New Release! SAVING MR. PERFECT by Tamara Morgan (Penelope Blue #2)

“A sexy, fun, cat-and-mouse chase that hooked me from page one!”

JENNIFER PROBSTNew York Times & USA Today Bestselling Author of The Marriage Bargain

Synopsis:

I’m a wanted jewel thief.
He’s FBI.
What’s that saying? Keep your friends close…and your husband closer.

Being a retired jewel thief certainly has its perks.

1. Oh, wait.
2. No it doesn’t.

Without the thrill of the chase, life’s been pretty dull. I garden, I drive my gorgeous husband up the wall, and I watch as my old world slowly slips away. But what’s that old saying? When one thief closes the door…a copycat jimmies open a window.

And now all fingers at the FBI are pointed at me.

Set up to take the fall for thefts worth millions, I have no choice but to strap on my heels and help my FBI agent husband track the thief. Grant might not think he needs a partner, but this is one case only a true professional can solve. Besides, I’ve got to know who’s been taking my bad name in vain.

Let’s just hope curiosity doesn’t kill the cat burglar.

Buy Links:

Amazon
B&N
iBooks
BAM

 

Excerpt:

There’s an apology gift waiting on the kitchen counter when I wake up the next morning. It’s not a bouquet of flowers (which I have little use for), and it’s not jewelry (which, oddly enough, is something I don’t wear much of). The cobbler’s children don’t have any shoes, and the jewel thief sticks to simple, understated pieces. That’s how I prefer it.

Grant knows this about me, which is why I’m delighted to find a pink bakery box with my name scrawled across the top instead. Doughnuts are a universal peace offering, and they’re one I gladly—and voraciously—accept. There’s nothing like criminal intrigue to get a girl’s appetite going.

Going too well, apparently. I’m holding a half-empty box and considering how to arrange the remaining pastries to make it look like I only ate a dainty few when Grant sneaks up behind me.

“Hello, wife,” he murmurs into my neck. It’s a smooth move rendered even smoother when he tightens his grip to catch my spasm of surprise. I seriously need to put a bell on that man one of these days. “Have I ever told you how much I enjoy waking up to your beautiful face?”

“Jesus, Grant. Were you hiding in a corner this whole time?”

His chuckle is a warm flutter of breath against my skin. “Do you mean did I witness you inhale those three maple bars? No. I was in the bedroom.”

I bump him with my ass in mock annoyance, but his hands slide down to my hips and hold me there. It’s the perfect position to have me pinned between a rock and a hard place—namely, him and the kitchen counter. Most of the rocks and hard places in my life include Grant in some form or another, but at least this one comes with a kiss that takes my breath away.

He starts, as he so often does, with my neck. I’ll never know what it is about that part of a woman’s anatomy that interests him so, but from the way he plants a line of soft kisses along the slope of my shoulder and up to my jawline, it’s clear he intends to take his time—and enjoy himself in the process.

He’s not the only one. Most of Grant’s body is a solid wall of sinew and bone, difficult to break and hard to deny, but his lips have always been incredibly soft. They’re also as insistent as the rest of him, growing increasingly demanding the further north he goes. By the time he reaches my lips, he’s tilting my face to meet his mouth with my own.

“Mmm,” he groans as his tongue sweeps against mine. “You taste like maple and sugar. I should get you breakfast more often.”

More arousing words have never been spoken, and I couldn’t move now even if I wanted to. One of his hands holds me in place, grinding me against the counter. The other grips my chin so he can continue his assault unabated. His mouth is hot and demanding, his tongue stroking until I’m grateful that he’s holding me up.

I might dissolve otherwise.

If this man ever learned how much power he has over me, I might be in real trouble. He breaks me down and holds me up at the same time. He makes it impossible for me to live with or without him.

I swear I’d hate him if his kisses didn’t feel so damn good.

 

About the Author:

Tamara Morgan is a contemporary comedy romance author. Ninety-nine percent of her information comes from television, movies, books, and all other pop culture activities that limit the amount of time she has to spend in polite company.

Her long-lived affinity for romance novels survived a B.A. degree in English Literature, after which time she discovered it was much more fun to create stories than analyze the life out of them. She lives with her husband and daughter in the Inland Northwest, where the summers are hot, the winters are cold, and coffee is available on every street corner.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Pre-Release and Giveaway! STEALING MR. RIGHT by Tamara Morgan (Penelope Blue #1)

I’m a wanted jewel thief.

He’s FBI.

What’s that saying? Keep your friends close…and your husband closer.

Being married to a federal agent certainly has its perks.

1. I just love the way that man looks in a suit.

2. This way I always know what the enemy is up to.

Spending my days lifting jewels and my nights tracking the Bureau should have been a genius plan. But the closer I get to Grant Emerson, the more dangerous this feels. With two million dollars’ worth of diamonds on the line, I can’t afford to fall for my own husband.

It turns out that the only thing worse than having a mortal enemy is being married to one. Because in our game of theft and seduction, only one of us will come out on top.

Good thing a cat burglar always lands on her feet.

Excerpt:

“You mean he literally helped the old woman across the street?” I released an unladylike cackle and sat back in the corner booth of the Whiskey Room, where I currently held court with Simon and two other agents from their department. “As in, stopped the protesters, took her arm, and escorted her through an armed militia?”

“On my honor.” The smallest of the trio—a techy guy in plastic-rimmed glasses named Nathan who I was developing a minor crush on—held up his hand. “To this day, it remains one of the most surreal feats I’ve seen performed on the job. He was like Moses parting the Red Sea. And I’ve seen some crazy stuff, so you know that’s big.”

I wanted to ask him what some of those feats might be—just out of curiosity—but although liquor had loosened this group’s collective tongue enough to share Grant’s more impressive exploits, they were still a federal-looking bunch. And, yes, people can look federal. It’s all in the shoulders. Even Nathan, who clearly spent most of his time hunched over a keyboard, looked like he could handle himself on the mats.

If their impressive statures weren’t convincing enough, you only had to listen. In all my time among the men in black, one of the things that stood out the most was the way they paused a fraction of a second before speaking, running their entire dialogue through some kind of official internal checkpoint first.

“Okay, but that doesn’t really count,” I said. I turned my brightest smile toward the man on the end—Paulie, his friends called him, though the best I could tell, his name was actually Bernard. He looked more like a Paulie, with a calm air and a Hawaiian shirt I was pretty sure wasn’t regulation uniform. “That’s the kind of story a guy’s friends are prepped ahead of time to tell his girlfriend so she gets all swoony inside. I want to know the dirty stuff. The stuff he wouldn’t want his mother to know.”

“It’s classified.” Simon, who’d been characteristically silent until that point, narrowed his eyes at me. “We couldn’t tell you even if we wanted to.”

I was fast learning that an FBI agent and his partner forged similar bonds to those between a jewel thief and her cohorts. The two men worked together, sparred together, shot at targets together, pitched themselves into life-and-death situations together. They were understandably tight. And protective.

Just as Riker and Grant had never warmed up to each other, so too did I have a hard time sharing a room with Simon without feeling the urge to squirm and check my teeth for diamonds. I had the feeling he knew as much about my life as Grant did…and had about one-tenth as much appreciation for it.

“Well, I already know he’ll abandon a girl out in the sticks of New York the second one of you idiots call.” I smiled to show there were no hard feelings. Nathan, bless his bow tie-wearing heart, blushed. “I know he’s habitually late meeting his girlfriend for dates, and I know he sometimes works for so many hours straight, he actually slurs his words.”

I tapped my chin coyly and tried to come up with more seemingly innocent facts about Grant’s professional life, but they were surprisingly difficult to conjure. Most of the things I knew about his past had been gleaned the unethical way, via Oz and Riker and a search through the deepest, darkest parts of the Internet, and I didn’t care to share the things I knew that weren’t work related.

Call me sentimental, but I wanted to keep the wooing to myself, clutched to my heart and cherished in ways that would have shamed the Penelope Blue of a few months ago. Riker and Oz knew almost nothing about the dates Grant took me on, and Jordan got the blacked-out version, but there was fodder for a hundred journal entries, complete with swirly lines and googly-eyed hearts.

So far, Grant had taken me to eighteen dinners, seven lunches, one long, romantic walk along the docks—the ones of the near-drowning wharf job, in case you were wondering—and spent an entire afternoon teaching me to shoot ducks in a carnival game at Coney Island. I was a terrible shot, a fact that had afforded him infinite amusement, and he solemnly vowed to protect me from any and all future gunfire, since I was clearly useless on my own.

He’d also returned my dad’s record in mint condition, as promised. He’d hunted down the original cover and presented it a few weeks before with a shiny red bow. I didn’t cry or anything embarrassing like that, but I came close when he put the record on and twirled me around my apartment floor, the pair of us dancing beneath tangerine trees and marmalade skies.

In short, he was perfect. Ever since that day at the antique store, he’d been attentive, interested, and not the least bit pushy. It was starting to freak me out. He didn’t push for information about my dad, he didn’t push me to stop stealing things, and he didn’t push for anything more than the occasional knee-knocking kiss before sending me on my way. It was like he was on a lengthy stakeout, and I was the building he needed to watch.

Not enter, mind you. Just watch.

I meant that as euphemistically as possible. There was no entering happening in this building at all—and the building was seriously gagging for it.

 

 Penelope Blue series:
Stealing Mr. Right (Book 1)
Saving Mr. Perfect (Book 2)
Seeking Mr. Wrong (Book 3)


Amazon: http://amzn.to/2meXh5q
Barnes & Noble: http://bit.ly/2meUitM
iBooks: http://apple.co/2meU1Xu

About the author:

Tamara Morgan is a contemporary romance author of humorous, heartfelt stories with flawed heroes and heroines designed to get your hackles up and make your heart melt. Her long-lived affinity for romance novels survived a B.A. degree in English Literature, after which time she discovered it was much more fun to create stories than analyze the life out of them.

a Rafflecopter giveaway