So please read on and discover the goodness that Just My Type is. I don't think I can say it better than I did in my review, but let me tell you that Just My Type is the perfect contemporary romance novel: it has steamy romance scenes, chuckle-out-loud humour, wonderful characters and emotions so vivid you'll feel those tingles and shivers yourself! So pick it up, you'll love it! (and if you want to read my more detailed review you can do so here.)
And now I give it over to Erin Nicholas, the author behind the wonderful The Bradfords series!
by Erin Nicholas
Every year my husband and I take our kids on a summer vacation. And every year on our way home from the vacation we talk about where we want to go the next summer. It gives us time to plan, time to research what we need and want to know about our destination, get advice from others, and it gives us something to look forward to.
Just My Type by Erin Nicholas
The Bradfords, Book 3
There’s only one problem with the woman Jason “Mac” Gordon wants: his best friend’s little sister is off limits. Way off limits, and too young and innocent for the likes of him. From past experience, he’s learned to hide his not-so-nice preferences from the nice girls he seems to attract. That definitely includes the woman he’s always thought of as a sister. At least until recently.
Sara Bradford always gets what she wants—which is partly Mac’s fault. After all, he helped spoil her. So she has no intention of taking his no for an answer on anything—least of all his refusal to sleep with her. He thinks she’s too innocent? Fine. She’ll simply get un-innocent and show Mac that she wants him—the good, the bad and the nipple clamps.
When Mac’s plan to drive her away works too well, he’s forced to follow her to a tropical paradise, determined to make sure she doesn’t find her wild side with anyone but him. Once she gets a real taste of what he likes, he’s sure everything will go back to normal.
That’s until he discovers a slight kink, er, flaw in his logic…
Product Warnings: Contains hot sex at the beach, kinky online shopping—and yes, cotton-candy-flavored body powder does exist.
Excerpt of Just My Type by Erin Nicholas
He was absolutely not going to have sex with Sam’s little sister.
Okay, so some people would say they’d already been pretty intimate. He wasn’t going to promise that wasn’t going to go a little further. It had to in order for him to show her he was way to wild for her. He just wasn’t going to kiss her. Not unless it was absolutely necessary. He wasn’t going to touch her any more than that. At least, he was going to try not to touch her. He definitely wasn’t going to bury himself as deep as he could go, over and over and over.
Yeah, that one he wasn’t going to do.
He turned around a moment later, feeling as in control as he was likely going to get with the knowledge he was going to see every beautiful, naked inch of Sara Bradford before he left that condo.
She hadn’t had much to remove. Just her dress, since he had her thong in his pocket. She still hadn’t listened to him. She was lying on her back, propped up on her elbows, her smooth tanned legs dangling over the edge of the bed, mostly covered. At least as much as she had been since being in St. Croix. He stopped in front of her and looked down at her.
On a bed. Like a wet dream come true.
Even if he hadn’t seen in the cab she wore no bra, there was obviously nothing between her breasts and the thin white satin of her top as the hard points of her nipples were evident.
He’d wanted women. He’d felt heat and passion. He’d never felt burned alive from the inside like he did now. He knew, even as he gazed down at her, once he saw her, saw every inch of flesh on this woman, he would never want another. Ever.
This had the potential of making him a very lonely, sexually frustrated person from here on.
Still he said, “Take it off.”
Her eyes widened. “I’d rather you did it.”
He frowned. She was going to be difficult even now? “Sara, take it off.”
She reached her hand behind her neck and pulled on the end of the tie that held the top up. The material gave and the front slipped down to reveal the smooth peach colored skin of her chest and upper swells of her breasts. Not far enough.
“More,” he said hoarsely.
She grasped the satiny material between her thumb and first finger just above her belly button and tugged. The fabric slipped down, tortuously slow, until her beautiful breasts and hard nipples were fully revealed.
His mouth went dry as if it was the first time he’d seen her. Somehow, this felt different. This was premeditated. This wasn’t a spontaneous painting or an attempt to shock her in a public place. This was a private showing. All for him.
She was tiny all over. She wasn’t more than an A cup and he’d heard her bemoan that fact in the past. Right now, though, she didn’t look upset. About anything. And he sure as hell wasn’t complaining.
“Now what?” A mischievous smile teased the corner of her mouth.
“All the way. Off.” He was already beyond the ability to make full sentences.
She lifted her hips off the mattress. She looked at him expectantly as if waiting for him to pull the skirt down. There was no way he was touching her.
Being by a bed with her was a bad idea.
Watching her undress was a terrible idea.
Thinking about all of the things he wanted to do to her was a horrible idea.
But touching her? Putting his hands on the woman he’d been comparing every other woman to for five years? Running his palms over the curves and silkiness of the woman he’d been depriving himself of, purposefully, for five years?
No way in hell. That would be out of control.
He’d had bad, terrible and horrible ideas before and survived them. He’d always been in control.
“Take it off.”
She wouldn’t leave him alone. If he didn’t do this, do something, she would not leave it alone. He couldn’t take it. He couldn’t take having her flirt and tease and try to seduce him. So he was going for the shock factor to shut her up. At least long enough to get her back to Omaha, dump her back on her siblings and then disappear for a while to get over her. Shouldn’t take more than a decade or two.
She shrugged, like it didn’t matter to her one way or another, and lay back, grabbing some material in her fingers at each hip and tugging it down, shimmying as she did it. The motion caused her breasts to bounce a little.
Mac bit back a soft curse and closed his eyes.
“Nothing,” he said tightly.
“You’re not going to look?”
He shook his head. He couldn’t. Not right now. Maybe ever.
He’d already seen her. Twice. In the tattoo parlor and the cab he’d had the environment and the knowledge he was not going to make love to Sara like that, to keep him in check. Now they were alone. In a private condo, with a locked door, on the island, thousands of miles from anyone they knew. There was nothing to keep him in check—except him.
He’d been beat up, shot at and hung over. Never could he remember feeling this sharp, hot, acute pain before. His body strained to go to her. His mind strained to run in the opposite direction. He felt, literally, pulled in two by equal and opposite forces.
“You want to look, Mac.”
He did. He really, really did. He’d caught just a glimpse in the car. Not damned near enough. He groaned in resignation and opened one eye.
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