One hot cop, one headstrong heiress, and one bed.
What could possibly go wrong?
Say It Like You Mane It, an all-new sexy, opposites attract romantic comedy from New York Times bestselling author Erin Nicholas is available now!
What happens when a hellraiser turned hot cop is stuck with a headstrong heiress he’s determined to protect...and resist?
A run-away bride, wearing a freakin’ tiara, and carrying a stolen lion cub, of all things. This was not how rowdy, bad-boy-turned-small-town-cop, Zander Landry expected his day to go.
He really didn’t expect his night to end with her sleeping in his bed after her near-kidnapping.
But his intense attraction to her and the feelings of protectiveness she stirs up? Oh, yeah, he knew those were coming.
She’s stunning, whip-smart, and trouble with a capital T.
Which means, he needs her to head right back the way she came. ASAP.
His town is exactly the way he wants it . . . crazy and trouble free.
Well, the crazy trouble he’s not related to anyway.
Stranded in a tiny town in her half-million-dollar wedding gown with no money and no place to go . . . today is going pretty much exactly the way Caroline Holland expected it to.
But the grumpy, tattooed, oh-my-god hot cop being the answer to all her problems isn’t at all what she expected.
Now that she’s turned all the criminal (and obnoxious) info about her exotic-animal-dealing ex-fiance over to Zander, she can kick back in a hammock with some sweet tea and relax.
Or not.
Turns out Caroline’s not the spoiled heiress Zander thinks she is. The gorgeous hellion wants in on the action and soon discovers just how dirty things can get in the bayou. And the bedroom.
More and more, Zander just wants her safe on the sidelines. But Caroline isn’t going anywhere until justice is done.
It’s a clash of wills that’s gonna get hotter than a crawfish boil in July. And the most fun the Landry family has had watching sparks fly since . . . well, the last book.
Fall in love today!
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REVIEW: SAY IT LIKE YOU MANE IT (BOYS OF THE BAYOU GONE WILD) BY ERIN NICHOLAS
Say It Like You Mane It by Erin Nicholas
My rating: 4 of 5 stars
Caroline and Xander are on the edge of unpredictable. There's always a twist waiting in the wings to knock you on your heart. Say It Like You Mane It is more than a tad eccentric but no less endearing. Nicholas tries her hand at intrigue with surprising results. From over the top scenarios to irresistible romance and inescapable heart, Say It Like You Mane It is a curveball that never misses it's mark.
View all my reviews
Start the series of standalones with Otterly Irresistible today!
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Excerpt
Zander turned to look at the woman with a brow up. “Anything else you'd like to tell me?”
She met his eyes directly. She studied him, seemingly thinking over his question. Finally, she nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”
“Okay. What’s going on?”
“It might take a bit. Want to buy me a drink?” She glanced back toward Ellie’s.
Did he want to take the gorgeous woman in a wedding dress with another man’s ring on her finger who had almost been kidnapped right in front of him back inside his grandmother’s bar where most of his family and a lot of the town was gathered?
He most certainly did not.
“No,” he said simply.
Caroline looked surprised. “Can we”—She looked around—“at least go somewhere else?”
That seemed like a good idea. She was very conspicuous here and his family could, at any moment, come out. And start asking questions. Not to mention that the would-be kidnapper now knew where she was.
“Is there a chance your fiancé is going to come back?” Of course there was. A man didn’t just let this woman go.
She bit her bottom lip and looked up the road. Then she nodded. “Yeah, there’s a chance. Or that he’ll tell someone else where I am.” She looked at Zander again. “But that was my brother. Not my fiancé.”
Oh, that was interesting.
No, it fucking isn’t. Knock it off.
“So, will your fiancé be coming after you?”
“Ex-fiancé.”
Right. She’d mentioned that.
“Okay. Will he come after you?”
She didn’t answer right away. Which Zander also found interesting. Though he shouldn’t. He did not want to be interested in this woman. At all. He didn’t want anyone getting kidnapped while they were in Autre, though, either. Okay, he didn’t really want anyone getting kidnapped, period. But especially while they were in Autre.
“There’s a chance,” Caroline finally admitted. “Or my dad might come. Or my ex-fiancé’s dad might come.”
“And you don’t want to go back with any of them? Is that right?”
“Yes.”
Well, fuck. He had to at least be sure she didn’t get taken anywhere by anyone against her will.
She studied him for a long moment. “So, you’re willing to help me, Officer Landry?”
Her question—and her voice and her eyes and her everything, if he was being honest with himself which he decided to not be—sent a shot of something through Zander's chest.
It was the familiar streak of adrenaline he often felt with his work. It primed his gut to act on instinct when necessary, it made him ready to take on people intent on doing bad things and face potential danger, and it focused his mind. But he also recognized the sliver of trepidation. It wasn’t fear or reluctance. It was…awareness. Like knowing he was about to open a big old can of worms.
But he nodded. “Helping people with problems is kind of my job.”
“Then I would love to tell you what’s going on.”
He wanted that. And it wasn’t the cop in him thinking that.
Fuck. Dammit. Hell. Sonofabitch.
“Okay. Let’s go…someplace your brother doesn’t know about.”
“Like your place?”
Yes. He wanted her at his place. That was the safest. He could definitely keep her safe there. His property was at the end of a dead-end road so the only traffic was trucks he knew. His neighbors were his brothers and cousins. His backyard butted up to the bayou.
But fuck no. He wasn’t taking this woman anywhere near his house. Where his bedroom was.
She was dangerous. He couldn’t sort through all the reasons why at the moment, not while looking into her eyes and wondering how soft her skin was and how silky her hair was, but he had enough self-preservation instinct to keep her away from his house.
“I’m thinking the B & B.”
He grabbed her suitcase and started for his truck.
“But he might think to look there,” she protested. She gathered up her enormous skirts and followed him though.
“I’ll tell Heather not to tell anyone anything about you,” Zander told her, storing her bag behind the front seat and then turning to face her.
Dammit.
Again with the eyes. And hair. And lips. Okay, he hadn’t included the lips in the earlier inventory, but they were great too.
So he liked female lips. Big deal. These were not that exceptional. What the hell was wrong with him?
She’s probably your damned soulmate or some shit and the second you touch her hand you’re going to feel sparks.
I’m not going to feel sparks. That’s a stupid cliché. But I have to get some war biographies. Or maybe something about Ruth Bader Ginsburg. Something about women who are amazing but not sexy. It doesn’t have to be about sexy all the time. Get away from those romance novels.
The thing was, smart, bold women like RBG were sexy in their own way and if Zander had been Ruth’s age and run into her at a bar when she was single, he absolutely would have hit on her.
“Are you okay?” Caroline asked, stepping forward with a slight frown.
He jerked out of his stupid thoughts. “Yeah. I’m fine. You’re the one with the problem.”
Well, that had sounded rude as fuck.
Her eyes widened, but then she nodded. “Yeah. I am. We should definitely work on my problem. It’s going to keep getting bigger if we don’t.”
Zander sighed. He didn’t even know what that meant but…of course it was.
About Erin Nicholas
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Erin Nicholas has been writing romances almost as long as she’s been reading them. To date, she’s written over thirty sexy, contemporary novels that have been described as “toe-curling,” “enchanting,” “steamy,” and “fun.” She adores reluctant heroes, imperfect heroines, and happily ever afters.
Erin lives in the Midwest, where she enjoys spending time with her husband (who only wants to read the sex scenes in her books), her kids (who will never read the sex scenes in her books), and her family and friends (who claim to be “shocked” by the sex scenes in her books).
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"Flawlessl written, laugh-out-loud funny, and enough steam to get you hot under the collar—Group Therapy is the perfect binge!"
—Adriana Locke, USA Today Bestselling Author
Group Therapy, an all-new witty and steamy romantic comedy, guaranteed to have you laughing out loud from Wall Street Journal Bestselling Author BB Easton, is now available!
From the Wall Street Journal bestselling author of 44 Chapters About 4 Men (inspiration for the 4th Most-Watched Netflix Original Series of all time, Sex/Life) comes a romantic comedy about an inexperienced psychologist who falls for one of her clients and creates a therapy group from hell as an excuse to see him after hours.
I am thiiiiis close to finally becoming a full-fledged psychologist. PhD? Check. Prestigious postdoc position, providing therapy to entitled millionaires and C-list celebrities whose pumpkin spice lattes cost more than my Converse and make excellent projectiles during their reality TV–worthy tantrums? Check. Letter of recommendation from my velociraptor-like supervisor?
That’s going to take a miracle. Not only because my boss said I have to cure our most-prized client’s writer’s block in time for him to meet his insane deadline, but also because that client just so happens to be …
Thomas F*@%ing O’Reardon.
Yeah, that Thomas O’Reardon. The wickedly brilliant, achingly beautiful, devastatingly British best-selling author whose psychological thrillers line my bookshelf at home and whose face I might or might not picture while I … you get the point. Sitting in a confined space with him; inhaling the crisp, clean scent of his cologne; gazing into his broody blue eyes while trying to remember to nod and listen and come up with suggestions that don’t involve taking our clothes off … it’s torture.
So, when Thomas casually asks me out at the end of a therapy session, I’m forced to make an impossible choice: say yes and risk losing my dream job, or say no and risk losing my dream guy. In a panic, I blurt out a third option—the only solution I can think of that will allow me to see this man after hours without it being considered a career-ending ethics violation:
Group therapy.
The only problem? I’ve never actually done group therapy. And side problem: my other clients are heathens. But what’s the worst that could happen? I mean, it’s not like I’m going to lose all control of the group and let it devolve into a chaotic, bloodthirsty, topless fight club.
Right?
Start laughing today!
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Excerpt
He wraps his warm, ocean-scented, oxford cloth shirt around my shoulders, and for some strange reason, my eyes begin to burn. I blink the stinging sensation away and focus on my breathing as my fingers instinctively curl around the open material and cinch it tighter around my body.
It feels like a hug.
A hug that I didn’t realize I’d needed so badly.
“Thanks,” I whisper, swallowing the emotion lodged in my throat.
Thomas folds his arms across his chest and shrugs, his shoulders already tense from the cold.
Say something!
“So, you weren’t freaked out by what happened in there?” I ask, tilting my head toward the building where the group therapy session from hell just occurred.
Please say no. Please say you’ll come back next week.
“Actually”—Thomas gives me a crooked smile—“it was kind of fun.” The corners of his mouth drop along with his gaze as it drifts slowly to the ground. “I wonder what it’s like to feel that free.”
“You only say that because you weren’t the one whose client had you in a headlock.”
He laughs silently, and it’s the perfect example of the self-control he wishes he could let go of.
“Maybe that’s why you write about psychopaths,” I add, missing the weight of his eyes on me. “So you can experience what it’s like to be that … uninhibited.”
A crease forms between his eyebrows. “Wrote,” he says, his eyes darkening as they travel to a place even farther away from me. “Past tense.”
With that, Thomas turns to open his car door, and I panic. I panic, and I do the dumbest thing I’ve done yet, which is saying a lot.
I reach out and grab his hand.
Thomas goes completely still.
I go completely still.
Even the wind, which had been swirling brittle orange leaves around our feet, goes completely still as the words, “Will write,” leave me on a shaky breath.
I try to let go of Thomas’s hand, but he laces his fingers through mine, holding me captive. Then, he turns and captures me with his eyes as well.
“Future tense,” I add, unable to look away from the restraint and madness I see warring in his eyes.
Thomas’s gaze drops to my lips, and when I run my tongue along the seam instead of screaming or slapping him or prying my fingers loose, he begins to lean forward. No. He is being pulled forward. By me. By my actions. By my confusing mixed signals. I invited this. And I have to stop it.
But I can’t. My brain is barking commands that my body is no longer listening to. I watch helplessly from inside my traitorous body as Thomas lifts his other hand, slides it beneath my curtain of hair, which is still tucked inside his shirt, and cups the side of my neck.
His thumb caresses the ridge of my jaw, and like the strike of a match, my neglected husk of a body goes up in flames. The heat engulfs me, spreading like a forest fire as it burns away the fingerprints of every man who’s ever touched me before. It ignites something deep inside of me—an inextinguishable need. An excruciating singular desire.
I close my eyes and lean into his touch. And I hate myself for it.
I can’t do this. I can’t kill my career. I can’t sabotage his treatment. But as I stand here, rooted to the spot, with Thomas’s fingers laced in mine and his hand splayed across my skin, I can’t even make myself exhale, let alone walk away.
Just as Thomas’s breath, warm and sweet, dances over my parted lips, as my body tenses and braces for the impact of this wrecking ball of a man, it is the voice of another man that breaks the spell.
“Dr. Sterling?”
About BB Easton
Wall Street Journal bestselling author BB Easton lives in the suburbs of Atlanta with her long-suffering husband, Ken, and two adorable children. She recently quit her job as a school psychologist to write books about her punk rock past and deviant sexual history full-time. Ken is suuuper excited about that.
BB’s debut memoir, 44 CHAPTERS ABOUT 4 MEN, is the inspiration for the #4 Most-Watched Netflix Original Series of all time, SEX/LIFE. Because she had so much fun writing it, BB went on to publish four more wickedly funny, shockingly steamy, and heartwarmingly honest books, one for each man in her memoir: SKIN, SPEED, STAR, and SUIT.
THE RAIN TRILOGY, an epic, immersive, end-of-the-world romance, is BB's first work of fiction. Or at least, that's what she thought when she wrote it in 2019. Then 2020 hit and all of her dystopian plot points started coming true. Hopefully, her feel-good romantic comedy GROUP THERAPY will fix everything.
Connect with BB Easton
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