✰✰RELEASE BLITZ✰✰
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
#BuyNow
#Giveaway:
#Synopsis:
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.
#MeettheAuthor
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
#SocialLinks
#Excerpt
Rated PG:
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.
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