SEX AND OTHER SHINY OBJECTS by Lauren Blakely
Release Date: January 13th
Genre: Contemporary Romance
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Blurb:
The second the test-the-sexy-scenes offer
landed in my lap, I said yes.
After all, I've been damn curious about a few things I've
read in romance novels. Do buttons truly go flying across the floor when you
rip off a guy's shirt? Is staircase sex hella hot or does it leave you with a
big old bruise mark on your back? And don’t even get me started on all that
panty shredding, and whether it even works.
Time to find out as I embark on Project Sexy Scenes
Research, at the request of my hotshot book editor bestie.
All I need is a willing scene partner. Enter Tristan, my
best guy friend. The witty, tell-it-like-it-is, bearded hottie volunteers for
the experiment.
He's also the guy who gave me the most devastating,
toe-curling kiss of my life ten years ago. But nothing has happened since then.
And nothing will come between my panties and our
friendship now since we have a plan to keep it PG.
But once the buttons start flying, all
bets are off…
EXCERPT
Strong muscles, carved abs, that sprinkling of chest hair
that’s the perfect amount of manliness.
My mouth waters.
My stomach flips.
And I reprimand the hell out of my brain, the indecent
wench.
Friends don’t picture friends in the
buff.
“Let’s try it one more time,” I say with a crisp nod and a
cool tone. “We’ll do it by the book.”
He clears his throat, his tone shifting. “Peyton, I have
another idea.”
I blink. “You do?”
“I do.” He pauses, scrubbing a hand across his chin. “Do
you trust me?”
The question is rhetorical. “Of course I do.”
He shakes his head, like that’s the wrong reply. “I know
you trust me. But can you trust me right now? To take the lead?” His voice is
gentle but somehow commanding at the same time. It’s soothing, and the question
says he knows me, but he also needs me to let go. To give in to him.
Can I?
Will I stumble if I do?
His eyes lock with mine, and the intensity in his gaze is
reassuring, like the security he gave me at his restaurant the other night when
he said, I’ve got you.
I give the only
answer I can. “I trust you.”
“Good. Then let’s do it.”
“If you say so, Fred.”
His lips curve in a crooked grin. “I do say so,
Gingersnap.”
He hits play on “Wicked Game” on his phone and sets it on
the table at the bottom of the stairs, and the smooth, sultry strains of Chris
Isaak float through the air.
The music pulses, low and sexy, like it’s playing in my
body, beating inside me. The effect is heady. It sets the mood for the scene.
A scene we’re simply acting. That’s all this is. Acting
and reenacting.
He arches a brow, glances at the stairs, then says in a rumbling, sexy voice, “Been thinking about you all day. Need to get you upstairs and get this off you.”
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