Book Title: Ready To Burn (Due
South Book 3)
Author: Tracey Alvarez
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: October 25th,
2014
Hosted by: Book Enthusiast Promotions
Take one
sassy Harland girl…
Shaye
Harland, sous chef de-awesome, desperately wants the role of Due South’s head
chef. Though a little out of her depth, she can totally cope with the extra
demands if she can resist her future brother-in-law when he muscles in on her
kitchen. The Hollywood wannabe is nothing but a troublesome distraction and he
fries her sex-ometer to a crisp. But as far as romance? Forget it. Love, when
she finds Mr. Perfect, will be as sweet as her to-die-for cookies.
Add a
bad-boy from LA…
Del Westlake
swore he’d never again set foot on the island he calls the “ass end of New
Zealand.” With his reputation as a sous chef in one of LA’s hottest restaurants
trashed, and his estranged father’s restaurant needing a head chef, Del wants
nothing more than to go in, get the job done, and get out. Except his feisty
second-in-command carves herself a spot in his heart and completely incinerates
his plans.
Watch the
sparks fly as they burn it up in the kitchen…
Winning a
spot on a TV reality show is just what Del needs to jumpstart his career back
in the States. Nothing can get in the way of him winning—not even the woman
whose trust he’d destroy if she discovers his secrets. But with a film crew
capturing the explosive kitchen chemistry between them, will his bad-boy ways
rear up and ruin his shot at becoming Shaye’s Mr. Perfect?
Tracey
Alvarez lives in the Coolest Little Capital in the World (a.k.a Wellington, New
Zealand) where she’s yet to be buried under her to-be-read book pile by
Wellington’s infamous wind—her Kindle’s a lifesaver! Married to a wonderfully
supportive IT guy, she has two teens who would love to be surgically linked to
their electronic devices.
Fuelled by
copious amounts of coffee, she’s the author of contemporary romantic fiction
set predominantly in New Zealand. Small-towns, close communities, and families
are a big part of the heart-warming stories she writes. Oh, and hot,
down-to-earth heroes—Kiwi men, in other words.
When she’s
not writing, thinking about writing, or procrastinating about writing, Tracey
can be found reading sexy books of all romance genres, nibbling on smuggled
chocolate bars, or bribing her kids to take over the housework.
One second
Del stood beside her all moody and mysterious, and the next, his hands gripped
the railing on either side of her hips. He moved fast—fast enough that she made
an embarrassing little eep-ish squawk. Nowhere to go unless she became flexible
enough to do a flip over the wooden railing.
Shaye yanked
her hands from her pockets and gave his chest a shove. “Back off.”
Even after
she added her sous chef do it now or die glare, he stayed,
big and bad and way too close. He continued watching her with dark and
unreadable eyes, his nostrils flaring slightly as he breathed.
Her hands
didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t put them back on those two hard pecs,
since every single nerve-ending had soaked up the heat burning through Del’s
shirt and transmitted swoony, oh yeah sighs into her brain.
Stupid nerve-endings. Stupid
brain.
She wriggled
her bottom, so she half sat on the railing, arching away from him. “What are
you doing?”
“Showing you
the reason.”
The rough
timbre of his voice stroked over her. Wickedly dark, decadently rich, scarily
addictive. Like chocolate, the quality stuff made of eighty percent pure
cacao.
He leaned
forward, his face level with hers. “It’s a compelling reason.”
Shaye’s hand
shot out to grip his biceps—that or topple backward—but God, he felt amazing.
All hard, sinewy muscle and why the hell couldn’t she unhook her
fingers?
Her
breathing hitched, high and ragged. “My sister’s a cop, and I know how to
defend myself.”
“So, show me
your ninja moves.”
“Daring a cornered
woman to hurt you isn’t very bright.”
One of his
hands rasped off the wooden railing and touched the end of her ponytail. He
selected a strand and stroked it down her jaw. Shaye licked her lips, unable to
suck her gaze from his mouth, which angled closer. Close enough that she could
tell the flavor of the last handful of potato chips he’d eaten.
Salt and
vinegar. Her favorite.
She strained
upward to see if he tasted as good as he smelled…Freaking
hell—
Shaye reared
back a little, hair slipping from his fingers, her chin narrowly missing his.
“Are you going to kiss me?”
Her heart
gave a little bunny-hop at the thought and leaped around her ribs.
“Not unless
you ask real nice.”
“Ask you?” There was that damn smirk of his again. She
should’ve guessed he was playing with her. “When pigs fly.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw, but the smile didn’t falter.
“Now you’ll have to say, ‘Please, Del. With a cherry on top.’”
“I’d jam that cherry up your nose before I’d kiss you,
Hollywood. Get outta my face.”
His gaze dipped once to her mouth then flicked up. “I can’t
go anywhere while you’re grabbing onto me.”
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