Thursday, July 28, 2016

Bound to the Bounty Hunter by Hayson Manning - Book Blitz & Excerpt

Harlan Franco, Colorado's busiest bounty hunter and security expert, lives by his own rules: be in control, be detached, and never mix business with pleasure. These rules are tested when the woman he's being paid to secretly guard is none other than the sexy, unpredictable, pain in the butt, Sophie Callaghan––a woman determined to stay away from him. If Sophie finds out he’s in her life on an assignment, he'll never get the info he needs. But those lips, those curves, that attitude… If he could only have her for one night where she'd play by his rules.

Freedom-loving private investigator Sophie Callaghan is on a mission. The daughter of a con-artist is not going to be used by a man again. What she doesn't need is hot, broody, and controlling Harlan barging into her life. Her brain may say no, but her body craves this bad boy.

After a night where both live out their darkest desires, Sophie tries to fight the explosive chemistry between them. But the ties that bind her heart to this bounty hunter are tight and tangled.

 “Hey girlfriend.” Gemma swung bags, shutting an old VW door with her hip. “I brought ‘Hello Handsome.’ Who needs a man when we have all eight vibrating inches of him? We also have devils on horseback and enough margarita mix to subdue the mighty Buffalo Bills.” Gemma stumbled and stopped. “Whoa.”

Harlan lounged against the driver’s side door of the Viper. Arms and ankles crossed, mirrored sunglasses on his face, his head swiveled in Sophie’s direction. He’d stayed directly behind her the whole way here. She’d gunned her car at a couple of orange lights, hoping he’d hit the reds, but no such luck.

Sophie stared at him, wishing he’d combust.

“Is he with you?”

Her hands twisted. “Yes. No. It’s a short, bullet point conversation.”

Gemma held up a bag. “Lucky I have ‘Come to Mamma’ margarita.” Her eyes slid to Harlan then back to her. “That’s not a bullet point conversation.”

“I’ve got Pringles,” she said, hoping to steer the conversation away.
Gemma waved to Harlan. “Honey, that’s going to need more than Pringles.”

Half an hour later, Gemma moved her blinds. “We have a change of shift. A gorgeous blond man with a body that could turn a celibate has exited his car, walked around it, and sat back in the driver’s seat, looking like he wants to club someone to death.”

“That’s Thor,” Sophie said, perched on Annie’s black leather sofa sipping a margarita.

Sophie snagged one of Gemma’s devils on horseback and popped it into her mouth.
Annie walked back from the fridge, a frosty jug of margarita mix in her hand. As she sat on the floor, a black, ancient-looking cat materialized and curled on her lap.
Annie stroked the cat, her vivid green eyes on Sophie. “You have holy hotness driving you home from Pipe’s. Thor is parked on my street. Girl—”

“You forgot the dude who accompanied her here. Tall, dark, and built. My underwear melted looking at him.” Gemma twirled her glass and sat opposite Sophie. “He only had eyes for Soph.”

“You’ve got some explaining to do,” Annie said.

She shifted in her chair. Both Annie and Gemma stared at her, Annie with an eyebrow cocked.

Could she do this?

Sweat rolled down her back. She wiped clammy hands down her jeans. She could make her excuses and slip out the door, or take a chance.

I love Princess Bride, Young and the Restless, Days of our Lives—the drama is deliciously addictive. Big Bang Theory but will take Wolowitz over Cooper. Star Trek not Star Wars. Undercover Boss, Secret Millionaire—any story that shows the little guy making it. I follow the Buffalo Bills like a religion. I am spellbound by showjumping and equestrian eventing.  I love curling up and reading all books—no genre is off-topic. I like ironing, hate peas, love donkeys. I play a killer game of Scrabble, but usually lose. I will often be heading towards the fridge for another Diet Coke. I eat nothing with legs and believe wine goes with everything, oh and I’m an expert at finding new and inventive ways to avoid exercise.

I live in the sparkly beachside suburb of Redondo Beach in California with my fake Gordon Ramsay and two boys who speak in mystifying grunts.

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