my waist.
I
let him pull me off the counter, my bare feet landing between his. Our mouths
opened wide to one another in a long, deep, chocolate-flavored kiss. I slid one
hand up the back of his neck and one down the front of his jeans, finding him
hard and thick beneath my palm. If I hadn’t been sure before about doing it
again, I was now.
He
lifted his mouth from mine. “Turn around and spread your legs.”
I
turned around and he slid my boy shorts to my ankles. I wore nothing under
them. Leaning forward, I braced myself against the counter and opened my feet
wider, rising up on tiptoe. Expecting to feel his cock between my thighs, I was
surprised by cool batter against my hot skin. He spread it on my ass and licked
it off, making me giggle and moan in delicious agony. He rubbed it along the
backs of my legs and knelt between them to eat it off, his fingers and mouth
and tongue teasing and tantalizing me, inside and out.
Closing
my eyes, I moved against him, torn between wanting to come just like this and
wanting to feel him pounding into me from behind.
My
body decided for me, growing hotter and tighter as I spiraled higher. “Nick,” I
gasped, collapsing forward onto my elbows as colors danced behind my eyelids.
He moaned, pushing his fingers deeper, and I came so hard I felt it in every
muscle, every inch of my body reverberating with pleasure. My legs weakened,
and it felt like he was holding me up with one hand and his tongue.
“God,
you’re so wet. And I love your ass.” His breath was hot between my legs, his
fingers gliding in and out of me. “I want to fuck you like this.”
“Do
it,” I begged.
He
got to his feet and I heard the glorious sounds of a belt coming undone, jeans
being unzipped. Then he stopped.
“Fuck,
I don’t have a— “
“I
don’t care. I’m on the pill. Just do it.” I arched my back and looked back over
my shoulder, hoping my body looked irresistible. “Please.”
He
placed the tip of his cock at my entrance, sliding it in just enough to torture
me. “Please what?”
“Please
fuck me.” I tried to push back against him, make him give me more.
But
he held me steady, using his hands on my hips to hold me where he wanted me. “I
love the way that sounds coming out of your mouth,” he said, pushing deeper. “I
don’t think I’ve ever heard you say it before.”
I
smiled, exhaling with relief as he glided in and out. “I guess I was too shy to
tell you what I wanted back then. Or maybe I didn’t know yet.”
“So
tell me now.”
I
looked back. “Fuck me. And don’t be gentle.”
He
began to move my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh as he jerked me back
onto his cock. “I was always so scared to be rough with you,” he said, the
strain in his voice telling me how he struggled to keep control. “I never
wanted to hurt you.”
“You
won’t.” But each time he hit the deepest
spot within me, I felt a sharp little twinge, and once or twice it was enough
to make me gasp.
“Good.
Because ever since I saw you today, I’ve been thinking about fucking you just
like this.” He reached up and tore the elastic from my hair before fisting a
hand in it and pulling so hard I cried out. “Tell me if you want me to stop,”
he said through clenched teeth, his hips driving forward now in powerful
thrusts that made my teeth clatter, “otherwise I can’t promise not to tear you
apart.”
“I
want you to,” I managed between hard, short breaths. “I want you to tear me
apart. I want it to hurt.”
And
as he cursed and groaned and fucked me so hard against his kitchen counter my
skin would bruise, I was shocked to realize it was true—I wanted him to hurt
me. Beyond enjoying rough sex, I wanted pain at his hands, wanted it
bone-deep and razor-sharp. Wanted him to inflict damage on my body and make me
feel unsafe, unsteady, unloved.
Safer
that way.
Excerpt #3
He
smiled. “You totally want me to kiss you right now.”
Shrinking
back, I slapped him on the shoulder. “I do not!”
“You
did, you so did,” he said, laughing as he stood up. He tossed the iPad onto his
bed. “You licked your lips.”
Steaming
mad, I clenched my fists at my sides and trailed him down the steps and back
into the kitchen. He was so fucking infuriating! “That doesn’t
mean I wanted you to kiss me. Because I didn’t. I don’t.”
“Oh
no?” He whirled around and grabbed me hard by the shoulders. His lips hovered
over mine. “Then tell me not to kiss you,” he said, his breath warm and soft on
my mouth. “Say it’s
against the rules. Say you don’t want it.”
Oh
God, oh God, oh God. Why did he have to play these kinds of games? I knew what
he was doing—he wanted me as badly as I wanted him, but he wanted it to be my
idea so he wouldn’t
look like the asshole. So he could say that I was the one who broke the rules.
That I was the one who wanted him more.
No
way.
He
was either going to take me the way I wanted to be taken or not at all. I wasn’t
going to offer him a fucking invitation, not after what he’d done.
“I don’t want it.” The lie slid out through clenched
teeth.
He
paused before letting go of me. “Good. Because I don’t
want it either.”
Before
I could stop myself, my hand shot out and grabbed his crotch. Beneath his
jeans, his cock was thick and hard and totally erect.
I
smiled wickedly. “Liar.”
Satisfied
with his awestruck expression, I removed my hand and turned to the ingredients
lined up on the island. “Well, don’t
just stand there. We’ve got a
cake to bake, remember?”
“Coco.” He said my name with enough force to make me
wonder if he was angry at what I’d done. I
faced him again and saw his hands fisted at his sides. And there was something
other than shock in his eyes. They were darker than they’d
been a moment ago, making my nether regions tingle. And was it the oven making
it so hot in here?
I
felt for the counter behind me. “Yes, friend?”
Rushing
toward me, he wrapped his hands tightly around my head. “Don’t.”
Then he crushed his mouth against mine, igniting a fire within me that consumed
any lingering doubts or desire to play the coquette. I threw my arms around him
and molded my lips and body to his. Later we’d
probably argue over who started this, but right now all I could think about was
getting closer to him.
We
kissed like it was the first time, like we were back in his truck and we couldn’t
believe we’d
just met, like we’d
better get our fill of each other because such insane chemistry couldn’t
possibly last—surely it would burn out as quickly as it sparked.
But
God, God, it felt good.
“Nick,”
I whispered as his mouth, that incredible, luscious mouth that had taught me so
much about pleasure, moved down my throat. He closed his fingers in my hair,
sending needles prickling across my scalp and down my spine. I tugged at the
blue shirt, impatient to feel his skin against mine, to wrap myself around him,
to get him inside me.
He
dropped his arms and I shoved the shirt from his shoulders, but as it dropped
to the floor, he did too, sinking to his knees in front of me. Breathing hard,
I watched him slide his hands up the outsides of my thighs, pushing the dress
to my hips. “Christ, this body,” he whispered, resting his forehead against my
white lace panties. His hands flexed on my hips. “I’ve
dreamed about this.”
“You
have?” My fingers threaded through his thick dark hair.
“Yes.
And this.” He kissed me through the lace. “And this.” He dragged the panties
down to my knees. “And especially this.” He slid his tongue between my legs,
which nearly buckled at the first firm, wet stroke.
At
the second stroke, they began to tremble.
By
the third, I wasn’t
even sure I had legs.
“It
feels so good, Nick,” I whimpered. “I don’t think I
can stand.”
“Fuck standing.” He yanked my underwear all the way
down and I stepped out of them, holding onto his shoulders for balance. As he
stood, he reached behind me and hitched my legs up around his hips, my dress
riding all the way up to my waist. Our mouths and tongues collided, and I
locked my ankles behind him.
God,
I’d
missed this. I’d
missed everything about him.
Excerpt #4
Holy shit, I might actually pull
this off. A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth as I
noted the vendor names on the contract. No, not might. I would absolutely pull this off by
myself, and it would be fabulous. Huge without being impersonal. Fun without
being tacky. Elegant without being stuffy. Mia would be proud of me, we were
bound to get good buzz if this reality show took off, and with the estimated
total cost—at which Angelina didn’t even bat a fake eyelash—I’d make enough money
to put ten percent down on the house. I could make an offer next week, even.
See? Stop worrying. This was all
meant to happen. It’s fate.
And then.
“Oh! I almost forgot. I want that Italian
chef, Nick Lupo, to do burgers at midnight,” announced Angelina. “Right after
the fireworks.”
The floor dropped a few feet, or
maybe it was my stomach. I gripped the edge of my desk. “What did you say?”
“I want that Italian guy. You know,
the one who won first place on that reality show about hot chefs last year, Lick
My Plate? He’s from here and he has a restaurant downtown called The Burger
Bar. He’s there like every night. I saw him in there this week.”
“Yes, I know who he is. I just…” Haven’t
seen him since he snuck out of our hotel room in Vegas seven years ago.
“…think he might be difficult to get.”
Angelina blinked at me. “Why?”
“Well, because he’s, um…” My ex.
Famous now. The best sex I ever had and the worst mistake I ever made. There
were any number of ways I could’ve finished that sentence, but finally I went
with “probably not available.”
“I want him.” Angelina poked an
index finger onto my desk. Unlike her pink and white pedicure, her fingernails
were painted corpse gray. “Get him.”
“Uh, I don’t think Nick Lupo does
private parties.” I hadn’t said his name out loud in years, and the sound of
it, the feel of it on my lips brought back powerful memories—the taste of
whiskey and apple pie. A warm, muscular body moving over mine. The crunch of
leaves beneath my back. A wide, lush mouth closing over my breast as he filled
the hollow ache inside me—
I crossed my legs and squeezed my
thighs together. Don’t.
“This isn’t just any private party.
Tell him who it’s for,” said Angelina, like duh. “Tell him who my father is. He’ll do it.”
My insides churned. “I guess I could
try.”
“Do it. Or I’ll get someone who
can.” Her loud voice was razor sharp, and I suddenly got the feeling God wasn’t
the one who’d sent her.
Fuck.
“I’ll do it.” My throat was bone
dry, my words barely audible.
“What?”
“I’ll do it,” I said more forcefully.
“I’ll get him.”
“You promise?” Angelina sniffed.
“Yes.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
We finished up, and after she left,
I dropped my head onto my desk and banged my forehead against the wood until it
ached.
Nick Lupo. I had to face Nick Lupo,
after all this time.
Even Mia didn’t know the complete
truth about my most impulsive decision ever. I’d been too ashamed to tell her.
When he’d left me sleeping in that
room at the Bellagio seven years ago, I’d been wearing a wedding ring. That
he’d put on my finger the night before.
He’d left his ring on the nightstand
along with a note.
This was a mistake.
About the Author:
Melanie
Harlow likes her martinis dry, her lipstick red, and her history with the
naughty bits left in. She lifts her glass to readers and writers from her home
near Detroit, MI.
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