TERI ANNE STANLEY
Release Date: July 21, 2015
Book Synopsis: Justin Morgan would happily drown the pain of his injured leg—and the guilt he brought back from Afghanistan—in bourbon. Except, there won’t be any booze if he doesn’t rescue his family’s century-old distillery from financial ruin. The problem? Allie McGrath—youngest daughter of the distillery’s co-owners, and the one woman he can’t have.
Allie has been in love with Justin since…well, she’s always been in love with him. Now he’s home, broken up over the death of her brother, and he needs help. She can fix the distillery—she’s sure of it—but no one’s taking her or her sweet new idea seriously. Convincing Justin is her only hope.
Allie is more tempting than Justin expected, threatening a promise he swore he’d never break. If he can’t keep their attraction under control, there’s a solid chance they’ll send the whole enterprise crumbling to the ground…if he doesn’t crash and burn first.
Author Bio: Teri Anne Stanley began her writing career with scientific articles—followed by a three-ingredient recipe column, but wasn’t allowed to write naked parts for them—so now she writes romance.
She’s also worked as a fashion designer for female body builders and a sex therapist for rats. In her spare time, she’s a neuroscience research assistant. Along with a variety of offspring and dogs, she and Mr. Stanley live just outside of Sugartit, which is—honest to God—between Beaverlick and Rabbit Hash, Kentucky.
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And here’s an excerpt for your enjoyment–
Allie wasn’t sure what had made her follow Justin outside.
Testing herself, she supposed. The extra shot of bourbon
after his father’s toast might have something to do with her
compulsion to make a fool of herself, too. And the slug from
the flask was definitely responsible for her current position,
pressed against the hard planes of his chest.
His hands came up to curve around her waist.
This was crazy. But… “I believe you invited me to
“Probably not a good idea,” he murmured, as he pulled
her closer and slid his hands farther over her hips, up her
back. He didn’t sway to the music, but his body was a solid
column of heat, and somehow their feet moved them in a
The sound of the party inside was faint against the sound
of her own sigh. She was slow dancing with Justin Morgan.
His shoulders were hard curves beneath her hands, shifting
slightly as he moved. “I should have recognized you earlier,”
“Would that have been good or bad?” Did she really
want to know? Did he see past the dorky teenager she’d
been to the hopefully more sophisticated woman she wanted
the world to see?
“I don’t know, babe.” His low chuckle sent a thrill
through her. “You’re probably safer if I remember you’re
“Why am I off-limits?”
Her heel caught in a space between two stones, but
she thought she heard him say something about “difficult
promises” while she wobbled and tipped forward, her body
pressing more fully against his and her face tipping up.
“Whoa!” She was caught by his gaze, direct and deep.
His eyes reflected the midnight sky, and something
else…desire. But was it just a mirror of her own want? Off limits,
They weren’t turning to the music any more. Standing
still, breath foggy in the dark, bodies aligned, his lips were
close. Too close. She shifted, and felt—oh God—his erection,
pressing against her belly.
And he was still looking at her.
Her lips parted, tongue darting out to touch her suddenly
hypersensitive lower lip. His eyes telegraphed his intent
before he bent his head toward her, brushing his lips against
hers, lighting a fire in the cold spring night. A small kiss,
barely a touch, but she felt it all the way to her core—not
just between her legs, but somewhere farther inside, deeper,
somewhere not on any anatomy chart.
She gasped as he took the kiss deeper, his lips coaxing
hers apart, his tongue sliding in against her own. He tasted
of Blue Mountain bourbon, heat, and need.
Allie felt a wall at her back; somehow they’d maneuvered
themselves close to the building. Rough brick caught at her
skirt when he pulled at the silky fabric, sliding his thigh
Moaning, she leaned into his leg, the firm muscle only
increasing her need to press against him. The ache rose, fast
and high, and her legs began to tremble, to tighten.
She reached between them and ran her hand over
the front of his pants, feeling him hard under her stroking
fingers. He groaned and thrust into her hand. She wanted to
reach for his belt buckle to release all that power, but there
was a roomful of family just a few feet away. If they took the
time to find somewhere more private, this moment would
end—this moment that had been a lifetime in the making.