Hi, book buddies :-) This pretty flower sister is coming along nicely, and she has an excerpt to share with you :-D
He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not
A Steamy Romantic Comedy
(The Flower Shop
Sisters)
Author: Iris
Morland
Genre: Romantic comedy
Release date:
July 16, 2019
Goodreads:
http://irismorland.com/loves-goodreads
ENJOY AN EXCERPT
The moment I woke up after my best friend’s raucous bachelorette party
in Las Vegas, I realized two things in quick succession:
1.I was spooning with a man who was very, very naked.
2.And I had no idea who he was.
To my horror, the man had his
arm slung across me, and it weighed at least a thousand pounds, I was sure. My
bladder yelled profanities at me as I pushed at the ridiculously heavy arm
trapping me against the bed.
Finally, he turned over, taking his arm with him. I shuffled to the
bathroom and didn’t feel the panic hit me until after I’d peed and saw the ring
on my left hand.
Ring. Left hand. I didn’t wear a ring there anymore since I’d caught my
ex-fiancé cheating on me. I’d thrown the ring David had bought me in his face.
This ring wasn’t that diamond David had gotten me. I peered more closely
at it. It was—plastic? Was it from a ring pop?
Did I call the police? No, that was stupid. 911, I got married last
night to a stranger. Yeah, that’d go over well. I was sure the Vegas police
would just laugh and tell us to get a lawyer.
I heard movement in the room. I froze. Glancing in the mirror, I saw a
wild-eyed woman with bedhead, smeared lipstick, raccoon eyes from melted
mascara, and a whole bunch of hickeys across my collarbone.
I very rarely swore, but at that moment I wanted to swear until I was
blue in the face.
What had I done last night? And who was in my bed with me?
I wasn’t that kind of girl—you know, the wild girl. The girl who had
one-night stands in Vegas. The girl who threw caution to the wind.
I’d been about to get married to a man who drove a Prius and was an
accountant. I always got the perfect attendance certificate in elementary
school. I’d been one of the valedictorians at my high school; I’d gotten an A- once
because my teacher had dared to think my essay on fashion in The Great
Gatsby was “insipid, at best.” (She’d been wrong, by the way.)
I was Marigold Wright, and I was a good girl.
I prided myself on my good girl-ness. Where my sisters were either
oddballs or outright deviants (at least in my mind), I never crossed lines. I
liked lines. Lines were comforting. They existed for a reason; otherwise the
world would be in utter chaos.
My one real indulgence in life was my makeup obsession. My collection
was scattered across the bathroom counter—an excessive amount of products for
one person on a brief trip—and strangely enough, having this man see it all
seemed like a violation of my privacy. Even more than being in bed with me and
him being naked. I began to put my makeup away, knowing in my haste I’d have to
go through it and reorganize it when I got home.
“Are you done in there?” a growling male voice said through the bathroom
door. “I’m f*ckin’ dying out here.” An accent tinged his speech, but I was too
tired to try to place it.
I tossed the last products into my makeup bag and scrubbed at my face.
Realizing it didn’t matter, I opened the door with a frigid expression.
The man—who wore only a sheet draped around his hips—smiled down at me.
No, he didn’t smile; he smirked. I’d never been the recipient of a true smirk
before, but this man clearly had perfected the look.
He was tall, so tall I had to tilt my head back. He had to be at least
six-five; I was five-ten, so it was rare that men were tall enough that I felt
short in comparison. But what arrested me most was how dark his eyes were. Oh,
and the fact that he was jacked. Muscles for days, his chest covered in dark
hair that matched the beard shadowing his cheeks and jaw.
“Are you done or can I take a piss now?” he said.
I blushed to the roots of my hair. Being a redhead, my blushes tended to
be bright and extremely obvious, and this man in front of me seemed very amused
with my red cheeks. I wanted to ask him if he remembered what had happened last
night, but it was as if the words had dried up in my throat.
Or maybe it was because I had a large male glaring down at me because I
wouldn’t let him pee.
“Be my guest,” I said, ducking under his arm. I tried to look as prim as
I could, but it was difficult when I looked like a total wreck and didn’t even
know this man’s name.
He shut the door with an ironic bow, giving me some time to collect my
thoughts. Actually, I didn’t need to collect my thoughts: I needed to run. But
as I got dressed and began to toss things into my suitcase, I realized he was
the one who needed to leave. This was my room.
I stopped packing when memories started to surface, like images from a
movie. I remembered stumbling down the Las Vegas strip, and I could remember
this man’s voice beside me. Then the bachelorette party where the bride-to-be,
Jenna, kept shoving tequila shots in front of me. Or had that happened before
we’d stumbled down the strip?
Worst of all, I remembered the touch of a man—this man—who made heat
lick through my veins.
But he wasn’t just any man. He had a name. I remembered that now,
because we’d met the day prior to the bachelorette party.
Liam. His name was Liam, but his last name eluded me at the moment. He’d
sat next to me at the rehearsal dinner, and then at the hotel pool after that—
Oh God, had I slept with him last night? Based on the hickeys, it
certainly seemed plausible. But I couldn’t remember, and that made my stomach
curdle.
I needed a bottle of water, ibuprofen, and some explanations. I
scrambled around in my suitcase, only to find a gift bag from the bachelorette
party the night before. Right as I pulled out a pink dildo that said Pleasure
for your pink on the base, Liam emerged from the bathroom.
“I’m flattered, love, but pink isn’t really my color,” he said over my
shoulder. “Besides the fact that I’m always the one who does the penetrating,” he
added with a wry chuckle.
I tried to stuff the dildo back into the bag, but I only proceeded to
empty the rest of its contents, which included: a handful of condoms—ribbed for
her pleasure, so obviously there was a theme here; a butt plug with a diamond
handle; and a bullet vibe that started buzzing way too enthusiastically for my
pounding head.
I could’ve cheerfully strangled Jenna for giving us these party favors
last night. Whatever happened to a piece of jewelry or a gift certificate from
Starbucks? Something benign, something that didn’t involve things that went up
your butt. Although anything could become a butt plug if you really tried, I
reasoned.
“Oh my God,” I groaned. “This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening.
This isn’t happening—”
I turned to face Liam, only to see that he was naked.
SYNOPSIS
I’m a good girl—until I got drunk in Vegas and
married a panties-flaming-hot Irishman.
Oops.
I’ve always lived my life
by the rules. Unlike my two sisters, I’m the good one. The responsible one.
Going outside my comfort zone is when I wear red lipstick before five PM.
That comfort zone of
mine? It’s smashed to smithereens on a wild night in Las Vegas when I met—and married—Liam
Gallagher.
After one shot of
tequila, then two, then too many to count, a good girl’s rules tend to
disappear. And so do her panties, and her bra, and various other articles of
clothing when she’s with an Irishman who knows his way around a woman’s body.
Now my husband wants us
to stay married. For six months. He says it’ll be worth my while.
Considering our chemistry underneath the sheets, I can’t say that he’s wrong.
Liam isn’t safe, though.
Liam definitely isn’t comfortable. He’s like the male equivalent of wearing red
lipstick in the daytime all wrapped up in an irresistible, dangerous package.
Yet this stubborn
Irishman isn’t about to let me go, drunken Princess Bride-themed Vegas
wedding or no.
Now I have to decide if I’m
brave enough to break the rules for love.
Preorder links:
Amazon:
http://irismorland.com/loves-amazon
Apple: http://irismorland.com/loves-apple
Barnes &
Noble: http://irismorland.com/loves-bn
Kobo: http://irismorland.com/loves-kobo
Google Play: http://irismorland.com/loves-gp
ABOUT THE MASTERMIND
A coffee addict and cat lover, Iris Morland is the author of over a
dozen sexy, small-town romances and romantic comedies. If she's not reading or
writing, she enjoys binging on Netflix shows and cooking something delicious.
Connect with
Iris
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