About the Book:
Welcome to Mayhem, Minnesota, home of the Knitty Kitty,
The Little Slice of Heaven Pie Shop, and O’Halloran’s
Pub—owned by the four young women known as The Whiskey Sisters.
In the wake of her divorce, Jameson O’Halloran has
gone man-vegan. And this is one diet she’s determined
to stick with. Even when her long-lost ex-brother-in-law
shows up looking like two scoops of double dutch
dipped in chocolate… She’s not giving in. Been there
and still wearing the messy T-shirt.
It’s been a decade since Scott Clarke left his family
and his hometown, never to return. But when tragedy strikes,
he finds himself dragged back to the land of gossip, judgment,
and the one woman he absolutely, positively, without a doubt
can never have. His brother’s ex is off-limits. He just needs
to keep repeating that to himself until it sinks in.
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Meet the Author:
Gracie Award-Winning radio host Lauren Rico is one of the
top classical music broadcasters in the country.
Her voice is heard nationally on SiriusXM’s Symphony
Hall channel, as well as on radio stations in
New York City, Charlotte, and Tampa. She’s even been
known to accompany travelers as they fly the skies over
Thailand, Oman, and China as part of the in-flight
entertainment on several airlines. Her love and passion
for classical music have allowed her to breathe new life
into the stories of the great composers.
And now Lauren is telling some stories of her own…
Beginning with her erotic thriller, Reverie
(Harmony House Productions, 2016), she set out to
“put the sexy back in Bach,” creating a riveting tale
of passion, deception and redemption set against the
backdrop of an international music competition.
She rounded out the trilogy with Rhapsody
(Harmony House Productions, 2016) and Requiem
(Harmony House Productions, 2017).
From there, Lauren partnered with Entangled Publishing, LLC,
to create the first in her Symphony Hall series of romance novels,
Solo (Entangled Publishing 2017). Her most recent release,
Blame it on the Bet, is the first in the five-book
Whiskey Sisters series (Entangled 2017).
Upcoming projects include four more Whiskey Sisters romances,
a follow-up to Solo and a super-secret, as-of-yet-unnamed thriller.
Lauren hopes to bring classical music to a new audience
by showcasing it in twisty, steamy stories that grab the
reader and keep them turning pages — and YouTubing the music —
into the wee hours.
When she’s not on talking on the radio or
typing on her laptop,
Lauren enjoys time with her husband
and spectacularly spoiled mini-schnauzer.
EXCERPT:
“Turn around.”
Kennedy paused. She wasn’t in the habit of being bossed around; hell, she wasn’t even really in the habit of accepting help, mostly because she never needed it. But her shoulders really did hurt like a sonofabitch, and anyway, letting him manage the sore spot on her back would only take a couple of seconds. How hard could it be?
She turned to face the shelving unit, pulling her hair over one shoulder. Gamble stepped in behind her, his hands finding the middle of her back a second later. His touch was surprisingly soft, so unlike his work-hardened body and dark stare and gruff demeanor, and Kennedy relaxed against the contact without meaning to.
“I usually do this with a tennis ball,” he said, his fingers traveling over either side of her spine as if he were trying to read her through the cotton of her shirt. “You just put it against a wall, press your back against it to keep it from falling, then roll it around a little to get it in the right place.”
“Sounds easy enough.” He slid his fingers higher, resting them just above her shoulder blades, and ah, her muscles squeezed in a burst of pleasure/pain.
“The trick is finding exactly the right spot and applying enough pressure to get everything to let go,” Gamble said. His hands kept moving, seeming to take stock of everything they touched, and with each pass of his fingers, Kennedy felt the tension in her body unwind. Her frazzled nerves, her fatigue, all of it fell away, and the pure goodness left in its wake made her mouth act independently from her brain.
“For the record, I do have a college degree.”
“Sorry?” His voice rumbled from behind her, and she turned her chin toward her shoulder to look at him—at least, as much as she could—as she answered.
“Before, you said”—his fingers found a spot, deep in her musculature, that made her pause for an exhale—“that you didn’t think they taught hammerlocks like that at Remington University. But I do have a degree. In business management.”
“Ah.” He rubbed slow circles over her shoulders, his hands wide and strong on her back until they zeroed in on a bundle of muscles at the juncture of her shoulder blade and spine. He applied just enough pressure to make the last of her tension release in a rush, and Kennedy swallowed the moan drifting up from her chest.
“Good to know,” Gamble said. He’d shifted toward her, just enough to return the half-look she’d sent over her shoulder, and enough for her to catch the scent of him on her inhale. He smelled clean—not like soap or laundry detergent, and definitely not like cologne, but of something sexy and intoxicating all the same, and, suddenly, the pantry seemed to have all the square footage of a postage stamp.
Kennedy’s heart slammed in her rib cage, her nipples going traitorously tight beneath her bra. This was impulsive at best, and insane at worst, but right now, she didn’t care.
Right now, she wanted him.
She lifted her chin to look up at Gamble through the shadows. At five foot ten, she didn’t usually feel small around people, but between the seven inches he had on her in height and the wide expanse of his well-muscled chest so close behind her, he came as close to eclipsing her as anyone ever had. His hands were still on her shoulders, and although it was the only place their bodies touched, she felt the heat of him everywhere.
“Kennedy.” The glint in his already-dangerous stare told her he wanted exactly what she did. Kennedy nodded, just the briefest signal of consent, and in less than a breath, he moved. Skimming his hands to the tops of her arms, Gamble cupped her shoulders to turn her around. His fingers pressed against her bare skin below the cap sleeves of her top, and her sex clenched with greedy want.
But then he froze, every part of him going still except for his heart, which she felt beating swiftly against her chest. “Do you smell that?”
She blinked, trying—and failing—to make sense of the question. “I…what?”
He took a step back, his entire body coiling as he sent a calculating gaze over the pantry, then the kitchen beyond. “Your cook turned off all the ovens and the flat-top grill before he left, right?”
“Of course.” Marco had never once skipped such an important step in breaking down his station. “Why?”
Gamble paused, but only long enough to grab her hand before he said, “Because your bar is on fire.”
About Kimberly Kincaid:
