ROYAL MARRIAGE MARKET BLITZ+GIVEAWAY
We are absolutely thrilled to bring you the Release Week Blitz for Heather Lyons’ ROYAL MARRIAGE MARKET! ROYAL MARRIAGE MARKET is a brand new standalone contemporary romance by Heather Lyons due to be released on December 15, 2015! Grab ROYAL MARRIAGE MARKET now for a limited time special sale price of $1.99! Price will rise on December 23rd.
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“Heather Lyons has officially charmed me. Royal Marriage Market is an indulgent read that will have you flipping pages until the very end.” – R.S. Grey, USA Today bestselling author.
Heather Lyons’s ROYAL MARRIAGE MARKET – Release Week Blitz Schedule:
December 14th
I Love Romance
The Talking Bookworm
December 15th
December 16th
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"The perfect royal romance." Nichole Chase, New York Times bestselling author.
Grab Your Copy of ROYAL MARRIAGE MARKET today for just $1.99 now through December 23rd!
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EXPERT
“I denied myself the éclairs earlier and then resolved, as I stared up at the ceiling for a good hour, that life is too short to not indulge in things that bring about small joys.”
EXPERT
“I denied myself the éclairs earlier and then resolved, as I stared up at the ceiling for a good hour, that life is too short to not indulge in things that bring about small joys.”
I wander over to the
island, positioning myself on the opposite side. “Éclairs bring you such?”
His grin grows. “Hell
yeah, they do. Want one?”
Three éclairs rest
upon his plate. “Will it bring me
joy?”
“Have you ever eaten
an éclair in the middle of the night, Els?”
I blink at the
nickname he bestows upon me. No one has ever called me Els. Not a single
person. It’s bizarre, because one would think such a derivative would be
natural, but Her Serene Highness was strict about such things during my
childhood. My name is Elsa. I ought to be called Elsa. Nicknames are common,
and she claimed she wanted more for me.
Whatever that meant.
Despite our earlier
conversation concerning his own, though, I happen to like nicknames. “As a
matter of fact,” I say, absurdly pleased at the bestowment, “I have not.”
“Then this shall be a
first for you.” He shoves the plate my way. “Don’t worry. Éclairs eaten in the
middle of the night have no calories. If they did, I’d be at least five pounds
heavier already.”
It is impossible to
not grin like a fool. Are we really standing here in the kitchen, in the dead
of night, sparring with one another again? And why is it so bloody
entertaining? Small joys, indeed. “Is
that so? Well then. This will be more than just a first for eating an éclair in
the middle of the night. It will be my first time consuming a calorie free
dessert, too. Who knew such things existed?”
“Shall I make you some
warm milk, too?”
I blink again,
abruptly unsteady.
“You were rooting
around in the fridge for milk to heat up, weren’t you?” He motions to his own
mug. “As it helps with snoring parents?”
I counter with, “Why
were you sitting here in the dark?”
“I’d had my cell’s
flashlight on, but switched it off when noises sounded outside the door. I
suppose I wasn’t too keen on being caught rummaging around the kitchen in the
middle of the night.” He touches the ceramic in front of him once more. “Yes or
no?”
I gingerly select one
of the éclairs, shivering at its coldness. “Actually, yes. I would very much
like that. Do you know how to heat up milk?”
The room may be dim,
but there’s no mistaking the comical yet wounded look he proffers. “Everyone
knows how to do that.”
“Not everyone. There
are surely milk virgins in the world.”
He wanders over to the
fridge and extracts a carton of milk. “Rest assured, I am no milk virgin. I’m
thirty, remember?”
It is my turn to
nearly choke as I swallow a far too large bite of éclair.
“No choking allowed.
If four a.m. rolls around, the calories will come back.”
I clear my throat. “Is
three a.m. a magical hour, then?”
He heads over toward
the stovetop, where a small pan rests upon another stainless steel countertop.
I angle our phones’ flashlights his way; shadows crawl around his body as a
blue flame erupts from a burner, allowing me to ogle silently at a well-shaped
arse. Goodness. Will his too-ness ever cease?
“As a matter of fact,
it is. All the best firsts should be experienced at three a.m.” He sets the pan
on the stove and adds milk. “But it’s a witching hour. The magic only lasts for
sixty minutes before turning ordinary once more.”
With the next bite of
éclair, pleasure bursts across my tongue. Curse him for being spot on about
pastry-based joy.
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