Releases Blitz: Fake Fiancée by Ilsa Madden-Mills

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Fake Fiancée by Ilsa Madden-Mills

Publication Date: February 6, 2017

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ONLY $0.99 & FREE on Kindle Unlimited!
Join Amazon Kindle Unlimited 30-Day Free Trial
**limited time**

Kindle: http://amzn.to/2kjy0Ja
Amazon Paperback: http://amzn.to/2jUuDtB

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img_6148A new standalone romance from Wall Street Journal Bestselling Author Ilsa Madden-Mills…

They say nothing compares to your first kiss,
But our first kiss was orchestrated for an audience.
Our second kiss…that one was REAL.
He cradled my face like he was terrified he’d f*ck it up.
He stared into my eyes until the air buzzed.
Soft and slow, full of sighs and little laughs,
He inhaled me like I was the finest Belgian chocolate,
And he’d never get another piece.
A nip of his teeth, his hand at my waist…
And I was lost.
I forgot he was paying me to be his fake fiancée.
I forgot we weren’t REAL.
Our kiss was pure magic, and before you laugh and say those kinds of kisses don’t exist…
Then you’ve never touched lips with Max Kent, the hottest quarterback in college history.

Get ready for breathtaking kisses and dreamy football players….

~*~*~*~

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Wall Street Journal best selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills writes about strong heroines and sexy alpha males that sometimes you just want to slap.

She’s addicted to all things fantasy, including unicorns and sword-wielding females. Other fascinations include frothy coffee beverages, dark chocolate, Ian Somerhalder, astronomy (she’s a Gemini), and tattoos. She has a degree in English and a Master’s in Education. When she’s not pecking away on her computer, she shops for cool magnets and fuzzy pajamas.

She loves to hear from readers and fellow authors. Email her at ilsamaddenmills@gmail.com.

SOCIAL MEDIA LINKS: WebsiteFacebookInstagramTwitter

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ADDITIONAL BOOKS

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DIRTY ENGLISH by Ilsa Madden-Mills ➢ REVIEW | KINDLE

FILTHY ENGLISH by Ilsa Madden-Mills ➢ REVIEW | KINDLE

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VERY BAD THINGS – Review 5 Stars | Amazon

VERY WICKED BEGINNINGS – Amazon

VERY WICKED THINGS – Review 5 Stars | Amazon

VERY TWISTED THINGS – Review 5 Stars | Amazon

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Cover Reveal: FAKE FIANCÉE by Ilsa Madden-Mills

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Fake Fiancée is a new standalone romance from Wall Street Journal Bestselling Author Ilsa Madden-Mills releasing February 6th!

Meet Max Kent & Add Fake Fiancée to your TBR: http://bit.ly/2jh5mIR

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img_6148A new standalone romance from Wall Street Journal Bestselling Author Ilsa Madden-Mills…

They say nothing compares to your first kiss,
But our first kiss was orchestrated for an audience.
Our second kiss…that one was REAL.
He cradled my face like he was terrified he’d f*ck it up.
He stared into my eyes until the air buzzed.
Soft and slow, full of sighs and little laughs,
He inhaled me like I was the finest Belgian chocolate,
And he’d never get another piece.
A nip of his teeth, his hand at my waist…
And I was lost.
I forgot he was paying me to be his fake fiancée.
I forgot we weren’t REAL.
Our kiss was pure magic, and before you laugh and say those kinds of kisses don’t exist…
Then you’ve never touched lips with Max Kent, the hottest quarterback in college history.

Get ready for breathtaking kisses and dreamy football players….

~*~*~*~

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img_6149

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Wall Street Journal best selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills writes about strong heroines and sexy alpha males that sometimes you just want to slap.

She’s addicted to all things fantasy, including unicorns and sword-wielding females. Other fascinations include frothy coffee beverages, dark chocolate, Ian Somerhalder, astronomy (she’s a Gemini), and tattoos. She has a degree in English and a Master’s in Education. When she’s not pecking away on her computer, she shops for cool magnets and fuzzy pajamas.

She loves to hear from readers and fellow authors. Email her at ilsamaddenmills@gmail.com.

SOCIAL MEDIA LINKS: WebsiteFacebookInstagramTwitter

~*~*~*~

ADDITIONAL BOOKS

img_6160

DIRTY ENGLISH by Ilsa Madden-Mills ➢ REVIEW | KINDLE

FILTHY ENGLISH by Ilsa Madden-Mills ➢ REVIEW | KINDLE

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VERY BAD THINGS – Review 5 Stars | Amazon

VERY WICKED BEGINNINGS – Amazon

VERY WICKED THINGS – Review 5 Stars | Amazon

VERY TWISTED THINGS – Review 5 Stars | Amazon

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Blog Tour, Review & Giveaway: Filthy English by Ilsa Madden-Mills

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Filthy English by Ilsa Madden-Mills

Publication Date: July 10, 2016

*A modern love story inspired by Romeo and Juliet*

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Buy Links

KINDLE $0.99 (LIMITED TIME) http://amzn.to/29xpLUk

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imageA smokin’ hot British player…

A jilted girl…

One night of mistaken identity…

Two weeks before her wedding, Remi Montague’s fiancé drops her faster than a drunken sorority girl in stilettos. Armed with her best friend and a bottle of tequila, she hops a plane to London to drown her sorrows before fall semester begins at Whitman University.

She didn’t plan on attending a masquerade party.

She sure didn’t plan on waking up next to the British bad boy who broke her heart three years ago—the devastatingly handsome and naked Dax Blay. Furthermore, she has no clue how they acquired matching tattoos.

Once back at Whitman together, they endeavor to pretend they never had their night of unbridled passion in London.

But that’s damn hard to do when you live in the same house…

One night. Two damaged hearts. The passion of a lifetime.

~*~*~*~

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Excerpt

Without much thought except for comfort, instinctively I pressed myself against him, fitting into his arms as easy as breathing. He leaned against the brick wall of the neighboring building and wrapped me up, sensing my need to be grounded.
I don’t know how long we stood like that—maybe a minute, maybe five—but soon our breaths were in sync; the rise and fall of his chest in perfect accord with mine.
One of his hands traced down my spine and then up. He outlined my shoulder blades with his fingertips. His hands drifted to my hips then caressed back up to my hair, massaging my scalp.
But what had started as an innocent hug changed.
Fire licked my skin everywhere he touched. Of their own accord, my hands slid down to his waist and teased the line where his jeans rested on his hips. I went further, my fingers toying with the V at his hip until I felt him harden against me.
Lips brushed the top of my hair. “Remi . . . look at me,” he said, his voice raspy.
If you look up, you’re going to kiss him . . .
I tilted my head up and his mouth fused with mine in an instant.
Insistent. Wild. Hot. Yes! This is what I needed.
I groaned, and my hands rushed to his shoulders and dug in.
He was wrong—terribly wrong—for me, but it felt so right.
I felt wonderfully alive, revved up, as if I could crush a car with my bare hands, or push Dax against the wall and fuck him senseless. I recognized the feeling for what it was—an I almost-died-and-now-I-want-to-experience-life feeling.
“Wait,” he breathed as I ran my hand under his shirt. “It’s adrenaline. You’ve been through a trauma. You don’t really want this—”
“Shhh.” I lifted his shirt and kissed his chest, my tongue flicking over his nipple. “You taste like every good thing I’ve ever wanted.”
His taut restraint snapped, and he swayed into me. “God, I can’t tell you no.”

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Trailer

Filthy English by Ilsa Madden-Mills from Bibliophile Productions on Vimeo.

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Cori 4 Stars

Hot, beautiful, tattooed, cocky and sexy British bad boy Dax is total book boyfriend material. Sigh worthy! If you read Dirty English you know Dax is Declan’s twin brother. Yes, there are two of them! Read the first book too. Filthy English is a new adult second chance romance with all the feels, angst, misunderstandings and heartache that goes with that. I found myself talking to the characters as I was reading their story trying to get them to do what I wanted them to do. Of course they didn’t do what I wanted until they made their mistakes. Dax and Remi were perfect for each other. I really enjoyed this one. I recommend Filthy English for readers looking for a sexy new adult love story.  I’m hoping for Spider’s book next!

*Review copy provided by the author in exchange for an honest review. 

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Giveaway
Signed Paperback of Dirty & Filthy English
$50 Amazon Gift Card (One Winner)

a Rafflecopter giveaway

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imageNew York Times and USA Today best-selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills writes about strong heroines and sexy alpha males that sometimes you just want to slap.

She’s addicted to all things fantasy, including unicorns and sword-wielding heroes in books. Other fascinations include frothy coffee beverages, dark chocolate, Instagram, Ian Somerhalder (seriously hot), astronomy (she’s a Gemini), Sephora make-up, and tattoos.

She has a degree in English and a Master’s in Education.

When she’s not pecking away on her computer, she shops for cool magnets, paints old furniture, and eats her weight in sushi.

SOCIAL MEDIA LINKS: WebsiteFacebookInstagramTwitter

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imageDirty English by Ilsa Madden-Mills
Release Date: October 12, 2015
Genre: New Adult Romance

REVIEW: http://wp.me/p3d0RZ-3dw

Buy Links $0.99 or via Kindle Unlimited:
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1jjy5JB
Amazon CA: http://amzn.to/1FZJRTH
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1LIPB6n

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VERY BAD THINGS – Review 5 Stars
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1Fzllmk
iBooks: http://apple.co/1gl5Yaj
BN: http://bit.ly/1bOyH2g
Kobo: http://bit.ly/1D0BVw5

VERY WICKED BEGINNINGS
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1FzlnL4

VERY WICKED THINGSReview 5 Stars
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1FzlmXD
iBooks: http://apple.co/1mVS3Wo
BN: http://bit.ly/1mT1cDB
Kobo: http://bit.ly/1C9EZt3

VERY TWISTED THINGSReview 5 Stars
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1LZ6SFc
iBooks: http://apple.co/1eN7Clh
BN: http://bit.ly/1KK0ljh
Kobo: http://bit.ly/1BHcK4R

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Release Blitz: Filthy English by Ilsa Madden-Mills

 image.jpeg

Filthy English by Ilsa Madden-Mills

Publication Date: July 10, 2016

*A modern love story inspired by Romeo and Juliet*

image

KINDLE $0.99 (LIMITED TIME) http://amzn.to/29xpLUk

~*~*~*~

image

imageA smokin’ hot British player…

A jilted girl…

One night of mistaken identity…

Two weeks before her wedding, Remi Montague’s fiancé drops her faster than a drunken sorority girl in stilettos. Armed with her best friend and a bottle of tequila, she hops a plane to London to drown her sorrows before fall semester begins at Whitman University.

She didn’t plan on attending a masquerade party.

She sure didn’t plan on waking up next to the British bad boy who broke her heart three years ago—the devastatingly handsome and naked Dax Blay. Furthermore, she has no clue how they acquired matching tattoos.

Once back at Whitman together, they endeavor to pretend they never had their night of unbridled passion in London.

But that’s damn hard to do when you live in the same house…

One night. Two damaged hearts. The passion of a lifetime.

~*~*~*~

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Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

Remi

Plain and simple, this night sucked.
Sadly, it was my honeymoon.
I sighed heavily and gazed around Masquerade, an intimately lit London nightclub where everyone wore black domino masks, some elaborate and some plain, to hide their identity. A few die-hards even sported dark clothing with long, loose cloaks. Not me though. I’d gone modern with a slinky little number and three-inch heels, putting my height at nearly six feet. Yep, I’m the giant in the blue dress, towering over every girl and some guys at the bar.
My top teeth dug into my bottom lip as I gazed around the smoky club, my eyes bouncing off random faces. Even in a room full of party people, music, and strobe lights, I was lonely.
My groom was missing.
That’s right. Hartford Wilcox, Jr., aka Mr. Nice Guy at Whitman University in North Carolina, had jilted me two weeks before the big wedding day as we had dinner at our favorite Italian restaurant, Mario’s.
And now here I was—on my honeymoon and getting trashed with my best friend Lulu who’d decided to skip her beach vacation and come with me at the last minute.
She poked me with her finger as we sat in front of the heavy wooden bar of the club. “Hey, Earth to Remi, get that glazed look out of your eyes and order a drink already. I’m thirsty.” She fluffed her pixie-cut pink hair and straightened her black tutu, eyes scoping out the club. “Dang, the men in here are hotter than a billy goat with a blow torch,” she said in her honeyed southern drawl.
I half-heartedly agreed, not really caring, more intent on scanning the bottles behind the bar. “I want tequila,” I murmured. “A whole bottle.”
Her face snapped back to me and her green eyes widened. “Uh-uh. No way. I know what happens when you drink that crap. You either eat a ton of tacos and puke, or you wrap yourself around some cocky bastard with a well-developed tush.”
True. I did love a tight muscular ass.
But I wouldn’t get one tonight.
A short laugh burst out of me, one of those I’m-miserable-but-pretending-to- be-okay-laughs that I’d been doing a lot of lately. For the past two weeks, I’d vacillated between a sobbing mess and an angry woman who became so incensed that “fuck” was the only word that seemed appropriate in any given situation. Going to the post office to mail he dumped me, but thank you anyway cards. Fuck. Going to the wedding venue and not getting the ten thousand dollar deposit back. Fuck. Realizing I was homeless fall semester—which was in two weeks—fuck. Listening to my mother tell me it was my fault. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
The bartender delivered my bottle and poured me a shot. I sucked the tequila down while Lulu watched me warily. It tasted like bad decisions and gasoline, but tonight was about forgetting. The sooner the better.
A few minutes later, Lulu went out to dance with a British guy she’d been making eyes at. I sat glumly at the bar, fiddling with my diamond tennis bracelet, rubbing it like rosary beads. I needed to forget Hartford, and according to Lulu, that meant hooking up with someone.
Was she right?
Fate answered in the form of a beautiful man—and by beautiful I mean drop-dead sexy with a backside so delectable and muscular my mouth plopped open.
I snapped my lips shut and adjusted my velvet half-mask—the annoying feathery plumes on the sides kept sticking to my red lipstick—and turned ever so slightly to check him out, not wanting to appear obvious. He slid into the seat next to me, tall and broad with rippling shoulders and a massive frame.
I checked my appearance in a mirror behind the bar, mentally analyzing the odds of a girl like me snagging a hottie like him.
Although no one had ever called me beautiful, I did have two—okay, maybe three—things going for me in the looks department. My shiny, golden-brown hair that hung down in waves to my shoulders, my fluffy “pillow lips” as Lulu described them, and lastly, I had an itsy bitsy space between my two front teeth which were otherwise white and perfect. Lulu claimed the gap lent me an exotic look, like Madonna or Sookie Stackhouse. Whatever. I was a True Blood fan. I went with it.
He shifted on the stool, leaning closer to me. His cologne swirled in the air, the smell of expensive Scotch and musk mingling together to create a heady, slightly dangerous scent. I paused, goosebumps rising on my bare arms. The spicy whiff triggered a distant memory just out of reach.
As slyly as I could, I studied his profile from top to bottom. Like me he wore a black mask, although his was more masculine, not hiding his chiseled, movie star jawline. His lips were carnal and luscious, the bottom more plump than the top with a slight indentation in the middle. As I watched, his tongue swept out and caressed it, his top teeth biting it as if he were deep in thought. He raked a hand through his dark, longish messy hair, held it suspended above his head for a few seconds and then released it, letting it swish back into its tousled yet perfect place.
I tore my eyes away.
Something about him sent loud warning bells ringing in every atom of my body.
Danger, danger. Don’t touch that.
But my gaze would not be denied as I took in the tight black shirt and sculpted chest that was obviously used to the inside of a gym, right down to an arm that looked like it could snap a board in half—or me.
Nice biceps, Mr. Beautiful.
The pièce de résistance was the vivid blue and orange dragonfly tattoo displayed on his left arm. It was larger than my hand and took up most of his bicep. My eyes traced the contours of the design from the papery wings to the multi-faceted eyes. A bold black color outlined the insect, giving it a masculine feel.
Gorgeous.
True Religion jeans stretched down long legs and ended in a pair of black Converse without socks, giving him a boyish quality that was in direct contrast to the crazy-sexy-bad-boy vibe he had going on.
Him tonight?
Maybe. He was the polar opposite of Hartford who was blond, lean, and tattoo-free.
I nibbled on my fingernail. How do I get him to notice little ol’ me?
Just then a redhead with fluffy Farrah Fawcett hair strode up to his stool, bold as brass, wearing a tight, white mini-skirt that barely covered her booty. She brought with her the smell of sweet, cloying perfume, the kind I always got spritzed with at the mall.
She flicked her hair over her shoulder, casually rubbed her finger down his arm and struck up a conversation. Her fake, black lashes—which she’d somehow managed to get outside the eyeholes of her mask—batted. She puffed out her well-developed chest.
He smiled back at her with a wicked grin, his relaxed body language telling me he was confident when it came to women. She whispered in his ear, boobs right in his face, but whatever he said back wasn’t what she wanted to hear because a few ticks later, she crossed her arms, glared at me, and stalked away.
I blinked. What had I done?
Then he turned and pointed his devastating smile at me.
Shit, he’d made eye contact—as much as you could with a claustrophobic mask on.
But wait…
Was he crazy?
Because if he’d turned down her flirtation, I didn’t have a shot.
I didn’t know how to do the fingers-tip-toeing-up-his-arm-thing and sexy hair flicking. I didn’t know a thing about applying fake eyelashes. I didn’t know how to make my breasts sit up that high. I looked away from him and took another shot, feeling anxious and strangely off-kilter.
Mr. Beautiful ordered a drink from the bartender, his British accent smooth as silk as it washed over me. I froze. I almost knew that voice—deep with soft rounded vowels that made you tingle in your lady parts.
What was it about this guy that had me all jacked up and hot for him?
Hello, tequila, my inner voice said. But it was more than that.
Getting brave, I pivoted on my barstool, and found Mr. Beautiful’s eyes on me once more, searching my face. As if he too recognized the pull between us.
My heart played hopscotch, jumping against my chest. My skin prickled. I shivered.
Did I know him?
It clicked.
Dax Blay?
It was his voice, the same deep quality, the kind of voice that made you want to hop into his bed and ride him like a cowgirl.
My breath hitched, and I swallowed down the emotion that zipped up my spine whenever I thought of him. He was my one mistake, the time I’d tossed inhibitions and carefully laid plans aside and went with my instincts, only to have them tossed back in my face.
But the man next to me wasn’t Dax. Thank God.
Last spring at the campus-wide end of the year fraternity party with Hartford, I’d seen Dax, and he’d had shorter hair, like always, and zero tattoos. Yeah. No way.
Plus, last I heard, he was in Raleigh where his father lived.
Yet…
Dax was British. He could have family here. Maybe he got a tattoo?
Nah. I mean, what were the odds of us both being at the same club on the same night in a country where neither of us lived?
I tore my eyes off Mr. Beautiful and waved at a bartender for more limes, but somehow my tennis bracelet snagged on the bodice of my dress, leaving my wrist dangling like a wet dishrag in a most inappropriate place.
I wiggled my arm.
Jiggled it.
Even went so far as to jerk, but it wouldn’t separate.
Sweat popped out on my forehead. Holding my breath, I twisted and tugged the bracelet, forcing the delicate material in my bodice to stretch beyond normal limits.
“Well, hell,” I breathed, pausing to assess.
Skin-tight with a plunging neckline, the dress was mostly a stretchy fabric held together by sequined straps and a zipper on the side. Slated as part of my honeymoon wardrobe, it was a Tory Burch and had cost four hundred dollars, the most I’d ever paid for a fun outfit, and no way did I want to damage it. I might have to return it to rent an apartment at Whitman.
Lulu. I needed Lulu. She was a whiz with wardrobe malfunctions.
I spun around on the barstool and used my free hand to wave at her, but she was slinging herself around dancing, having a great time and completely oblivious. I resorted to flapping both hands at her, one high and one low. Several people waved back with baffled expressions, but Lulu didn’t notice. Dammit.
I groaned and slumped down in my seat, ready to scream. Now what? Go to the bathroom and repair it there? Good plan.
But the club tilted when I stood, the strobe lights making me squint as they flashed in my face. I wobbled in my leopard print heels—that Lulu had insisted I wear—and grabbed the stool to keep my balance. `
I sucked in a breath to gather myself, but I couldn’t think straight. The room spun, and I was suddenly queasy, and why did I slam all that tequila, and oh my god, my wrist is currently attached to my tit like a T. rex arm.
I had to get out of here before someone noticed what an idiot I was.
Trying to be stealth like, I reached across the bar to get my beaded clutch, but because it was my left hand and not my right that I used most of the time, I got off balance and stumbled—and my ankle folded in on itself. I yelped as my shoe catapulted off my foot and vaulted off toward the dance floor, while I fell forward, straight into Mr. Beautiful’s lap.

Filthy English (unedited excerpt)
Copyright Ilsa Madden-Mills

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This slideshow requires JavaScript.

image

imageNew York Times and USA Today best-selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills writes about strong heroines and sexy alpha males that sometimes you just want to slap.

She’s addicted to all things fantasy, including unicorns and sword-wielding heroes in books. Other fascinations include frothy coffee beverages, dark chocolate, Instagram, Ian Somerhalder (seriously hot), astronomy (she’s a Gemini), Sephora make-up, and tattoos.

She has a degree in English and a Master’s in Education.

When she’s not pecking away on her computer, she shops for cool magnets, paints old furniture, and eats her weight in sushi.

SOCIAL MEDIA LINKS: WebsiteFacebookInstagramTwitter

image

image

imageDirty English by Ilsa Madden-Mills
Release Date: October 12, 2015
Genre: New Adult Romance

REVIEW: http://wp.me/p3d0RZ-3dw

Buy Links $0.99 or via Kindle Unlimited:
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1jjy5JB
Amazon CA: http://amzn.to/1FZJRTH
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1LIPB6n

image

VERY BAD THINGS – Review 5 Stars
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1Fzllmk
iBooks: http://apple.co/1gl5Yaj
BN: http://bit.ly/1bOyH2g
Kobo: http://bit.ly/1D0BVw5

VERY WICKED BEGINNINGS
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1FzlnL4

VERY WICKED THINGSReview 5 Stars
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1FzlmXD
iBooks: http://apple.co/1mVS3Wo
BN: http://bit.ly/1mT1cDB
Kobo: http://bit.ly/1C9EZt3

VERY TWISTED THINGSReview 5 Stars
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1LZ6SFc
iBooks: http://apple.co/1eN7Clh
BN: http://bit.ly/1KK0ljh
Kobo: http://bit.ly/1BHcK4R

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Cover Re-Reveal: Briarcrest Academy Series by Ilsa Madden-Mills

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Re-Reveal! New Name! New Covers!

Welcome to Briarwood Academy where love can be a little bad, a lot wicked, and sometimes twisted.

FOUR RED-HOT BOOKS about the BAD, WICKED and TWISTED characters of Briarwood Academy, featuring a dirty-talking gym owner, a football player, a sexy rock star, and a British bad boy.

ALL BOOKS ARE ON SALE and FREE ON Kindle Unlimited!

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VERY BAD THINGS

Review 5 Stars | Amazon: http://amzn.to/1Fzllmk

Leaving behind her mansion and Jimmy Choos, Nora Blakely becomes a girl hell-bent on pushing the limits with alcohol, drugs, and meaningless sex.

Then she meets her soulmate, but he doesn’t want her.

Sexy gym owner Leo Tate has one rule: never fall in love…until Nora shows up with her list of bad things. He resists the pull of their sizzling connection, hung up on their age difference.

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VERY WICKED BEGINNINGS

Amazon: http://amzn.to/1FzlnL4

When wicked ballerina Dovey Beckham meets football star Cuba Hudson, she didn’t plan on having her heart shattered into a million pieces. He’s the bad boy with a dark past, and when he falls for Dovey, he knows she can’t be part of his future.

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VERY WICKED THINGS 

Review 5 Stars | Amazon: http://amzn.to/1FzlmX

Dovey Beckham is a ballerina from the wrong side of the tracks. Cuba “Hollywood” Hudson is a wealthy football player with fast cars and even faster girlfriends.

Their passion is electric, their connection deep, but once in a lifetime kind of love doesn’t come easy, especially when dirty money, past sins, and old flames come calling.

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VERY TWISTED THINGS

Review 5 Stars | Amazon: http://amzn.to/1LZ6SFc

Violet St. Johns is a talented violinist hiding out in a Hollywood mansion, struggling to forget the devastation of her parent’s sudden death.

Vital Rejects front man Sebastian Tate sees the elusive girl in the mansion next door playing her violin nude, and they begin an erotic game of spying.

When they finally come face-to-face, sparks fly and clothes comes off. But giving his heart to a girl isn’t Sebastian’s plan; falling for a guy who craves attention isn’t Violet’s.

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VERY BAD THINGS
Designer: Luminos Graphic House
Photography:Michael Stokes
Model: Leon Scott

VERY WICKED BEGINNINGS

VERY WICKED THINGS
Designer: Luminos Graphic House
Photography: Michael Stokes
Model: Attila Toth

VERY TWISTED THINGS
Designer: Luminos Graphic House
Photography: Michael Stokes
Model: Mike Thurstson

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Giveaway

$25 Amazon Gift Card

a Rafflecopter giveaway

~*~*~*~

image

imageNew York Times and USA Today best-selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills writes about strong heroines and sexy alpha males that sometimes you just want to slap.

She’s addicted to all things fantasy, including unicorns and sword-wielding heroes in books. Other fascinations include frothy coffee beverages, dark chocolate, Instagram, Ian Somerhalder (seriously hot), astronomy (she’s a Gemini), Sephora make-up, and tattoos.

She has a degree in English and a Master’s in Education.

When she’s not pecking away on her computer, she shops for cool magnets, paints old furniture, and eats her weight in sushi.

SOCIAL MEDIA LINKS: WebsiteFacebookInstagramTwitter

Excerpt Reveal: Filthy English by Ilsa Madden-Mills

 image.jpeg

Filthy English by Ilsa Madden-Mills

Publication Date: July 11, 2016

KINDLE $0.99 (LIMITED TIME) http://amzn.to/29xpLUk

Add to your TBR at: http://bit.ly/1t7pvC5

imageimageA smokin’ hot British player…

A jilted girl…

One night of mistaken identity…

Two weeks before her wedding, Remi Montague’s fiancé drops her faster than a drunken sorority girl in stilettos. Armed with her best friend and a bottle of tequila, she hops a plane to London to drown her sorrows before fall semester begins at Whitman University.

She didn’t plan on attending a masquerade party.

She sure didn’t plan on waking up next to the British bad boy who broke her heart three years ago—the devastatingly handsome and naked Dax Blay. Furthermore, she has no clue how they acquired matching tattoos.

Once back at Whitman together, they endeavor to pretend they never had their night of unbridled passion in London.

But that’s damn hard to do when you live in the same house…

One night. Two damaged hearts. The passion of a lifetime.

*A modern love story inspired by Romeo and Juliet*

~*~*~*~

pretty girl with hairs

Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

Remi

Plain and simple, this night sucked.
Sadly, it was my honeymoon.
I sighed heavily and gazed around Masquerade, an intimately lit London nightclub where everyone wore black domino masks, some elaborate and some plain, to hide their identity. A few die-hards even sported dark clothing with long, loose cloaks. Not me though. I’d gone modern with a slinky little number and three-inch heels, putting my height at nearly six feet. Yep, I’m the giant in the blue dress, towering over every girl and some guys at the bar.
My top teeth dug into my bottom lip as I gazed around the smoky club, my eyes bouncing off random faces. Even in a room full of party people, music, and strobe lights, I was lonely.
My groom was missing.
That’s right. Hartford Wilcox, Jr., aka Mr. Nice Guy at Whitman University in North Carolina, had jilted me two weeks before the big wedding day as we had dinner at our favorite Italian restaurant, Mario’s.
And now here I was—on my honeymoon and getting trashed with my best friend Lulu who’d decided to skip her beach vacation and come with me at the last minute.
She poked me with her finger as we sat in front of the heavy wooden bar of the club. “Hey, Earth to Remi, get that glazed look out of your eyes and order a drink already. I’m thirsty.” She fluffed her pixie-cut pink hair and straightened her black tutu, eyes scoping out the club. “Dang, the men in here are hotter than a billy goat with a blow torch,” she said in her honeyed southern drawl.
I half-heartedly agreed, not really caring, more intent on scanning the bottles behind the bar. “I want tequila,” I murmured. “A whole bottle.”
Her face snapped back to me and her green eyes widened. “Uh-uh. No way. I know what happens when you drink that crap. You either eat a ton of tacos and puke, or you wrap yourself around some cocky bastard with a well-developed tush.”
True. I did love a tight muscular ass.
But I wouldn’t get one tonight.
A short laugh burst out of me, one of those I’m-miserable-but-pretending-to- be-okay-laughs that I’d been doing a lot of lately. For the past two weeks, I’d vacillated between a sobbing mess and an angry woman who became so incensed that “fuck” was the only word that seemed appropriate in any given situation. Going to the post office to mail he dumped me, but thank you anyway cards. Fuck. Going to the wedding venue and not getting the ten thousand dollar deposit back. Fuck. Realizing I was homeless fall semester—which was in two weeks—fuck. Listening to my mother tell me it was my fault. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
The bartender delivered my bottle and poured me a shot. I sucked the tequila down while Lulu watched me warily. It tasted like bad decisions and gasoline, but tonight was about forgetting. The sooner the better.
A few minutes later, Lulu went out to dance with a British guy she’d been making eyes at. I sat glumly at the bar, fiddling with my diamond tennis bracelet, rubbing it like rosary beads. I needed to forget Hartford, and according to Lulu, that meant hooking up with someone.
Was she right?
Fate answered in the form of a beautiful man—and by beautiful I mean drop-dead sexy with a backside so delectable and muscular my mouth plopped open.
I snapped my lips shut and adjusted my velvet half-mask—the annoying feathery plumes on the sides kept sticking to my red lipstick—and turned ever so slightly to check him out, not wanting to appear obvious. He slid into the seat next to me, tall and broad with rippling shoulders and a massive frame.
I checked my appearance in a mirror behind the bar, mentally analyzing the odds of a girl like me snagging a hottie like him.
Although no one had ever called me beautiful, I did have two—okay, maybe three—things going for me in the looks department. My shiny, golden-brown hair that hung down in waves to my shoulders, my fluffy “pillow lips” as Lulu described them, and lastly, I had an itsy bitsy space between my two front teeth which were otherwise white and perfect. Lulu claimed the gap lent me an exotic look, like Madonna or Sookie Stackhouse. Whatever. I was a True Blood fan. I went with it.
He shifted on the stool, leaning closer to me. His cologne swirled in the air, the smell of expensive Scotch and musk mingling together to create a heady, slightly dangerous scent. I paused, goosebumps rising on my bare arms. The spicy whiff triggered a distant memory just out of reach.
As slyly as I could, I studied his profile from top to bottom. Like me he wore a black mask, although his was more masculine, not hiding his chiseled, movie star jawline. His lips were carnal and luscious, the bottom more plump than the top with a slight indentation in the middle. As I watched, his tongue swept out and caressed it, his top teeth biting it as if he were deep in thought. He raked a hand through his dark, longish messy hair, held it suspended above his head for a few seconds and then released it, letting it swish back into its tousled yet perfect place.
I tore my eyes away.
Something about him sent loud warning bells ringing in every atom of my body.
Danger, danger. Don’t touch that.
But my gaze would not be denied as I took in the tight black shirt and sculpted chest that was obviously used to the inside of a gym, right down to an arm that looked like it could snap a board in half—or me.
Nice biceps, Mr. Beautiful.
The pièce de résistance was the vivid blue and orange dragonfly tattoo displayed on his left arm. It was larger than my hand and took up most of his bicep. My eyes traced the contours of the design from the papery wings to the multi-faceted eyes. A bold black color outlined the insect, giving it a masculine feel.
Gorgeous.
True Religion jeans stretched down long legs and ended in a pair of black Converse without socks, giving him a boyish quality that was in direct contrast to the crazy-sexy-bad-boy vibe he had going on.
Him tonight?
Maybe. He was the polar opposite of Hartford who was blond, lean, and tattoo-free.
I nibbled on my fingernail. How do I get him to notice little ol’ me?
Just then a redhead with fluffy Farrah Fawcett hair strode up to his stool, bold as brass, wearing a tight, white mini-skirt that barely covered her booty. She brought with her the smell of sweet, cloying perfume, the kind I always got spritzed with at the mall.
She flicked her hair over her shoulder, casually rubbed her finger down his arm and struck up a conversation. Her fake, black lashes—which she’d somehow managed to get outside the eyeholes of her mask—batted. She puffed out her well-developed chest.
He smiled back at her with a wicked grin, his relaxed body language telling me he was confident when it came to women. She whispered in his ear, boobs right in his face, but whatever he said back wasn’t what she wanted to hear because a few ticks later, she crossed her arms, glared at me, and stalked away.
I blinked. What had I done?
Then he turned and pointed his devastating smile at me.
Shit, he’d made eye contact—as much as you could with a claustrophobic mask on.
But wait…
Was he crazy?
Because if he’d turned down her flirtation, I didn’t have a shot.
I didn’t know how to do the fingers-tip-toeing-up-his-arm-thing and sexy hair flicking. I didn’t know a thing about applying fake eyelashes. I didn’t know how to make my breasts sit up that high. I looked away from him and took another shot, feeling anxious and strangely off-kilter.
Mr. Beautiful ordered a drink from the bartender, his British accent smooth as silk as it washed over me. I froze. I almost knew that voice—deep with soft rounded vowels that made you tingle in your lady parts.
What was it about this guy that had me all jacked up and hot for him?
Hello, tequila, my inner voice said. But it was more than that.
Getting brave, I pivoted on my barstool, and found Mr. Beautiful’s eyes on me once more, searching my face. As if he too recognized the pull between us.
My heart played hopscotch, jumping against my chest. My skin prickled. I shivered.
Did I know him?
It clicked.
Dax Blay?
It was his voice, the same deep quality, the kind of voice that made you want to hop into his bed and ride him like a cowgirl.
My breath hitched, and I swallowed down the emotion that zipped up my spine whenever I thought of him. He was my one mistake, the time I’d tossed inhibitions and carefully laid plans aside and went with my instincts, only to have them tossed back in my face.
But the man next to me wasn’t Dax. Thank God.
Last spring at the campus-wide end of the year fraternity party with Hartford, I’d seen Dax, and he’d had shorter hair, like always, and zero tattoos. Yeah. No way.
Plus, last I heard, he was in Raleigh where his father lived.
Yet…
Dax was British. He could have family here. Maybe he got a tattoo?
Nah. I mean, what were the odds of us both being at the same club on the same night in a country where neither of us lived?
I tore my eyes off Mr. Beautiful and waved at a bartender for more limes, but somehow my tennis bracelet snagged on the bodice of my dress, leaving my wrist dangling like a wet dishrag in a most inappropriate place.
I wiggled my arm.
Jiggled it.
Even went so far as to jerk, but it wouldn’t separate.
Sweat popped out on my forehead. Holding my breath, I twisted and tugged the bracelet, forcing the delicate material in my bodice to stretch beyond normal limits.
“Well, hell,” I breathed, pausing to assess.
Skin-tight with a plunging neckline, the dress was mostly a stretchy fabric held together by sequined straps and a zipper on the side. Slated as part of my honeymoon wardrobe, it was a Tory Burch and had cost four hundred dollars, the most I’d ever paid for a fun outfit, and no way did I want to damage it. I might have to return it to rent an apartment at Whitman.
Lulu. I needed Lulu. She was a whiz with wardrobe malfunctions.
I spun around on the barstool and used my free hand to wave at her, but she was slinging herself around dancing, having a great time and completely oblivious. I resorted to flapping both hands at her, one high and one low. Several people waved back with baffled expressions, but Lulu didn’t notice. Dammit.
I groaned and slumped down in my seat, ready to scream. Now what? Go to the bathroom and repair it there? Good plan.
But the club tilted when I stood, the strobe lights making me squint as they flashed in my face. I wobbled in my leopard print heels—that Lulu had insisted I wear—and grabbed the stool to keep my balance. `
I sucked in a breath to gather myself, but I couldn’t think straight. The room spun, and I was suddenly queasy, and why did I slam all that tequila, and oh my god, my wrist is currently attached to my tit like a T. rex arm.
I had to get out of here before someone noticed what an idiot I was.
Trying to be stealth like, I reached across the bar to get my beaded clutch, but because it was my left hand and not my right that I used most of the time, I got off balance and stumbled—and my ankle folded in on itself. I yelped as my shoe catapulted off my foot and vaulted off toward the dance floor, while I fell forward, straight into Mr. Beautiful’s lap.

Filthy English (unedited excerpt)
Copyright Ilsa Madden-Mills

~*~*~*~

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imageNew York Times and USA Today best-selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills writes about strong heroines and sexy alpha males that sometimes you just want to slap.

She’s addicted to all things fantasy, including unicorns and sword-wielding heroes in books. Other fascinations include frothy coffee beverages, dark chocolate, Instagram, Ian Somerhalder (seriously hot), astronomy (she’s a Gemini), Sephora make-up, and tattoos.

She has a degree in English and a Master’s in Education.

When she’s not pecking away on her computer, she shops for cool magnets, paints old furniture, and eats her weight in sushi.

SOCIAL MEDIA LINKS: WebsiteFacebookInstagramTwitter

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imageDirty English by Ilsa Madden-Mills
Release Date: October 12, 2015
Genre: New Adult Romance
REVIEW: http://wp.me/p3d0RZ-3dw
Buy Links $2.99 or via Kindle Unlimited:
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1jjy5JB
Amazon CA: http://amzn.to/1FZJRTH
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1LIPB6n

image

VERY BAD THINGS – Review 5 Stars
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1Fzllmk
iBooks: http://apple.co/1gl5Yaj
BN: http://bit.ly/1bOyH2g
Kobo: http://bit.ly/1D0BVw5

VERY WICKED BEGINNINGS
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1FzlnL4

VERY WICKED THINGSReview 5 Stars
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1FzlmXD
iBooks: http://apple.co/1mVS3Wo
BN: http://bit.ly/1mT1cDB
Kobo: http://bit.ly/1C9EZt3

VERY TWISTED THINGSReview 5 Stars
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1LZ6SFc
iBooks: http://apple.co/1eN7Clh
BN: http://bit.ly/1KK0ljh
Kobo: http://bit.ly/1BHcK4R

~*~*~*~

 

Cover Reveal: Filthy English by Ilsa Madden-Mills

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 Filthy English by Ilsa Madden-Mills

Publication Date: July 11, 2016

Add to your TBR at: http://bit.ly/1t7pvC5

Cover: Luminos Graphic House
Model: Quinn Biddle
Photography: David Vance
*A Standalone Book*

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imageimageA smokin’ hot British player…

A jilted girl…

One night of mistaken identity…

Two weeks before her wedding, Remi Montague’s fiancé drops her faster than a drunken sorority girl in stilettos. Armed with her best friend and a bottle of tequila, she hops a plane to London to drown her sorrows before fall semester begins at Whitman University.

She didn’t plan on attending a masquerade party.

She sure didn’t plan on waking up next to the British bad boy who broke her heart three years ago—the devastatingly handsome and naked Dax Blay. Furthermore, she has no clue how they acquired matching tattoos.

Once back at Whitman together, they endeavor to pretend they never had their night of unbridled passion in London.

But that’s damn hard to do when you live in the same house…

One night. Two damaged hearts. The passion of a lifetime.

*A modern love story inspired by Romeo and Juliet*

~*~*~*~

image

image

imageNew York Times and USA Today best-selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills writes about strong heroines and sexy alpha males that sometimes you just want to slap.

She’s addicted to all things fantasy, including unicorns and sword-wielding heroes in books. Other fascinations include frothy coffee beverages, dark chocolate, Instagram, Ian Somerhalder (seriously hot), astronomy (she’s a Gemini), Sephora make-up, and tattoos.

She has a degree in English and a Master’s in Education.

When she’s not pecking away on her computer, she shops for cool magnets, paints old furniture, and eats her weight in sushi.

SOCIAL MEDIA LINKS: WebsiteFacebookInstagramTwitter

image

image

imageDirty English by Ilsa Madden-Mills
Release Date: October 12, 2015
Genre: New Adult Romance
REVIEW: http://wp.me/p3d0RZ-3dw
Buy Links $2.99 or via Kindle Unlimited:
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1jjy5JB
Amazon CA: http://amzn.to/1FZJRTH
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1LIPB6n

image

VERY BAD THINGS – Review 5 Stars
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1Fzllmk
iBooks: http://apple.co/1gl5Yaj
BN: http://bit.ly/1bOyH2g
Kobo: http://bit.ly/1D0BVw5

VERY WICKED BEGINNINGS
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1FzlnL4

VERY WICKED THINGSReview 5 Stars
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1FzlmXD
iBooks: http://apple.co/1mVS3Wo
BN: http://bit.ly/1mT1cDB
Kobo: http://bit.ly/1C9EZt3

VERY TWISTED THINGSReview 5 Stars
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1LZ6SFc
iBooks: http://apple.co/1eN7Clh
BN: http://bit.ly/1KK0ljh
Kobo: http://bit.ly/1BHcK4R

~*~*~*~

 

Blog Tour, Review & Giveaway: Dirty English by Ilsa Madden-Mills

image Dirty English By Ilsa Madden-Mills

Release Date: October 12, 2015

**Dirty English is a modern love story inspired by Pride and Prejudice**

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Meet Declan and Elizabeth in Ilsa Madden-Mills
new fighter romance!

image$2.99 or via Kindle Unlimited

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1jjy5JB
Amazon CA: http://amzn.to/1FZJRTH
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1LIPB6n

GOODREADS LINK

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A scarred fighter.

A girl with rules.

One night of unbridled passion.

There are three things you need to know about Elizabeth Bennett: she’s smart as a whip, always in control, and lives by a set of carefully crafted rules. She’s learned the hard way that people you love the most always hurt you in the end.

But then she meets Declan Blay, the new neighbor at her apartment complex.

A tattooed British street fighter, he’s the campus bad boy she’s supposed to avoid, but when he saves her from a frat party gone bad, all her rules about sex and love fly out the window.

She gives him one night of unbridled passion, but he longs for more.

With only a cardboard-thin wall separating their bedrooms, he dreams of possessing the vulnerable girl next door forever.

One night. Two damaged hearts. The passion of a lifetime.

*****

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The title and cover caught my attention and the story held it. Dirty English is a standalone new adult romance with a beautiful love story. It tugged at my heartstrings and had had me rooting for the characters. Declan is a rugged modern day knight in shining armor. A sexy fighter that also loves literature and poetry. Throw in the sexy English accent and Declan is swoon-worthy. I loved him!  I loved his twin Dax who was the perfect carefree opposite of Declan and the perfect secondary character. The chemistry between Elizabeth and Declan sizzles immediately and slow builds throughout the book. I recommend this book for new adult romance lovers looking for a sexy and emotional love story.  I really enjoyed it! 

*Review copy provided by TRSOR in exchange for an honest review.

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“Come to my apartment and spend the night with me.” I touched his face, my fingers stroking the softness of his sensuous lips. “Just one night and we can make this shitty world disappear.”
He exhaled. “A one-night stand?”
“Yeah.”
He cupped my chin. “Someone hurt you, didn’t they?”
My lips tightened. No one at Whitman knew about Colby except for Shelley and Blake, and I sure as hell wasn’t telling him. He’d judge me like everyone else had in Petal, North Carolina. “That’s none of your business.”
“I see.” His eyes searched mine until I felt like a bug under a microscope. “What if I wanted more than just one night?”
“Then your hands can let go of my hips now.”
He removed his hands slowly, the tips of his fingers grazing mine. “This may surprise you, but I don’t sleep with every girl I kiss.”
I’d been rejected. Again. “Blake said you got around, that you used—”
“And you believed him?” His voice was incredulous. “Dude is in love with you and he saw exactly how we looked at each other tonight—”
“Looked at each other? What are you talking about? You refused to dance with me and then you ran off with your girlfriend. Not to mention I just kissed you and you didn’t even care.” I threw my hands up.
“I wanted to fuck you the minute you walked in that party,” he snapped.
“Then why don’t you,” I bit out, tossing back my shoulders.
“You think you want me?” he said tightly. “You can’t handle me, Elizabeth. I can see it in your eyes. You’re scared of something, maybe not me, but something.”
My eyes went to his black eye.
He let out a harsh laugh. “Ah, that’s what you’re afraid of. You want the real truth? You told me tonight you didn’t like violence, but I’m an arsehole who uses his fists. That’s who I am.”
“What do you mean?”
His gaze was intense, dark and low, his face struggling as he fought to find the right words. “I’m in a fight club for money. I show up at warehouses and fight other blokes. Sometimes I beat them so bad they need medical attention. A few times, I’ve been beat to unconsciousness. I’m everything you need to stay away from.”
I inhaled, anger and lust and excitement all riding me. Anger that he was pushing me away, lust for the alpha male in him, and God help me, the fighting thing repelled me and excited me at the same time. “I don’t want to stay away from you. I want you to fuck me and stop making excuses for why you can’t.”
My words seemed to snap his taut restraint.
He pulled me back in his arms, his lips fusing with mine unerringly. His tongue plundered me in a sensual way my body had craved for years. I wrapped my arms around his neck, my anger morphing into all-out desire as he turned us and pressed me against the wall.
Yes, yes, this is what I craved.
A passion to remind me that I was real, not just some sad excuse of a girl who chose to exist on scraps of love.
Before I knew it, he’d shoved my robe off, his hands sculpting my shoulders, massaging them as he ravaged my mouth. I reveled in the warmth of his hand on my neck as his mouth skated down, kissing the hollows of my throat, sucking on my collarbone.
“Like this?” he asked, his voice dark and gravelly. “You want me to take you up against this wall?”
“Yes,” I moaned. Gone. Past caring as long as he kept his hands on me.
Out of control, my brain whispered, but I beat back the dark warnings as his warm hand found my breast and squeezed, his fingers rolling my nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
I gasped in pleasure and arched my back to get closer to his body, ignoring the fear that pricked at the surface.
The rules girl in my head stamped her foot and yelled at me. I ignored her.
But even if I wanted to stop right now, I couldn’t. My tongue tangled wildly with his, my hands pulled at his hair, spurring him on, his hand palming my breast and then tugging. Sharp sensations of need went straight to my core.
“Is this what you want? Something quick where we just take what we want and forget each other the next day?”
No. Not that. Not like the way he said it, like it was something dirty.
“Yes, like that,” I whispered against his shoulder, my mouth on his skin, tasting him as my teeth bit down.

*****

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SIGNED PAPERBACK OF DIRTY ENGLISH

a Rafflecopter giveaway

******

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imageNew York Times and USA Today best-selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills writes about strong heroines and sexy alpha males that sometimes you just want to slap.

She’s addicted to all things fantasy, including unicorns and sword-wielding heroes in books. Other fascinations include frothy coffee beverages, dark chocolate, Instagram, Ian Somerhalder (seriously hot), astronomy (she’s a Gemini), Sephora make-up, and tattoos.

She has a degree in English and a Master’s in Education.

When she’s not pecking away on her computer, she shops for cool magnets, paints old furniture, and eats her weight in sushi.

SOCIAL MEDIA LINKS: WebsiteFacebookInstagramTwitter

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VERY BAD THINGS – Review 5 Stars
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1Fzllmk
iBooks: http://apple.co/1gl5Yaj
BN: http://bit.ly/1bOyH2g
Kobo: http://bit.ly/1D0BVw5

VERY WICKED BEGINNINGS
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1FzlnL4

VERY WICKED THINGSReview 5 Stars
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1FzlmXD
iBooks: http://apple.co/1mVS3Wo
BN: http://bit.ly/1mT1cDB
Kobo: http://bit.ly/1C9EZt3

VERY TWISTED THINGSReview 5 Stars
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1LZ6SFc
iBooks: http://apple.co/1eN7Clh
BN: http://bit.ly/1KK0ljh
Kobo: http://bit.ly/1BHcK4R

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Release Blitz: Dirty English by Ilsa Madden-Mills

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Dirty English By Ilsa Madden-Mills

Release Date: October 12, 2015

**Dirty English is a modern love story inspired by Pride and Prejudice**

image

Meet Declan and Elizabeth in Ilsa Madden-Mills
new fighter romance!

image$0.99 RELEASE DAY ONLY!

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1jjy5JB
Amazon CA: http://amzn.to/1FZJRTH
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1LIPB6n

GOODREADS LINK

image

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A scarred fighter.

A girl with rules.

One night of unbridled passion.

There are three things you need to know about Elizabeth Bennett: she’s smart as a whip, always in control, and lives by a set of carefully crafted rules. She’s learned the hard way that people you love the most always hurt you in the end.

But then she meets Declan Blay, the new neighbor at her apartment complex.

A tattooed British street fighter, he’s the campus bad boy she’s supposed to avoid, but when he saves her from a frat party gone bad, all her rules about sex and love fly out the window.

She gives him one night of unbridled passion, but he longs for more.

With only a cardboard-thin wall separating their bedrooms, he dreams of possessing the vulnerable girl next door forever.

One night. Two damaged hearts. The passion of a lifetime.

image

image

imageNew York Times and USA Today best-selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills writes about strong heroines and sexy alpha males that sometimes you just want to slap.

She’s addicted to all things fantasy, including unicorns and sword-wielding heroes in books. Other fascinations include frothy coffee beverages, dark chocolate, Instagram, Ian Somerhalder (seriously hot), astronomy (she’s a Gemini), Sephora make-up, and tattoos.

She has a degree in English and a Master’s in Education.

When she’s not pecking away on her computer, she shops for cool magnets, paints old furniture, and eats her weight in sushi.

SOCIAL MEDIA LINKS: WebsiteFacebookInstagramTwitter

image

image

image

VERY BAD THINGS – Review 5 Stars
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1Fzllmk
iBooks: http://apple.co/1gl5Yaj
BN: http://bit.ly/1bOyH2g
Kobo: http://bit.ly/1D0BVw5

VERY WICKED BEGINNINGS
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1FzlnL4

VERY WICKED THINGSReview 5 Stars
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1FzlmXD
iBooks: http://apple.co/1mVS3Wo
BN: http://bit.ly/1mT1cDB
Kobo: http://bit.ly/1C9EZt3

VERY TWISTED THINGSReview 5 Stars
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1LZ6SFc
iBooks: http://apple.co/1eN7Clh
BN: http://bit.ly/1KK0ljh
Kobo: http://bit.ly/1BHcK4R

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Release Blitz: Bad Wicked Twisted Box Set by Ilsa Madden-Mills

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Bad Wicked Twisted: A Briarcrest Academy Box Set by Ilsa Madden-Mills

Release Date: September 20, 2015

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FOUR red-hot stories about the bad, wicked and twisted characters of Briarcrest Academy, featuring a dirty-talking gym owner, a football player, a sexy rock star, and a British bad boy.

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Amazon US $2.99: http://amzn.to/1iyRRk8
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1NFCZgD
Amazon CA: http://amzn.to/1W4O6B4

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imageVERY BAD THINGS (Amazon Top 5 Book and #1 in New Adult and College Age Romance)
Leaving behind her mansion and Jimmy Choos, Nora Blakely becomes a girl hell-bent on pushing the limits with alcohol, drugs, and meaningless sex.

Then she meets her soulmate, but he doesn’t want her.

Sexy gym owner Leo Tate has one rule: never fall in love…until Nora shows up with her list of bad things. He resists the pull of their sizzling connection, hung up on their age difference.

Welcome to Briarcrest Academy, where the best things in life are VERY BAD THINGS.

VERY WICKED BEGINNINGS (Prequel Novella: Amazon Top 100 Book and #1 in Urban Fiction)
When wicked ballerina Dovey Beckham meets football star Cuba Hudson, she didn’t plan on having her heart shattered into a million pieces. He’s the bad boy with a dark past and when he falls for Dovey, he knows she can’t be part of his future.

Welcome to VERY WICKED BEGINNGINGS.

VERY WICKED THINGS (Amazon Top 100 Book and #1 in Urban Fiction)
Dovey Beckham is a ballerina from the wrong side of the tracks with a scholarship to prestigious Briarcrest Academy. She gives her body but never her heart. Cuba “Hollywood” Hudson is a wealthy football player with fast cars and even faster girlfriends.

Until the day he meets her, and she offers him something he’s never tasted: true love.

Their passion is electric, their connection deep, but once in a lifetime kind of love doesn’t come easy, especially when dirty money, past sins, and old flames come calling.

Welcome to Briarcrest Academy…where the best things in life are Very Wicked Things.

VERY TWISTED THINGS (Amazon Top 100 and #1 Urban Fiction)
Violet St. Johns is a talented violinist hiding out in a Hollywood mansion, struggling to forget the devastation of her parent’s sudden death.

Vital Rejects front man Sebastian Tate never imagined his music video would go viral, skyrocketing him to instant fame. Okay, maybe he did. He’s a cocky dude, and he knew his name would be in lights someday.

When he sees the elusive girl in the mansion next door playing her violin nude, they begin an erotic game of spying.

When they finally come face-to-face, sparks fly and clothes comes off. But giving his heart to a girl isn’t Sebastian’s plan; falling for a guy who craves attention isn’t Violet’s.

Welcome to Briarcrest Academy….Hollywood style….where the best things in life are VERY TWISTED THINGS.

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Nora
“I’d like to sleep for a hundred years, wake up and try again.” – Nora Blakely
“Drop the paint and turn around slowly with your hands in the air.” The loud command was said with a deep voice. “I’ve got a gun, asshole, so move nice and slow.”
I bent over and placed the can on the pavement. I started to turn when— “I said put your hands in the air!” he yelled.
I yanked my hands up and eased around to face the owner of the voice.
He was about ten feet away from me, standing six feet and then some. He was missing a shirt but wearing a pair of black athletic shorts and flip-flops. Judging by his disheveled dirty blond hair and bloodthirsty eyes, I’d have to guess this might be the owner of the Escalade.
And I’d just woken him up.
He came closer to me, and my eyes were immediately drawn to his green-and-blue dragon tattoo. Like a giant snake, the scaled body of the dragon wrapped around his forearm and bicep with the neck coming down from his shoulder and the head resting on his broad chest. Red flames poured from its mouth, between laser sharp teeth.
This guy looked medieval.
I pictured him as a rugged Viking, wearing a horned helmet and gripping a spear instead of a gun. Maybe holding a shield instead of his flashlight and definitely wearing some of those laced-up leather boots. The word berserker (from round two of the famous spelling bee) came to mind, and I rolled the syllables around my tongue . . . ber-serk-er. Yep, that was him alright: one pissed off Norse warrior.
I grinned at my amazing analogy because, well, I was trashed.
“You think this is funny, son?” he snapped.
I shook my head, suddenly aware that this was really happening, that I’d been caught, and an angry car owner was pointing a gun at me. And he thought I was a boy.
“That’s what I thought. Now, what the hell are you doing out here messing with my car?” he said, biting out the words through clenched teeth.
I said nothing.
“You’ve got twenty seconds before I call the cops,” he said, stepping closer.
And then it happened.
Everything clicked in my head, and I knew him. He was the one, the gorgeous guy from the open house whose gaze had been the glue that held me together in the parking lot. I forgot about the gun and got tangled up in my thoughts, remembering the countless times I’d played out the memory of our eyes clinging to each other, how I’d wanted to jump out of my car, get into his and just drive away. I flicked my eyes back at the Escalade, dimly remembering he’d driven a black car. I really hadn’t paid much attention to it that day because all I’d seen had been him.
“Ten seconds,” he yelled, blasting his light full in my face until bright spots were floating in front of my eyes.
“Get that off me,” I snapped, swaying a little.
He lowered the light a miniscule bit. “Drunk and disorderly plus vandalism are two misdemeanors. Looks like you’re going to jail.”
“S’kay with me. Put me in jail,” I said weakly. But even as I said the words, I knew I was lying. I wasn’t a minor anymore, and I could kiss Princeton goodbye if I got arrested.
Nausea reared its ugly head and my stomach began to roll.
“Five seconds,” he retorted.
I bent over and hurled, missing my shirt but not my adored cowboy boots. After that, I dry heaved, and the force made my legs buckle, making me take a header straight on the concrete, the side of my face slamming into the wet pavement. My ball cap fell off in the craziness, my long hair spilling out over the wet ground.
“Holy shit,” he muttered, easing the gun down, “you’re a fucking girl.”
“Last time I looked,” I whispered, running my tongue across my teeth to check for chips. I scooted myself away from the mess I’d made and reached up to touch my face to see if I was bleeding. There wasn’t any blood, but I could feel my temple swelling. I put a hand on the car and pulled myself up. My knees were on fire, and when I looked down, I saw the concrete had ripped through my jeans and blood was dripping down my legs.
He cursed, pulled a phone from his pocket and dialed a number. “Sebastian, it’s all good. No, no cops. Yeah, come on out here. I might need some help.”
A door slammed, and a younger version of the man, probably around my age, came around the corner, his long legs striding briskly. He stopped in front of the graffiti I’d drawn and whistled loudly. “Oh baby, those pretty hearts and flowers are rocking your ride, Leo.” He chuckled and then stopped when his eyes took me in. “Whoa, she’s bleeding. Did you beat her up?”
The guy called Leo rubbed his scruffy jaw. “I don’t hit girls. She fell.”
“She’s hurt,” the young guy stated, frowning. He stared at me with a puzzled expression and then grinned and slapped his leg. “Hot damn. It’s her,” he said in a loud whisper. “You know? Nora? From registration?”
“Yeah. I see that,” Leo said, his eyes searching my face.
“I see no official introductions are necessary. Everyone knows me now as the girl with the potty mouth,” I said, leaning completely against the car, smearing the yellow paint everywhere.
The younger one came to my side. “You okay?”
I focused on him and decided I liked him. He had an open face that made me think he laughed a lot, so when I felt myself swaying again, I reached out to him.
“Watch it,” he said gently and grabbed my shoulders to steady me.
Leo walked over and loomed beside me, a disapproving look on his face as he watched us. I shifted closer to the one he’d called Sebastian, but stumbled and lost my balance, falling down again on my knees. Shit. This night had gone downhill fast.
Sebastian kneeled down next to me and looked over at Leo. “Hey, how ’bout I carry her inside so she can get cleaned up?”
Leo let out an exasperated breath. “Ridiculous,” he muttered. “She ruins my car, and you want to invite her inside? You’d feel different if it had been your Beamer, Sebastian.”
Sebastian gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “She’s my classmate, bro, and I think she’d just drunk.”
Leo let out a grunt. “Whatever. Fine, I’ll get her, and you get the backpack. And don’t forget the spray paint.” He walked over and glared down at me. “If I call the police later, we’ll need the evidence.”
Then, without any effort at all, he swept me up, his hard arms slipping under my knees and around my back as he scooped me off the ground.
And just like that, the night caught up with me, and I nestled into his bare chest, feeling like I had come home. He smelled so good, like—
“Butterscotch,” I mumbled, turning my nose into him.
“What?” he grumbled, carrying me inside the glass doors.
I didn’t answer because I was too busy laying my cheek against his hot skin and staring into the crystalline eyes of his dragon.
He took me down a long hall with several doors on each side and past a large workout room with treadmills, ellipticals, and free weights. “Hold on,” he said and adjusted his grip on my legs and started up a wide staircase that opened to a spacious loft area. He carried me past a den area and a kitchen and into a large white-tiled bathroom. I suppose I was too wet for any other room. And I wasn’t exactly a welcome guest.
He sat me on the toilet seat, made sure I was steady, and eased away from me. Maybe he wanted me to sit, but I didn’t. I jumped up, went over to the sink and turned the water on. He stood there, his broad shoulders tense, watching me as I splashed cool water on my face and rinsed out my mouth. I grabbed a hand towel and dried off, wishing I wasn’t intoxicated.
“Tell me why you vandalized my car,” he stated, crossing his muscled arms and spreading his legs, his stance making it obvious he was pissed. The tension heightened in the small room as we stared at each other, and I tore my eyes from his to sit back down on the toilet seat, not knowing how to answer him. I would only sound crazy.
He tapped his fingers against his legs. “What’s your parent’s phone number? And don’t think of lying because I can always look it up online. I know who you are.”
“There’s no point in calling them. They aren’t home. They never are,” I said, grabbing a wad of toilet paper and cleaning off my boots. My throat tightened painfully at the thought of my parents, and I soothed myself by counting the tiles on the floor.
He didn’t speak and several seconds passed, and I tensed up more, fearing that like Mother, he excelled in using silence. But no one was better than Mother, who’d once refused to speak to me for an entire month when I’d come in second at a debate competition. During the first week of that horribly quiet time, I’d followed her around, begging her to talk to me. She’d ignore me and say to my dad, “Silence is golden.” As the weeks had progressed, I’d learned her silence was her speech, her way of saying I was worthless.
“Please don’t call my parents,” I added, hiding my shaking hands behind my back.
He tightened his mouth. “Fine, who can I call to come get you?”
“Don’t hold it against Portia from the bakery across the street, but she’s my aunt. I’m staying with her.” I dug my phone out of my wet jeans, scrolled down to her number, and handed it to him.
Our fingers brushed when he took my phone, and I jerked, shocked at the unexpected sizzle of heat sweeping over my body. He pocketed my phone and then opened the medicine cabinet, gazing into it for a long time without moving, like he was considering what to do next. I watched him warily, wondering what he had planned for me. Finally, he sighed and pulled out hydrogen peroxide and a handful of gauze.
“Sebastian has a change of clothes you can borrow, and you’ll need an ice pack for your face. It’s going to leave a bruise,” he told me as he bent down to touch my temple with his long fingers. He cleaned my face with cold water and then dabbed it with the hydrogen peroxide, his touch surprisingly gentle even though I could sense his anger just under the surface.
In the bright lights of the bathroom, I let my gaze run over him freely, taking him in, not missing how beautiful he was. He had an unyielding face, with a jaw line that looked like it could chisel granite, matching his well-built, defined body. Yet even with all the hotness in front of me, the one thing that made my heart fly was his icy pale-blue eyes. This close up I could see how the light, almost transparent color contrasted with his tan face, making his eyes glow like the precious opals I’d studied about in science. And right now they were focused entirely on me as he scrutinized my bruise.
“Is this your gym?” I asked, trying not to wince as he patted my temple.
“Yes,” he said, tossing the used gauze into the trash, his arm muscles rippling. He stood up and raked a hand through his wavy blond hair, holding it there as he studied me with those piercing eyes. I returned his look, my breath kicking up a notch at how sexy his naked chest was, how his dragon tattoo seemed to slither and slide over his chest as he moved. My eyes moved down to his taut abs and the way his shorts barely hung to his lean waist, hinting at what was underneath.
Of course, while I’m buzzing, I remembered my bad list and grew curious about having sex with him. Would he be gentle or demanding? Would he like me on top or would he get behind me? Would I enjoy it?
But it didn’t matter if I got off as long as he made me forget.
Forgetting was the important part.
It had been months since I’d had sex with someone. Not since that wild weekend in New York with Drew. Even though our relationship had ended badly, I still remembered the sex and how good it had felt to be held by someone. Like I wasn’t alone, like someone cared about me.
I needed a night like that again, to lose myself in sex. I wanted this Viking.
I gave him a fake smile. “Leo’s a great name. Guess you know it means lion. It also means bold one. Are you bold?” I said in a low tone, reaching out to stroke his arm.
He jerked away from me, like I’d scalded him, but it didn’t deter me. True, I was a little younger than him, but what guy would turn down a no-strings-attached night? Drew hadn’t.
I stood up and toed my boots off. “How old are you?” I asked.
“Too old for you,” he quickly retorted.
“I’m not a virgin, you know. I’ve been with other guys, some good at fucking, some not.” I let my eyes run over him slowly. “You’re older which means more experienced. I bet you’d blow them right out of the water,” I said, putting it all out there and letting bad Nora take over completely.
“I don’t care how many douchebags you’ve fucked,” he said with a hard face, his eyes gleaming with distaste.
I felt some of my false bravado slip away, but not enough to stop. He was what I needed tonight. I began unbuttoning my shirt, and his eyes followed my progress. “You tell me your age and I’ll tell you mine,” I said in the best teasing voice I could muster.
I undid the last button and shrugged out of my shirt, relieved I’d worn the black lace bra. “You like?”
He yanked a towel from the shelf near the door and tossed it in my face. “Cover up, Nora. I don’t do spoiled, rich girls.”
I caught the towel and held it against me, ignoring that remark. Those types of insults never affected me.
Not when you hear them every day.
“If you won’t tell me your age, I’ll just have to figure it out on my own. And I’m guessing you’re at least twenty-five, maybe twenty-six?” I said.
He shook his head and clenched his fists, not answering me.
I took a deep breath, dropped the towel to the floor and unclasped my bra, letting my size C breasts fall out. Even though I’d been a pudgy most of my life, I’d blossomed into a girl with generous curves. He seemed to like what he saw because he didn’t look away. I glanced down at my erect nipples and lightly touched one with my fingertip, surprised by the desire I felt. I brought my eyes back to his face, imagining his tongue on me.
A muscle jerked in his tight jaw.
I dropped my hand and steeled myself to keep on toward the goal. “Of course, it’s getting harder to tell someone’s age now because people take better care of themselves, like you with your tight abs. But, if you study someone long enough, you’ll find out their secrets.”
“I don’t have any,” he ground out, tearing his eyes from my body.
“We all do.”
He rubbed his hand across his mouth as his eyes swept over my breasts again. “You don’t know jack about me.”
I studied him, my brain picking through what I’d observed tonight. “Well, you own your own business, so you’re a responsible person. And, I bet you a new pair of boots you’re the guardian of the young man out there, who has to be your brother because he looks just like you. I think your parents are out of the picture.”
I unsnapped my jeans, shimmied them pass my skinned knees, and tossed them in the trash. “You’ve also shown self-control tonight that’s impressive. Someone less in control might have shot me on sight. In a nutshell,” I said, taking off my black panties, “you’re well-off, take care of a younger brother, and keep your emotions on a tight leash. Am I right?”
He glared at me, his entire body frozen up, like a tiger poised to pounce. Like he was going to jump on me and devour me. I wondered if he’d eat me the way I wanted.
I couldn’t stop talking. “I’m good at observing people: body language, mannerisms, how they talk, style of clothing, everything. It’s a puzzle I like to put together. It’s better than Facebook stalking,” I said with a forced shrug, trying to be casual when inside I was freaking the hell out. What was I doing?
Why was I trying to seduce this guy?
He didn’t want me.
No one did.
His eyes burned like blue flames. “What kind of girl strips for a guy she just met?”
A girl with no self-respect, I thought.
I shrugged. “I need a shower, which involves me taking my clothes off.”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “You could have waited until I left.”
I flicked my eyes at his crotch. “You’re hard for me. You’re bigger than a tree trunk in those shorts,” I said. “And you haven’t walked out of this bathroom. I think you’re a little fascinated with me. I think you like watching me take my—”
“Fuck!” he barked out and spun around to go.
“Wait, wait,” I called out, reaching out to make him stop, needing him. Please stay, I wanted to say.
He turned back with his fists held tight by his side and spat out his words. “You’re a naked girl, and I’m a grown-ass man. I’m walking out of this room while I still can.”
But he made no move to leave, and it gave me a tiny bit of hope.
“I . . . I just wanted to know how old you are.”
“Twenty-five. I’m twenty-five,” he muttered, “and you’re jailbait and not my type.”
“What type is that?” I asked.
“Girls who aren’t in high school. In other words—not you.”
And as we stood there, facing each other, I waited for him to make his move, to snatch me up and take me to his bed like I wanted.
But he didn’t, because I wasn’t good enough or pretty enough or smart enough.
I was never enough.
I cleared my throat and powered on. “Eighteen isn’t jailbait.”
We stared at each other and the longer our eyes held, the more I knew my boundaries were gone. It seemed like there was nothing I wouldn’t say to him. Even though my insides were quaking with nerves, I went over to him until our bare chests were only inches apart. I was five feet ten inches, and he was at least six inches taller, making him the tallest guy I’d ever stood next to. Not only that, but his body was built like an NFL football player, with lethal yet lickable muscles. I liked being near him. I felt safe, like no one would ever hurt me again.
My eyes caressed the dragon on his chest, and I wanted to trace it with my tongue. I thought about how warm his skin would be, how it would feel to have his strong arms wrap around me as I kissed his sensuous lips. When his breathing accelerated along with mine, I knew I wasn’t completely alone in my feelings. I searched his eyes, surprised at the new sensations coursing through me.
I pressed myself against him completely, and he hissed at the contact. “Don’t you want to touch me?” I whispered, rubbing my breasts against his chest to get some friction.
He gripped my arms and shoved me away from him. “You’re playing with fire. You think you want this?” He laughed darkly. “Buttercup, you can’t handle me.”
And with those words, he pivoted around and stomped out of the room, slamming the door hard behind him.

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imageNew York Times and USA Today best-selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills writes about strong heroines and sexy alpha males that sometimes you just want to slap.

She’s addicted to all things fantasy, including unicorns and sword-wielding heroes in books. Other fascinations include frothy coffee beverages, dark chocolate, Instagram, Ian Somerhalder (seriously hot), astronomy (she’s a Gemini), Sephora make-up, and tattoos.

She has a degree in English and a Master’s in Education.

When she’s not pecking away on her computer, she shops for cool magnets, paints old furniture, and eats her weight in sushi.

SOCIAL MEDIA LINKS: WebsiteFacebookInstagramTwitter

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VERY BAD THINGS – Review 5 Stars

VERY WICKED BEGINNINGS

VERY WICKED THINGSReview 5 Stars

VERY TWISTED THINGSReview 5 Stars

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