Excerpt: Runaway Girl - Vilma Iris | Lifestyle Blogger

It’s Naomi Clemons’s big day. Her dream wedding. And she’s outta here.

One moment. A chance meeting of gazes through the church window pane with someone familiar who radiates intrigue. Independence. It’s the final push Naomi needs to realize…she’s boring. A blonde, cookie cutter, well mannered trophy wife-to-be. How can she expect to lead a fulfilling married life when she’s never lived?

Special Forces diver Jason Bristow needs a beauty pageant coach. Not for himself—although the tattooed bruiser could definitely use some charm. For his little sister who he has returned to St. Augustine, Florida to raise. When a beautiful southern debutante lands on his doorstep, she awakens a hunger that won’t be ignored. If only she wasn’t planning on winning back the ex-fiancé she left at the altar…

Despite the potential for ruin, heat continues to build between Naomi and Jason beneath the sultry Florida sunshine, consuming them both. But they’re on borrowed time…and it’s about to run out.

Book Type:

Contemporary Romance

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Excerpt: Runaway Girl
By Tessa Bailey

Excerpt: Runaway Girl

Following the fast-paced romance (which I loved), GETAWAY GIRL, Tessa Bailey is back with another sexy, standalone love story—a runaway bride who falls for a tough-talking, intriguing man she never expected. RUNAWAY GIRL is out today, and I’m thrilled to share an excerpt to entice you to keep reading!

My smile drops, but I yank it back up. Despite the thunderhead of a human being looking down at me from the height of the doorframe. Not a gentleman. Not a gentle anything. Tattoos peek out of the neckline and sleeves of his dirty gray T-shirt. His jaw is covered in coarse-looking black hair, as is his head, which has been the recipient of a ruthless buzz cut. The smell of motor oil and cigar smoke wafts toward me, nearly knocking me back a step, but there’s an underlying note of cinnamon that is oddly pleasing layered under the rest of it. And it’s the last pleasing thing about him, this man who looks suited to climbing out of a swamp with camouflage paint on his face to the soundtrack of chopper blades. That seems like an unusual thought, until I realize the tattoo on his right arm is the Army logo. Fitting. Although this man is so large and riddled with muscle, he could be his own army.

His mouth turns down into an even deeper frown, and I realize I’ve been counting the unseemly bulges of his abdomen. Are those meant to be seen clear through clothing?

“Good evening. You must be Jason,” I say brightly, holding out my hand. “I’m Naomi Clemons. Charmed.”

He props a meaty forearm on the doorjamb and shakes his head. “Yeah. This isn’t going to work.”

I keep my hand extended. Just hanging there, like it has no protocol for being ignored. Can he sense how useless and inexperienced I am? He must. “I’m sorry?”

A single dark eyebrow goes up. “About what?”

His deliberate obtuseness rankles, and I’m surprised to find myself growing kind of irritated. At least it’s a welcome change from the insecurity. “I’m sorry, as in, I don’t understand what you mean by ‘this isn’t going to work.’ We are midway through introductions, sir. You haven’t even taken my hand yet.”

“Don’t plan to.”

“I’ll just leave it here,” I say, ignoring the growing strain in said limb.

He shrugs a mountain-like shoulder. “Be my guest.”

I’ve never been more tempted to stomp a foot. “Take the hand.”

A sigh gusts out of him. “Fine.”

The man takes my hand and gives it a firm squeeze—and promptly covers my palm and fingers in thick, black grease. He revels in it, smiling just enough to reveal a set of strong, white teeth that look absolutely indecent set against his dark beard. He’s waiting for me to whine or admonish him, too. I can tell. And it’s shocking to have anyone display such impoliteness toward me. Especially a man. Where I come from, men bend over backwards to make me feel welcome. I am the furthest thing from welcome right now. I am distinctly unwelcome.

I’ve had a bad day. I’m tired and hungry. Those delicious Funyuns were not enough to tide me over. This unfamiliar town has me feeling like a fish out of water, and I don’t even know where I’m laying my head tonight. That has to be the only reason I’m hit with a burst of defiance the likes of which I’ve never experienced. At least since this morning.

Pasting a pleasant expression on my face, I wipe my greasy hand straight down the front of my white linen dress. Hallelujah is all I can think when Blackbeard’s smile loses power, enough to hide his teeth. “Well, now. Let’s start over.” I breathe deeply and square my shoulders. “You must be Jason.”

 

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This riff tries to capture so much of what is great about guitar. It celebrates open & barre chords, it celebrates clean and distorted single coil tones, it derives from a number of Fender-playing influences. Like guitar, I get it and it gets me. @Fender #UltraRiffContest

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