Sunday, September 25, 2016

Shopping for an Heir by Julia Kent



Shopping for an Heir (Book 10 in the Shopping series)
Author: Julia Kent
Release date: September 20, 2016
Genre: Romantic Comedy, Contemporary Romance

Description:

Gerald Wright works for billionaires. He never imagined he’d become one.

The former Navy Seal is a chauffeur by day, artist by night, so when hotter-than-ever ex-fiancĂ©e Suzanne Dayton interrupts his nude model sculpting class to serve him with inheritance paperwork from a man he’s never heard of, he assumes it’s a joke.

Turns out the joke’s on him. There’s just one catch. A big one.

And it might be Suzanne — in more ways than he ever dreamed.

Shopping for an Heir is the 10th book in the New York Times bestselling Shopping for a Billionaire series by Julia Kent.

Buy links:

BN/Nook: http://bit.ly/29DaZZv 
iBooks: http://apple.co/29ssiMd 
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/29ZkKTg 
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/2a3mXRh 
Amazon Canada: http://amzn.to/29IQds1 
Amazon Australia: http://amzn.to/29JqH84 
Google Play: http://bit.ly/29MNgdk 
Kobo: http://bit.ly/2afregI 
Goodreads:  http://bit.ly/2atJMcM

Author Bio:

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Julia Kent writes romantic comedy with an edge. From billionaires to BBWs to new adult rock stars, Julia finds a sensual, goofy joy in every contemporary romance she writes. Unlike Shannon from Shopping for a Billionaire, she did not meet her husband after dropping her phone in a men's room toilet (and he isn't a billionaire). She lives in New England with her husband and three sons in a household where the toilet seat is never, ever, down

Social Media Links:

Website:  http://jkentauthor.com/ 
Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/jkentauthor/ 
Twitter:  https://twitter.com/jkentauthor 



Teaser

Squaring her shoulders, Suzanne decided to make this easy for him. God only knew why. “My law firm is handling the estate of deceased billionaire Harold Hopewell. You’ve been named in his will.” She tapped the thick envelope in his hand. “These papers explain everything.”
“Explain what?”
“You’re his heir. One of them, at least.”
At that moment, a leaky pipe released a drop that went ker-plunk into a ragged bucket on the floor.
“How can I be an heir to a guy I don’t even know?” His words were about the dead billionaire, but she knew he was just trying to engage her. Make her stay.
She looked around. She had to get out of there. “Read the papers. If you have any questions, my office number is on the letterhead.”



Excerpt



A flash of movement under a streetlight in the distance, at the nearest light, caught Gerald’s eye.
Suzanne.
Sprinting, he left Declan befuddled, calling out his name, until the light changed and he watched as Suzanne marched forward with that confident walk of hers, shoulders squared as if she were still in morning formation and wore a uniform, wiping her mouth with a tissue and muttering to herself. He knew how the curve of her spine felt under his palms when she stood like that, the supple feel of the paradox between soft skin and hard bone a delightful feast for his fingers.
“Wait!” he called out, unsure and unbidden, moving on pure instinct. He needed to touch her. Would die without making that single, simple connection. Not just in an intimate sense. The need was more than that.
Suzanne got to the curb and stopped. She did not turn around, her body poised, waiting.
Panting with the burst of exertion, his brain firing on all cylinders, he caught up to her and slowed down at the last steps, moving to her, pulled by a force that drew him in. His front settled against her back, his tight cotton t-shirt brushing against the thin linen jacket she wore, the friction erotic and full, sensual.
As his palms touched her elbows, her arms at her side, he inhaled with precision, measuring her.
She did not move.
“Suzanne,” he murmured, chin close to a stray hair that curled out from her updo, resting against the fine, creamy line of her neck. With longer hair, the sharp, jutting bones of her jaw stood out, giving her the look of a Viking princess. In heels, she was exactly his height, setting him off-kilter. He wasn’t a short man. In fatigues she was always four to five inches shorter. In service dress, her shoes gave her a two-inch lift.
He liked being equal. Liked it a lot.
“Please,” she whispered, the word spiraling off into the dark night, as if the street lights beyond them were pulling her voice to them.
Taking her reaction as something other than rejection, he left his hands where they were, closing the inch gap between them. She was cool and regal, his hot, thick chest pressing into her back.
“Please what?” he asked, knowing this could go either way, but not caring, because right now—as each second ticked by—he had more internal calm than he’d had in ten years.
Even as desire burned bright inside him.
“Please don’t.”
He froze.
“Don’t what?” Tempted to step back, he held strong. Her please carried a weight to it, a meaning he needed to discern before acting. All impulse and no analysis would end this in a flash. Time was his friend. Patience.
Hesitation.
He had to go against instinct.
“Don’t start something you don’t intend to finish.”




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