Addy’s List
May Book: The Landry
Family Series
All are standalones. But the traditional reading order
is: Sway, Swing, Switch, Swear, and Swink.
Quick Posts:
Swink:
He's a bad boy. She's a good girl. Together, they're fire. A
standalone romance that's free in Kindle Unlimited. http://ow.ly/pDhs30juVnq
Sway:
She's a single mom. He's used to getting
what he wants. Who is stronger? Standalone romance, available in KU and
Audible. http://ow.ly/HyFK30juVra
Swing:
Baseball standalone romance for all you
loving this sports season! :) Available on Amazon, in KU, and Audible. http://ow.ly/cbai30juVwe
Swear:
Switch:
When
these two are together, the sparks that fly threaten to burn the whole place
down. A sizzling office romance in KU. http://amzn.to/2FTjFvm
Box
Set:
The Landry Family Series is
now available as a box set. Grab it and fall in love now. Available in KU:
https://amzn.to/2FS0SzG
Excerpts:
From Swing:
The bell chimes as the front door closes behind me. I’m to my
car in record speed. I need space. I need air. I need to think. When my phone
buzzes right before I pull out of the parking lot, I know it’s Pepper and she’s
not going to quit until I give her something to occupy her mind.
“Fine!” I nearly shout into the phone. “His cock is about ten
inches, if I’m guessing, and he fucked me in about every position I could
explain. My favorite, though, was the corkscrew. Not sure what that is? Google
it.”
My finger goes to swipe off the call when I see the name on
the screen and drop the phone. “Shit!” I cry, digging through the items on my
passenger’s side floorboard until I find the glowing device.
My heart is pounding as I try to decide whether to end the
call or talk to Lincoln. Mortified, I bring it to my ear and squeeze my eyes
shut. He’s silent.
Maybe he didn’t hear. Please, God, don’t let
him have heard that.
“Hello?” I eke out.
“I’d say ten inches is fair and I’ve made a note about the corkscrew.
Glad I called,” he chuckles.
From Sway:
“I want a chance to win you over,” he breathes, peering at me. The way his eyes
search mine make it seem like time stands still. “Will you let me try?”
He forces a swallow and the look of hesitation,
the internal fight he’s having, isn’t lost on me. It’s there, right beneath the
surface, and when I add my concerns to the mix, it’s enough to make me balk.
Just a bit.
"I'll think about it," I whisper,
holding on to the little strand of courage I have left.
“Say yes.”
Instead of responding, I ask, "Where'd you
get that scar over your right eye?" I reach out and press gently on the
raised skin. I expect him to pull back, but he doesn't.
My hand shakes as I touch his warmed skin. His
forehead is silky and smooth. I'd like to run my hands over every inch of it,
feel it ripple beneath my fingertips.
The corner of his lips twitch. "Lincoln
hit me in the head with a baseball."
"Bad reflexes on your part?"
"Wicked curveball on his," he says,
his face breaking out into a full smile.
“I thought he played center field?”
“He does. But he pitched some growing up.”
We stand inches apart, my hand gently brushing
down the side of his face. Although I feel like he'd stand here all night and
talk to me, it’s not possible.
"I really need to get back to work,"
I say, trying to unlock my eyes from his.
“Dinner? This week?”
I can barely resist the look in his eye, the
one that implores me to say yes. The one that makes me believe he really does
want to have dinner and spend a few hours with me.
I need to get away, put some space between us
while I can.
“We ran into each other tonight,” I shrug. “If
we’re supposed to see each other again, then I guess we will.” I start to turn
away before I completely buckle under his gaze.
“How am I supposed to get ahold of you? I don’t
have your number,” he calls after me.
Heading up the steps to the Savannah Room, I
glance at him over my shoulder. “You’re the Mayor. Figure it out.”
From Swear:
Our breathing
quickens, the blues of his eyes growing stormy. A chill tears through me as he
accidentally-on-purpose brushes his arm against mine. It’s like muscle memory,
my body remembering exactly what to do around his.
My knees dip,
my mouth waters, and I fight the ache in between my thighs as he looks down at
me like it’s me he wants for dinner.
“What if I
throw breakfast in afterwards?” he prods. “Does that make me, I mean it, more
appetizing?”
That’s all it
takes, that one little hint of arrogance, that brings me back to reality.
I flip him a
smile. “It makes it less, actually.”
His own smile
wavers. “I get that you probably hate me.”
“You’re right.
I do.”
“I want the
chance to explain.”
“You have the
same chances of getting the chance to explain as I do of getting what every
woman wants.”
“What’s that?”
I lean in, like
I’m going to tell him a secret. Whispering, I say, “Being able to eat all the
pizza and not gain an ounce.”
Turning on my
heel, I head to the back as his chuckle fills the room. “That was good. I’ll
give you that.”
I shrug and keep
walking.
“You can at
least let me apologize.”
The authority
in his tone, like I owe him something, stops me in my tracks. I whirl around to
face him. “You don’t deserve a chance to apologize to me.”
“I didn’t say I
deserved it,” he says earnestly. “But I would love the opportunity to do so.”
He forces a swallow, my eyes glued to his lips. “I would appreciate the chance
to get to see you again.”
The snicker
that comes from me is unexpected by both of us. “So charming. I forgot how good
you are with words.”
“Does that mean
that’s a yes?”
“That means
that’s a no,” I smile. “That means I’m not about to let you come in here and
look at me with those bright blue eyes and make me forget what it felt like to
have you rip my heart out.”
He flinches. “I
didn’t mean to do that, Ellie.”
“Don’t act
surprised,” I laugh angrily. “There’s no way you thought I just went on with my
life after you left. I dated you for four years, Ford. And after what we went
through …”
It’s me gulping
now, the anger so palpable that I almost have tears in my eyes. My hands shake
as I remember the fight that ensued after he told me he was enlisting.
“You left me,”
I repeat, shaking my head. “So leave me again. There’s the door. Should I hold
it open for you this time?”
From Swink:
He’s standing in the doorway,
one hand on the sweatpants that hang just below his chiseled hips and the other
leans on the frame. The tattoos that mark his flesh are vivid against his bare
skin, making the blues of his eyes shine.
He flashes a lopsided smile my
way. “Took you long enough.”
“I don’t drive like a bat out
of hell,” I laugh, stepping past him. “Did you shower already?”
“Yeah.
I smelled like gym floors.”
“As long as you don’t smell
like gym whores,” I say, setting the bags on the table in the kitchen.
His laugh is contagious and I
feel myself smiling. A set of arms cage me in from behind, grasping the table
on both sides of me. My skin breaks out in a shiver as his lips find the
sensitive spot behind my ear.
His face buries in the crook of
my neck and he takes a long, leisurely breath. “You smell so good.”
“Keep doing that,” I say,
relaxing my head onto his chest.
“What?”
“Talking with your mouth
against me.”
“You like this?” he asks all
breathily so that each word whispers across my skin.
My eyes fall closed as I relish
in this moment of nothing but him. “No, I love this.”
“Can I tell you a little
secret?”
“As long as you keep talking,
you can tell me whatever you want.”
He chuckles, dotting kisses up
and down my neck. “I love this too, feeling your body give up the fight of the
day and let me take over.” He turns me in his arms so I’m facing him. “I love
that you trust me enough to let your shoulders sink out of that perfect posture
you walk around with.”
As he reaches up and undoes the
elastic in my hair, I watch his features soften. He moves carefully, unwrapping
the tie from the twisted mess in my locks, careful not to pull.
“There,” he says, cupping the
back of my head through my long tresses, “that’s better.”
“You don’t like my hair up?”
“Not like you had it. You look
to lunching-y,” he says, wrinkling his nose.
“Lunching-y?”
“Yes,” he grins.
“You are too cute.”
“You are too fucking sexy.”
Reaching up, I swipe the pad of
my thumb over the cut above his eye. He flinches, but just for a second. “What
happened?”
“Bond’s right hand.”
“I hate him.”
“So do I,” he snickers.
“Let’s get some ice for it.”
He leans in, his brows tugging
together. “Let’s not.” His eyes hood as he takes me in, his tongue darting out
and wetting his lips. My knees weaken, my body humming with delight at his
reaction.
“I want to take care of you,” I
whisper, although that’s really on the backburner now. “Let me baby you.”
Instead, he lifts me up and
places me on the table. My stomach clenches as he positions himself between my
thighs, my sundress curling at my waist. I ring my legs around him, pulling him
so close that the soft cotton of his sweatpants rubs against my opening.
He looks down. “You aren’t
wearing panties.”
We both know
we aren’t just talking about a moved stapler or a mishmash of files. As that
really sets in, the air around us gets heavier. Hotter. Hazardous.
“Those things
always lead to dangerous situations,” he says, his eyes trained on me.
I shift in my
seat, the throb between my legs growing stronger by the second. “People do it
every day and survive.”
“They may
survive, but don’t things get messy?”
“Only if they
do it right.”
His chair flies
backwards and he’s to his feet and next to me before I know what’s happening.
He doesn’t ask that I stand, but he doesn’t have to. It’s implied and my body
reacts accordingly to his silent command.
We stand
face-to-face, our breathing ragged. Our chests heave with the anticipation, the
possibility, of what might come next.
“You are,
quite possibly, the most dangerous of them all,” he says, his voice rough.
“Why is that?”
I breathe.
“There’s no
plan for you.”
“But you’ve
already penciled me in, haven’t you, Graham?” I ask, finding the courage to
play this little game with him. Being strictly professional is incredibly hard,
and this is way too easy.
I can flirt
with the best of them in a bar or on a college campus. But here, with him, it’s
a game all its own. A level I had no idea I’d ever be a contender in. Maybe I’m
not, but I’m going to play the hell out of it while I’m here … even though if I
keep it up, I might not be here for long.
“What do you
want, Mallory?”
“I want to do
all the things you ask of me and do them better than you ever expected they
could be done.”
A rumble emits
from his throat as his eyes darken. My knees go weak and I grab the table with
my left hand to ensure I don’t fall.
He licks his
lips and flips his gaze to my mouth. I think I whimper as I lift my chin,
waiting to see what he does next. My entire body is on fire for this man, my
heart thumping so hard I’m sure he can hear it.
He moves so my
back is pressed against the table, our food long forgotten. His hands are on
either side of me, caging me in. Our eyes locked together, he leans in, a slow
smirk spreading across his gorgeous face.
“Excuse me,
Mr. Landry. Ford is here to see you,” Raza chirps through the line.
We exhale
simultaneously, a giggle escaping with mine. There’s nothing funny about this,
but the energy has to come out in some way.
“Mr. Landry?”
she asks again.
“I’ll be right
out. Thank you, Raza.”
“Oh, you’re so
welcome, sir.” The line clicks off and Graham marches across the room and
punches a button. The light on top indicates he’s not to be disturbed.
I busy myself
with cleaning up our lunch, and before he’s at my side again, I have everything
bundled up.
“Thanks for
lunch,” I say like nothing just happened.
“Mallory …” He
runs his hand through his hair, leaving one lock sticking up. Knowing what that
will look like if we walk out together, I reach up, hesitating for a split
second, before smoothing it out.
His hair is
silky against my fingers. He jumps when I touch him at first, but doesn’t back
away. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing went
on in here. I refuse for it to look like something did. That’s the way rumors
get spread, Mr. Landry.”
“Mallory, I …”
I get a final
look at his face, reach up and straighten his tie as his eyes go wide, then
turn towards the door. “I’ll send Ford in.”
“Mallory!”
“Yeah?” I turn
to see him over my shoulder. He’s standing by the table, his hands in his
pockets looking frazzled. When he doesn’t respond, I place my hand on the knob.
“I’ll have that file back to you before I leave today. Thanks again for lunch.”
I walk out
before I can change my mind.
Adriana’s
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Next Up:
Crave, Machlan Gibson’s story. Coming late spring.
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