New Adult Christmas blog hop (Amy Jo Cousins) w/ Exclusive Excerpt from OFF CAMPUS & Giveaway

It's a ‪#‎NAChristmas!

Thanks for joining us as we celebrate the holidays with thirteen New Adult authors. Check out every stop leading up to December 24 to get excerpts, exclusive content, and hopefully a cutie under the mistletoe! Be sure to enter the rafflecopter to win a grand prize pack of an ebook from every author!

 

In this exclusive holiday excerpt, Tom arrives at Reese’s family home on Christmas Eve, still hiding from his boyfriend just how tough things are for him. He’s going to get a warmer welcome than he ever anticipated.

 

OFF CAMPUS BLURB

Everyone’s got secrets. Some are just harder to hide.


With his father’s ponzi scheme assets frozen, Tom Worthington believes finishing college is impossible unless he can pay his own way. After months sleeping in his car and gypsy-cabbing for cash, he’s ready to do just that.

But his new, older-student housing comes with an unapologetically gay roommate. Tom doesn’t ask why Reese Anders has been separated from the rest of the student population. He’s just happy to be sleeping in a bed.

Reese isn’t about to share his brutal story with his gruff new roommate. You’ve seen one homophobic jock, you’ve seen ’em all. He plans to drag every twink on campus into his bed until Tom moves out. But soon it becomes clear Tom isn’t budging.

Tom isn’t going to let some late-night sex noise scare him off, especially when it’s turning him on. But he doesn’t want any drama either. He’ll keep his hands, if not his eyes, to himself. Boundaries have a way of blurring when you start sharing truths, though. And if Tom and Reese cross too many lines, they may need to find out just how far they can bend…before they break.

Warning: This book contains cranky roommates who vacillate between lashing out and licking, some male/male voyeurism, emotional baggage that neither guy wants to unpack, and the definitive proof that sound carries in college housing.

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OFF CAMPUS Excerpt

(Tom and Reese on Christmas morning!)

 

He’d shown up before midnight on Christmas Eve, parking on the street outside the Anders’ house and sending Reese a text message to come and wake him in the morning. He felt awkward waking up Reese’s dad in the middle of the night and knew from experience that it wasn’t cold enough yet to make sleeping in his car unsafe. But it hadn’t been sixty seconds later that Reese was banging on his window, his smile fierce in the cold as he hopped with bare feet on the frozen ground. Tom had already fallen asleep, exhausted after three days straight of driving.

“Tom! What the hell? Get inside, you lunatic.”

He’d stopped first to wrap his arms around Reese’s slender torso, burying his face in his neck and holding on tight for what felt like ages, until he jerked back in alarm. Shit. He’d practically been smothering Reese.

“Sorry,” was all he got out before Reese tugged him back in close and wrapped his hands around Tom’s waist.

“S’okay. Really.” Reese pressed his forehead against Tom’s sternum before pulling back to look up at him and smile. “It’s okay.”

Tom kept his arms around Reese loose and easy. Holding him but easing up on the death grip.

Inside, he’d insisted on sleeping on the couch in the living room, since there wasn’t a guest room. Only the master bedroom and Reese’s old room, which Reese swore his dad would be fine with Tom sharing. Tom refused.

Reese had narrowed his eyes at that and handed him a pile of bedding. Tom, who couldn’t have said if it was manners or another public declaration of gayness that he ducked out of fear, kissed him goodnight at the bottom of a darkened staircase and stumbled his way through the living room to collapse on the couch. He punched up the pillow under his head, wrapped the scratchy homemade afghan Reese had given him around his shoulders, and decided he’d figure it out when he could think straight.

In the morning, Reese knocked him flat again with the laptop.

“It’s not a gift! I know we said we weren’t doing that.” Words spilled out of Reese as Tom sat there, in his boxers with a blanket wrapped around his lap, for Christ’s sake. The sunrise had barely started graying the sky outside the big plate glass window when Reese had snuck down the stairs and squeezed in next to him on the couch. They’d settled in to some serious making out, Tom rolling under Reese until his boy stretched out and covered the length of him, when Reese had jumped up and run over to the Christmas tree looming in the corner. He came bouncing back gleefully, laptop in hand, to a shell-shocked Tom. “I stuck a bow on it because, you know, festive. But it’s nothing. Just a loan, my old laptop from high school. And it’ll probably make you nuts because the S key gets stuck and you have to bang at it. But it’s better than my running coffee across campus to that horrible science building with all the fetuses in formaldehyde because, seriously? Those jars creep me out.”

Reese ran out of words, but Tom’s hadn’t come back to him yet. He stared at the scratched gray plastic and swallowed hard. Reese’s fingers crept over his.

“It’s no big deal, okay, Tom?”

He cleared his throat. Blinked several times. “No, I know.”

“It’s really not. Don’t be upset.”

“I’m not.”

Reese scoffed politely and grabbed his face. He rubbed a thumb under Tom’s eye and then popped his thumb in his mouth. Tom knew he tasted salt.

“I’m not upset. This is a really nice loan.” Damn. He had to clear his throat again. “I feel kinda bad that I didn’t get you anything.” Trying hard, he dug deep for a wobbly smile. “Could have given you my old high school track shorts. They might even have fit you.”

“Yeah? You were a skinny ass punk back then?” Reese’s eyes were soft as he leaned forward and wrapped a hand around Tom’s neck, pulling him in for a kiss. “Like me?”

“You’re not skinny. You’re…slim. Strong.” He sighed and set the laptop on the floor next to the couch, sinking back on the deep cushions and tangling his fingers with Reese. Maybe Reese would lie down too so Tom wouldn’t have to look in his eyes for this part. He got his wish when Reese scooched down and stretched out next to him, head on Tom’s chest.

Tom kept one hand curled behind his head and played with the waistband of Reese’s sweatpants with the other.

“So how much have you figured out then?”

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BIO

Amy Jo Cousins writes contemporary romance and erotica about smart people finding their own best kind of smexy. She lives in Chicago with her son, where she tweets too much, sometimes runs really far, and waits for the Cubs to win the World Series.

 

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New Adult Christmas Blog Hop (Brenda St. John Brown) SWIMMING TO TOKYO Bonus Scene w/ Giveaway

It's a ‪#‎NAChristmas!

Thanks for joining us as we celebrate the holidays with thirteen New Adult authors. Check out every stop leading up to December 24 to get excerpts, exclusive content, and hopefully a cutie under the mistletoe! Be sure to enter the rafflecopter to win a grand prize pack of an ebook from every author!

About SWIMMING TO TOKYO:

The rules for swimming are simple:

 

Rule #1: There is no lifeguard on duty.

Since her mom died three years ago, nineteen-year-old Zosia Easton’s been treading water. Living at home. Community college. Same old Saturday nights. So when her father breaks the news he’s taken a job transfer—and by the way, it means renting out the house that’s been her refuge—a summer in Tokyo feels like it just might be a chance to start swimming again.

 

Rule #2: Beware of unexpected currents.

Finn O’Leary has spent God knows how many years trying to drown out his past. Juvenile detention. Bad decisions. Worse choices. He’s managed to turn it around – MIT, Dean’s List, a sexier-than-thou body with a smile to match – at least on the surface. When his mom asks him to spend the summer with her, Tokyo seems as good a place as any to float through the summer.

 

Rule #3: Swim at your own risk.

 

Buy links:  Amazon / Barnes and Noble /  iBooks

 
  

SWIMMING TO TOKYO – Bonus scene

 

Babci’s tiny kitchen is at least eighty degrees, which is why I’m stripping down to a tank top in the middle of mashing the potatoes. Although, truth be told, Finn’s raised eyebrows and appreciative smile as I lift the hem of my sweater are awfully encouraging. So is the way he bites his lip like that. Good Lord. He’s not even doing anything. I just know what usually follows that look…

I turn back to the potatoes and slam the metal masher down with extra force. Babci has an electric mixer, but she says it makes the potatoes too smooth and I learned a long time ago not to argue with her in the kitchen. Especially on Christmas Eve. It’s probably better anyway. Gives me an outlet for this sudden energy zinging through my veins.

“Zosia, you are going to go through the bottom of the pot pounding like that. Gently.” Babci places her gnarled hand on mine and then turns to Finn. Whose expression changes from come hither to oh crap in an instant. “Can you get the plates and the silverware? Three and an extra. Everything’s almost ready.”

A look of relief crosses Finn’s face as he nods and I swallow a smile. This big tough guy is still nervous as hell about spending Christmas with Babci.

I don’t do parents, let alone grandparents.

You go and I’ll meet up with you on the twenty-seventh.

Blah, blah, blah. Only after I had an honest-to-God, foot-stomping almost-tantrum did he agree to come with me. It’s not like he hasn’t met Babci before and there’s no way I’m letting her spend Christmas on her own. Besides, if I’m honest, I’m just starting to accept Christmas without Mom. With Dad in Tokyo this Christmas, Babci’s the only family I’ve got. If Finn made me choose…

Ok. Ok. I’ll do this because I love you. But you’re going to owe me.

Indeed. Heat flashes across my chest. That was one debt I wouldn’t mind paying again. Twice.

I give the potatoes one last smash and say to Babci, “I think these are good. Do you want me to get the fish out?”

“No, leave it until last. We have the soup first after the oplatek,” Babci says.

She reaches for the cream-colored envelope on the shelf next to the sink. It looks like a business letter, except for the blue Virgin Mary holding baby Jesus stamped on the front. Finn comes back into the kitchen and she hands him the envelope. “Will you put these on the table, too?”

He glances down and then to me. “It’s the wafer I told you about. We break it before the meal,” I say.

“Right. I remember.” He smiles and shakes his head, glancing at Babci. “Zosia tried to teach me how to say Merry Christmas in Polish, but it didn’t really go so well.”

I laugh. “You get an A for effort.”

“And an F for execution,” Finn says. “Does Feliz Navidad count? Because I’m good at that one.”

 

       “Wesołych Świąt,” says Babci. Then she shrugs. “But Feliz Navidad is okay. Is not the words that matter, yes?”

 

       She hands me three bowls from the cupboard to dish up the mushroom soup bubbling on the stovetop. We don’t have all twelve traditional Polish dishes for Christmas Eve, but Babci always makes mushroom soup and carp – mushroom soup because I won’t touch red borscht and carp because it’s pretty much the Polish equivalent of turkey at Thanksgiving.

This year she’s also made kielbasa, even though our Christmas Eve meal is usually meatless. Finn adores the kielbasa from the Polish grocery on 68^th Avenue, which he loudly declares anytime we’re in Queens. Babci hasn’t said anything about it, but the fact she’s made something special because she knows he loves it speaks volumes.

I carry the bowls of soup into the dining room and carefully set them down. Babci says grace in Polish and then gestures to the empty place Finn set. “We are blessed to be together at Christmas and prepared to welcome strangers and friends to this table to share our many blessings.”

The words are the same ones I’ve been hearing my whole life, but it’s the first time for Finn and he looks almost sad. I can’t help wondering what his childhood Christmases were like. He’s never once mentioned going to Baltimore even though his best friend lives there and his responses to my questions about Christmas in his family have been one-sentence answers, at best.

Not exactly a ringing endorsement for Christmas past.

Babci gives each of us a white oplatek and then holds hers out to Finn. “Wesołych Świąt. Merry Christmas. Feliz Navidad. Thank you for joining us in our celebration.”

He smiles and breaks off a piece, eating it slowly while I break the wafer with Babci. Finn’s turn is next and, in keeping with custom he breaks his wafer first with Babci. “Merry Christmas. Feliz Navidad. Thank you for inviting me here today.”

To me, he says, “Merry Christmas. Feliz Navidad.” His smile softens and he squeezes my thigh underneath the table. “Thank you for inviting me here today. Thank you for every day.”

I feel my eyes well up, but manage to get through breaking my wafer with Babci dry-eyed. When I turn back to Finn, though, my voice cracks as I say, “Wesołych Świąt. Merry Christmas. Feliz Navidad.” I squeeze his hand. “Thank you for being here even though you weren’t sure.”

Finn squeezes my hand back. Hard.

Before he can say anything, Babci clears her throat. Her gaze rests on Finn. “You are welcome here. Christmas. Easter. An odd Tuesday. You need anything, you don’t need anything, you come.” Babci smiles then. “And you bring her sometimes, too, yes?”

We all laugh and Babci raises her glass of red wine. Finn and I do the same, taking turns clinking glasses. Then, one by one we tip a bit of our wine into the glass at the empty place setting. This is part of our family tradition, too – the figurative sharing of our many blessings. Although this year there’s nothing figurative about it. This year, surrounded by two of the people I love most in the world, I feel blessed beyond measure and have more than enough to share.

 

About Brenda St John Brown:

Brenda is a displaced New Yorker living in the English countryside. She writes novels about teens and twenty-somethings kissing. Her characters do other things, too, but there's always kissing.

When she's not writing, Brenda enjoys hiking, running and reading. In theory, she also enjoys cooking, but it's more that she enjoys eating and, try as she might, she can't live on Doritos alone.

 

Links: Website / Facebook / Twitter 

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New Adult Christmas Blog Hop (AJ Pine) WHAT IF Excerpt w/ Giveaway

It's a #NewAdultChristmas!

Thanks for joining us as we celebrate the holidays with thirteen New Adult authors.

Check out every stop leading up to December 24 to get excerpts, exclusive content, and hopefully a cutie under the mistletoe! Follow along with the #NAChristmas hashtag, and be sure to enter the Rafflecopter below to win a grand prize pack of an ebook from every author!

Today's excerpt comes from AJ Pine, author of IF ONLY and the companion novel, WHAT IF (connected novels that do work as stand-alones), which just released on December 8th!


Sometimes it takes letting go of the past to find out who you want to be.

During his semester abroad, Griffin Reed almost gave his heart to a girl who loved someone else. Lesson learned. Now he’s home, where following in his father’s footsteps may not be what he wants, but it’s what his parents expect. It might be taking the easy road, but he doesn’t see a way out.


Something that could have killed Maggie Kendall took away the person she used to be instead. Her condition makes her dependent on sticky notes, photos, and medication just to get through each day. The last thing she needs is a distraction—or someone new to disappoint.

What they refuse to see is they are perfect for each other. Maggie makes Griffin want to be a better man, and he makes her believe a future is possible. But these two have to find a way to share the secrets ripping them apart, if they’re ever going to have a chance at happiness.


Today's holiday excerpt comes from WHAT IF. 

***

We’re late. And I don’t give a shit. My hands cup Maggie’s cheeks, and I tilt my head down, forehead resting on hers.

“What if?” I ask her, and she doesn’t respond with anything more than the warmth of her breath mingling with mine, the air between us the only source of heat on a Chicago winter night.

“What if?” I ask it again, quieter this time, because maybe the question is only for me. Maybe this step is mine to take whether she’s with me or not, because either way the risk is huge, but I don’t want to walk into that building pretending. I don’t want to face the person who didn’t see me as a real option without proving to her—no, to myself—that I can be real. That I can want something more than my own self-preservation.

“Griffin, I don’t understand…”

She doesn’t finish because my lips are on hers, soft and questioning at first, until she answers by letting her mouth fall open, inviting me inside. And the hunger returns, not only for lips touching lips or the surrounding air warming with our exhalations. It’s the hunger for more. More with this girl who hitched a ride with a stranger and still hasn’t run for her life. That has to be something.

We break apart, but only because of the whistling and clapping from some of the Michigan Avenue passersby.

“Oops,” Maggie says through a giggle. “Guess we have an audience.”

“Guess so,” I say, pressing a gentle kiss to her puppy-dog cold nose. I’m not ready for my lips to not be touching her skin.

“Maybe that’s our cue to leave?”

I want to kiss her all over again for making her words a question rather than a statement, which can only mean she doesn’t want to stop, either.

“Maybe.” Her hand slips into mine, and she tugs me forward. Or maybe I lead her. Either way, we’re moving again, the Hancock right in front of us.

“Quite the tourist location, huh?” I ask.

“It’s beautiful,” she says, eying the skyscraper from head to toe, her gaze landing on the massive Christmas tree that stands outside the building’s exposed lower level.

Her hand still in mine, I lead her down the steps to the base of the tree where tourists amass taking pictures with one of the city’s most popular holiday decorations.

“Do you have your camera?”

She takes it out of her bag, brandishing it as her answer. I pull her closer to the tree and tap a tourist on the shoulder, a man taking a picture of what must be his wife and kids in front of the tree.

“Would you take one of us, and I’ll get one of you with your family?”

He thanks me and hands me his camera. After getting a couple good shots of him and his family, we trade cameras so he has Maggie’s, and Maggie and I position ourselves in front of the tree.

“So…uh, this is awkward, huh?” she asks, and I understand. She’s taken a few photos of me, but we’ve never been in one together.

“How about if we just smile?” I suggest.

She nods, but it’s her next action that gets me. Standing on my side, she wraps both arms around my midsection, leaning her head on my chest. I wonder if she feels my heart hammering against her, an admission I’m still scared shitless to make.

My head dips to kiss the top of hers before posing for the camera, and tourist dad yells, “That’s a great shot! How about one more?”

Maggie’s shoulders shake with quiet laughter, and it’s contagious. Whatever our photographer captures now, it’s anything but posed.

“Thank you,” I tell him when he hands Maggie’s camera back to me, his wife and two boys standing next to him.

“You’re a beautiful couple,” she says, and then looks at her husband with a grin. “Remember when we were in love like that?”

They both laugh and head back up the stairs. Maggie’s hand sits in mine, but for a long moment we avoid eye contact, letting the woman’s comment fade along with the flush of heat in my cheeks I know will give me away.

***

That's it, folks! If you want to find out if Griffin and Maggie get their happily every after, WHAT IF is only $.99 at all e-book retailers.

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About the AuthorAJ Pine writes stories to break readers’ hearts, but don’t worry—she’ll mend them with a happily ever after. As an English teacher and a librarian, AJ has always surrounded herself with books. All her favorites have one big commonality–romance. Naturally, her books have the same. When she’s not writing, she’s of course reading. Then there’s online shopping (everything from groceries to shoes) and, of course, a tiny bit of TV where she nourishes her undying love of vampires, from Eric Northman to the Salvatore brothers. And in the midst of all of this, you’ll also find her hanging with her family in the Chicago burbs.

AJ’s debut NA novel, IF ONLY, is out now with Entangled’s Embrace line, and WHAT IF just released on December 8! Watch for a new NA series, ONE NIGHT and ONE LIFE, with Penguin/Intermix in 2015.

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New Adult Christmas Blog Hop-(Chanel Cleeton) International School series Bonus Scene w/ Giveaway

It's a ‪#‎NAChristmas!

Thanks for joining us as we celebrate the holidays with thirteen New Adult authors. Check out every stop leading up to December 24 to get excerpts, exclusive content, and hopefully a cutie under the mistletoe! Be sure to enter the rafflecopter to win a grand prize pack of an ebook from every author!

 

 

FRENCH KISSED by Chanel Cleeton

 

December 1, 2014

International School Book 3

New Adult Contemporary Romance

 

BOOK SUMMARY:


On the surface, Fleur Marceaux has it all. If only the facade matched reality. With one year left at the International School in London, Fleur’s struggling to graduate, her love life is a mess, and she can’t stop thinking about Max, her ex-boyfriend’s best friend. But all that pales compared to the blackmailer determined to destroy her. 



There’s a social hierarchy at the International School and Max Tucker is outside the velvet ropes. After watching Fleur break his friend’s heart, Max knows to stay away from trouble, despite the crush he’s had on her since freshman year. But when they’re partnered on a project, Max learns there’s more to Fleur than meets the eye, and she just might be worth the wild ride. 



The more time they spend together, the further Max falls. And when a kiss awakens a passion Fleur never imagined, she’s unable to resist Max, who she had thought was all wrong for her but might be the only thing that’s right. But will he stand by her when her secrets are revealed?



Don’t miss the final book in the International School series. This New Adult romance is recommended for readers 17 and up. 

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BONUS SCENE:

This scene takes place after the events in French Kissed…

 

I woke late, the Paris sun shining through my bedroom window. I reached across the bed and found cool silk rather than Max’s warm body. I leaned over, glancing at the alarm clock, wincing slightly at the time. In my defense, he’d wanted to ring in Christmas last night in his own unique fashion, and I’d been more than happy to do my part. I figured I’d earned a lazy morning in bed…I just wished I had someone to keep me company.

I threw on the cashmere robe at the foot of my bed, tying it tightly around my waist, and went off in search of my man. I reached the hallway and ran into Maggie.

She grinned. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” I repeated, figuring I was going to have to start learning the American way of things.

Her eyes twinkled with mischief. “I guess I don’t need to ask if you had a good night last night.”

I could actually feel my cheeks flaming. It wasn’t lost on me that I could be…loud.

I groaned. “Tell me you guys didn’t hear me having sex.”

“We didn’t hear you having sex.” She grinned. “But if we did, then I just have to say, well-done, Max.”

I fought to keep the smile off my face. She didn’t know the half of it. We’d been apart for weeks and he’d taken our reunion very seriously.

“Although, Samir might have mentioned something about wanting to pour bleach in his ears.”

I made a face at that. I didn’t blame him. If the roles had been reversed, I would have died if I’d heard my cousin having sex.

“Where is Samir?” I asked, trying to change the subject.

“I don’t know. I, uh, slept in, too.”

I stifled a snort. I had a feeling I wasn’t the only one ringing in Christmas between the sheets.

We walked down the long, marble hallway, headed toward the formal rooms. We froze at the sound in the entryway, voices reaching us.

Max and Samir stood in front of the giant Christmas tree Maggie had convinced us to put up, their arms full of wrapped presents with giant bows. Some of the presents were beautiful—elegant paper that definitely looked professionally packaged, with easily recognizable paper in familiar store colors. Other presents had wrinkled edges, pockets of wrapping bunched at the sides, images of snowmen and candy canes on the paper.

The sight of presents Max had so obviously wrapped brought a lump to my throat.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a family Christmas. Usually my parents just deposited some money in my account and called it my Christmas gift. But Max had clearly gone out—gone shopping—and then tried to wrap them himself.

I loved him. So much.

“Did you remember to put the tags from Santa on some of the gifts?” Max asked.

Samir made a noise and muttered something in Arabic under his breath.

Maggie grinned.

“No.”

Max glared at him. “You need to do some gifts from Santa. It’s tradition.”

Samir looked like he was about to lose his patience. I had no clue how long they’d been up arranging gifts under the tree, just that it definitely hadn’t looked like this when we went to bed last night.

More Arabic from Samir.

My cousin had mellowed a lot since he and Maggie had gotten together, but he was a whole other beast from Max, but he didn’t do Christmas with his family, and the image of him celebrating a holiday he clearly knew nothing about was hilarious. He looked frustrated, and yet, by the impressive display of gifts that looked like they were for Maggie, I figured he’d tried his best.

“How about the hot cocoa?” Max asked, his tone sounding equally frustrated. “Is it ready?”

I snickered. Samir really looked like he was ready to lose it. We’d both grown up with chefs. I’d bet my favorite Birkin bag that he’d never made cocoa in his life.

I figured we had thirty seconds before they noticed us standing there watching them because Maggie looked about ready to burst out laughing.

“It’s ready,” Samir grumbled. “And the cookies for Santa are on a tray.”

And just like that, Maggie’s eyes went from laughter to complete and total adoration.

Yep. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to make her happy. Even if it meant giving her a traditional American Christmas when she was spending her holiday away from her family, with her half French, half Lebanese boyfriend who had never celebrated Christmas like this in his life, her best friend—and I’d totally own that up until Christmas Eve last night when Max had surprised me and given me the best present ever, I’d never been a big fan of the holidays—and her boyfriend’s best friend who seemed determined to single-handedly bring Christmas cheer to us all.

And then the boys turned, and their gazes landed on us, and I watched as the two most important guys in my life gifted us with smiles that brought a lump to my throat.

Yep. I felt like the luckiest girl in the world.

We went into their arms, Samir’s gaze on Maggie, Max’s arms around me, and everything else fell away.

We spent the morning laughing, drinking cocoa and eating cookies, opening gift after gift, and when it was all said and done, and we all collapsed on the sofas, surrounded by crumpled wrapping paper and discarded bows, my gaze connected with Maggie’s across the room, and we both smiled and I knew—

 Love was the greatest gift of all.

 

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BOOK LINKS:

 

 I SEE LONDON (International School Book #1)

Amazon

Barnes & Noble

iBooks

 

 LONDON FALLING (International School Book #2):

Amazon 

 

Barnes & Noble

 

iBooks

 

 
 
 
AUTHOR INFORMATION:

Originally a Florida girl, CHANEL CLEETON moved to London where she received a bachelor’s degree from Richmond, The American International University in London and a master’s degree from the London School of Economics and Political Science. Chanel fell in love with London and planned to stay there forever, until fate intervened on a Caribbean cruise and a fighter pilot with smooth dance moves swept her off her feet. Now, a happily ever after later, Chanel is living her next adventure in Asia.

Law school made Chanel realize she’d rather spend her days writing sexy stories than in a courtroom, and she hasn’t looked back since. An avid reader and hopeless romantic, she’s happiest curled up with a book. She has a weakness for handbags, her three pups, and her fighter pilot husband. 

She is the author of I SEE LONDON and LONDON FALLING, published by Harlequin HQN, the upcoming FRENCH KISSED, and FLIRTING WITH SCANDAL, the first book in a new three-book series to be released by Penguin/Berkley in 2015. 

 

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