Happy 4th Anniversary to The Romance Reviews! I’m pleased to be part of their month-long celebration, and will be giving away a SIGNED copy of Dictatorship of the Dress!
For a chance to win my book and other fab prizes, you must answer the March 16th Q&A about Laney from Dictatorship of the Dress on The Romance Reviews site correctly. HINT: the answer is in the teaser excerpt featuring Laney and Noah below:
“Your mom doesn’t trust you?”
“Never has, never will. I’m sure she gave me this task just to prove I’ll mess it up. I bet there isn’t even a dress in that bag. It’s probably wadded-up newspaper. Or live snakes or something.”
Noah’s laugh washed over me like the alcohol did, making me feel fuzzy inside. “So no wedding waiting in Hawaii, then?” he said, teasing me. “Just a bunch of judges holding scorecards?”
“I wish! No, it’s going to be the wedding from hell, I’m sure. Let me tell you, if I ever get married, I’m doing it quick in Vegas, with no one in attendance. No, better yet, with a roomful of Elvis impersonators . . . no one I know who can tell me I’m doing it all wrong.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Laney.” Noah flipped up an invisible collar, raised a lip, and actually made a passable Elvis impression. “A-don’t be cruel . . .”
Now it was my turn to laugh. Which just encouraged him to keep up the act.
“Now, when I was your age, little lady—”
“You had tons of hit songs and millions of bucks?” I quipped.
Noah Elvis—Noavis?—ignored me. “I had invented an app that made me a good hunka money to burn, yes indeed. I bought the fancy house, the nice car. Took the big promotion in the Manhattan high-rise. And I thought the next logical step was finding a pretty, young thing and settling down . . .”
“So you’re marrying Priscilla?”
The lip curled higher. “Fools rush in, darlin’. I thought she was the peanut butter for my hot banana sandwich.”
He shook his head, and a rogue curl fell to the middle of his forehead. “So just goes to show . . . even when you think you’re doing the right thing, you might still end up singing the blues.”
“Sucks to be us, here at the Heartbreak Hotel, huh?” I said softly.
He bumped my shoulder with his and didn’t miss a beat. “That’s all right, mama.”
I reached up and twisted his lone curl. “You make a good Elvis.”
For God’s sake, Laney. Get your hands out of the man’s hair. And get off the bed!
I knew it was all kinds of wrong, yet all I could picture was climbing into Noah’s lap and kissing him. Talk about a hot peanut butter and banana sandwich. I wanted to press up against him and—
“And you . . .” he said huskily, no trace of Elvis to be found, “make a good mixed drink.”
Great. You want to make out with him. He wants you to make him a drink. Way to read those cues again.
Or maybe he’s just being a gentleman, Laney Jane.
Engaged, remember?
Now head back to the Q&A and answer for a chance to win! Best of luck!
