Book Title:Love & Lagers: A Cat Johnson Hot SEALs Kindle World Novella
Author: Liz Crowe @beerwencha2
Genre: Military Romance
Release Date: November 1, 2016
Hosted by: Book Enthusiast Promotions @bookenthupromo
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2dTTbeb
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Owen Taylor lost everything in Iraq—his best friend, his faith in humanity, and his leg.
Haunted by the past, and unwilling to accept the future, he takes an IT job with the Guardian Angels Protection Services (GAPS).
Former chef turned GAPS operations manager Lainey Jackson discovers a connection with Owen—a shared love of great food and beer. Terrified by his attraction to her, Owen shuts down, leaving her wondering if she’ll ever have a normal relationship again.
But by the time Owen can admit his feelings for her, he and his fellow GAPS agents must step in when the dangerous secret Lainey's been running from catches up with her.
Amazon best-selling author, mom of three, Realtor, beer blogger, brewery marketing expert, and soccer fan, Liz Crowe is a Kentucky native and graduate of the University of Louisville currently living in Ann Arbor. She has decades of experience in sales and fund raising, plus an eight-year stint as a three-continent, ex-pat trailing spouse.
Her early forays into the publishing world led to a groundbreaking fiction subgenre, “Romance for Real Life,” which has gained thousands of fans and followers interested less in the “HEA” and more in the “WHA” (“What Happens After?”).
With stories set in the not-so-common worlds of breweries, on the soccer pitch, in successful real estate offices and at times in exotic locales like Istanbul, Turkey, her books are unique and told with a fresh voice. The Liz Crowe backlist has something for any reader seeking complex storylines with humor and complete casts of characters that will delight, frustrate and linger in the imagination long after the book is finished.
Don’t ever ask her for anything “like a Budweiser” or risk bodily injury.
Liz Crowe writes intense true-to-life stories that make you feel. Whether it's anxiety, love, fear, hate, bliss, or loss woven into her plot lines, you will feel it deep down to your very soul.
--Audrey Carlan, #1 New York Times Bestselling Author
Liz Crowe is one of those rare authors who knows how to take the emotions of her characters and make them real for her readers, binding you to the story.”
---USA Today and Internationally Bestselling Author Desiree Holt
"Liz Crowe is my drug of choice for unconventional romance that pushes the envelope of my comfort zone."
--Bestselling Author of the Enigma Series, Ditter Kellan
“I’ve learned to expect the unexpected with any Liz Crowe novel—along with 3-dimensional characters and well-written, realistic plots.”
--USA Today bestselling author AM Hargrove
Lainey frowned and refastened her hair back in a messy ponytail, not willing to recall that bit of the day. She’d met five men, a couple of them in the workout room, and two sitting in Jon’s office poring over files. But one, in particular, had stuck in her head. He’d been in a spare, small office—more like a closet but with less character—in front of a wall covered with different computer monitors set up on a wobbly, cheap-looking table. Like the kind you’d rent for a party and cover with a nice tablecloth.
He’d barely grunted out an acknowledgment of her presence and hadn’t turned to look at her at all—which was too bad because he was quite the specimen. He was wearing a T-shirt and shorts, his dark tanned and tatted biceps covered in a sheen of sweat. She remained in the doorway while Jon and Zane consulted with him about some case or another, taking the opportunity to study his leg—or what passed for it now.
He had one of those blade-style prosthetics from right below his left knee. It was pretty amazing, and she wished it were polite to ask if she could see it closer. By the time she snapped back to herself, she realized the room had gone silent. She blinked and backed away from the man, still sitting at the rickety table, now staring holes into her with the biggest, most expressive pair of blue eyes she’d ever seen.
“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he’d said.
“This is Owen,” Jon had said then. “You’ll be replacing him as the official FNG.”
She smiled at Owen, figuring he’d do what most men did and freeze like a deer in the headlights for a few seconds. Instead, he frowned at her and turned back to his screens.
“Owen is our IT expert,” Zane had said, filling the awkward silence that followed. “You know computer geeks. No accounting for them, sociability-wise.” He turned to Lainey and guided her down the hall toward a small conference room. Her ears were hot and her mind buzzing with the memory of him—the elaborate, interwoven vines inked on what she could see of his muscular arms were seared in her mind.
It had been a damn long time since Lainey had been physically attracted to a man. The last time it happened, it was an unmitigated disaster, leading her to her current state of broke and always looking over her shoulder. She set her jaw and forced Owen’s tattoos, metal leg, and amazing eyes right out of her brain.
Rated R for language and foreplay:
Women were no mystery to him. He’d always prided himself in keeping his view of them clinical, on a physical realm, nothing more or less. But right now, at this moment, his heart pounded in his ears, and his pulse raced so fast, he worried he might hyperventilate as he gazed into the deep blue pools of her eyes. His whole body felt like a twanging, painful exposed nerve.
“Owen,” she whispered before she slanted her mouth over his, opening her lips to him even as she slid into his lap. He clutched at her, not even sure where he wanted to touch her more. For the first time in months, he was unaware of himself as a wounded man—a man with little purpose, who’d been ruined by his own shitty choices. All he knew was Lainey—the sweet taste of her tongue as it met his, the waft of coffee on her lips, with an undercurrent of his toothpaste she must have used before he woke. He groaned and threaded his fingers in her hair, clutching her as if she were a life jacket, the only thing keeping him afloat.
Her arms were around his neck, but the angle was awkward and didn’t give either of them the connection they wanted. He broke the kiss and then watched her face as he started flipping open the buttons of her blouse. If it were physically possible, his dick got even harder at the sight of her perfect breasts with their firm nipples. He stared at them like a teenager gawking at his first pussy magazine, his urge to grip them, to suck her nipples into his mouth, overrun by the urge to fall to his knees and worship her.
“What’s wrong,” she whispered, running her fingers through his hair and shifting so the shirt slid off her shoulders.
“I . . . I want . . . I can’t,” he said, looking up and away from the incredible woman, half-naked on his lap.
“Why not?” she said, pressing her lips to his neck and pulling one of his hands up so it cupped the full curve of one breast. His fingers shook as he passed his thumb over the stiff nub of flesh, making her shiver and moan into his skin. “I want you. Owen, I’ve wanted you to do this since the first time I laid eyes on you.”
Figuring that shoving her into a shower would simply leave him with a wet drunk, he eased her down onto the leather couch in his living room overlooking the ocean. She muttered and flailed around, managing to smack him pretty hard in the nose before he got her settled under a blue and white afghan Lindsay Love had given him as a going away present.
Of the many things he could do with his fancy, metal lower leg, kneeling was not one of them. But he wanted to stay near her, to watch her perfect face and those pretty Cupids-bow lips as she drifted off, which was so very weird. He second-guessed himself as he pulled a leather ottoman close and sat on it so he could do just that.
As he studied her face, her eyes opened wide, startling him so much he leaned back and nearly toppled off the ottoman. She glanced around, confusion apparent on her face. “Who are you anyway,” she demanded, fixing her ocean-blue gaze on his face. “I mean . . . you know what I mean.”
Unable to resist, he brushed her hair off her forehead and pressed his lips there for a few seconds, relishing the warmth of her skin. When he looked back at her, her eyes were closed again, and her breathing had evened out once more as if the question had never been asked. With a sigh, Owen leaned back, unwilling to stop watching her.
“I’m nobody,” he said after a few seconds. “Or better yet, I’m the guy who’s been watching you for six weeks, trying to decide if he was in anywhere near your league.”
She rolled onto her back and threw her arm up over her eyes. The cover shifted downward, revealing that tempting gap in her blouse once more. With a shaking hand, Owen pulled the blanket up so she was covered then headed into the kitchen. He’d been brewing a batch of dry-hopped India Pale Ale and figured it was time for a taste test, if for no other reason than to remind himself that this was exactly the right time to be a nice guy.
He used the beer he’d made to wash down a few over-the-counter painkillers, then leaned on the counter and watched Lainey Jackson sleep.