Welcome all, welcome to the sexy and swoony Blog Tour for The Nanny Rules by Melynda Price. I just couldn’t resist that gorgeous guy on the cover.
What do I have for you today? An excerpt! There is information on the author/book + you can join a giveaway!
Let’s get this tour started~
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Don’t touch the nanny. It’s one rule I’m most certainly going to break.
Since becoming a single father, I have two things that keep me sane—my daughter Lily and playing football for the NFL. But when my meddling sister hires a nanny without my knowledge, I’m not thrilled to come home and find the woman has taken over my house. Our instant attraction is one more complication I don’t need in my life.
But my daughter loves Amelia, and I will do anything for that tiny munchkin. Even if it means walking around with blue balls most of the time. Why does the nanny have to be so sweet—and drop dead gorgeous? She’s driving me crazy. Never in my life have I wanted a woman more.
I just need to make it through this season. I can do that. Hands free, of course. But then there’s that moment, and I know she’s thinking what I’m thinking and, well, yeah. Screw the rules…
Find her here:
Melynda Price is a bestselling and award-winning author of contemporary romance. Her Against the Cage series has finaled in many awards such as the RONE, USA Today BBA, Golden Quill, National Readers’ Choice, and New England Readers’ Choice.
What Price enjoys most about writing is the chance to make her readers fall in love, over and over again. She cites the greatest challenge of writing is making the unbelievable believable, while taking her characters to the limit with stories full of passion and unique twists and turns. Salting stories with undertones of history whenever possible, Price adds immeasurable depth to her well-crafted books. She currently lives in Northern Minnesota with her husband and two children where she has plenty of snow-filled days to curl up in front of the fireplace with her Chihuahua and a hot cup of coffee to write.
It’s not great inside my head right now, and the least amount of time I spend in there, the better. Exhaling a sigh, I abandon my quest for sleep and head to the kitchen. I don’t usually drink in season, but I’m making an exception tonight. Anything to dull the thoughts ruminating in my mind. I shuffle into the kitchen; the full moon is filtering in just enough ambient glow that I’m not in total darkness. Heading for the cupboards, I pull out a glass and a bottle of whiskey. I pour a finger. What the hell, might as well make it two. Grabbing a can of Coke from the fridge, I pop the top. The sharp, hissing snick fills the room and I dump a splash into my glass to cut the whiskey’s bite.
“Can’t sleep either, huh?”
I jump and spill Coke over my hand. “Fuck, you scared the shit out of me,” I snap, craning my neck to find Amelia’s shadow at the kitchen table.
“Sorry. Bad dreams,” she explains.
I grab my glass and head to the table, surprised when I find myself asking, “Want to talk about it?” It’s not that I care as much as I could use the distraction. Talking about someone else’s problems might be better than agonizing over my own. Nonetheless, she seems surprised by my offer, but I’m more surprised by her response.
“Nope. Want to talk about why you’re up in the middle of the night drinking whiskey?”
“Nope,” I reply without hesitation, and take a long pull from the glass. The warmth coats my throat and settles in my stomach. It’s with great anticipation that I await the dullness to hit my brain.
I let my eyes rest on her, knowing I’m nothing more than a shadow, but from where I’m sitting, the moonlight illuminates her. She’s dressed in the same tank top and pajama shorts get-up she was wearing the day I met her. Her hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun I find ridiculously sexy. She’s got this head of thick jet-black, wavy hair that seems to have a mind of its own. I occasionally catch her attempting to wrestle it into submission. Most days she loses the battle and lets it hang wild and free, accentuating her soft feminine features and those expressive dark brown eyes a man could get lost in. I’d be shocked if she was a speck over five-four. And those curves—ho-ly hell.
“I should let you be alone, then.”
Her chair scrapes against the tile as she stands, giving me a full-frontal shot of her barely contained breasts straining against her tank top and those sexy turtle-print shorts. Her waist is tiny, her hips femininely flared.
Against my will, my cock stirs. She has no idea what she does to me and I intend to keep it that way. I’m not thrilled I’m getting hard for my daughter’s nanny. I don’t need my life getting any more complicated than it already is, and revenge fucking Amelia to get back at my dead wife is just fucked up on so many levels.
“Yeah, you probably should.” My response comes out gruffer than I’d intended, and I feel like a prick when I see her flinch, a flash of hurt entering her eyes. But I drown my guilt by tipping back my glass and draining it. She says nothing else and neither do I as I watch her take her leave, eyes glued to that incredible ass. I’m such a douche bag…
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