Dusk Until Dawn by Andie J. Christopher - Book Tour + Giveaway
by
Andie J. Christopher
Andie J. Christopher
Pub
date: 4/18/2017
date: 4/18/2017
Genre:
Contemporary Romance
Contemporary Romance
No boundaries.
Bartender and aspiring painter Maya Pascual loves turning up the heat. And
dumping a vodka-and-karma chaser on the man who broke her heart is
perfect Bronx girl payback. But how can she resist when Miami playboy
prince Javier Hernandez begs to make it up to her. . .
dumping a vodka-and-karma chaser on the man who broke her heart is
perfect Bronx girl payback. But how can she resist when Miami playboy
prince Javier Hernandez begs to make it up to her. . .
No regrets.
Between his disastrous personal life and his wealthy family’s meddling,
Javi needs to get back on track. The only thing that’s certain is
his passion for Maya. If she’ll just let him show her how sorry he
is, maybe he can move on and start fresh. But one look in her
gorgeous eyes and he knows letting her go will be easier said than
done.
Javi needs to get back on track. The only thing that’s certain is
his passion for Maya. If she’ll just let him show her how sorry he
is, maybe he can move on and start fresh. But one look in her
gorgeous eyes and he knows letting her go will be easier said than
done.
No rules.
Maya agrees to one dinner with Javi. But as their attraction threatens to
combust, she wonders if a night of no strings, no repeats surrender
is the only way burn off their desire once and for all…. Unless the
light of day reveals it’s impossible to let go.
combust, she wonders if a night of no strings, no repeats surrender
is the only way burn off their desire once and for all…. Unless the
light of day reveals it’s impossible to let go.
Amazon
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* Apple
* GooglePlay
* Kobo
* Nook
Javier
Hernandez’s dick was bored. The rest of him was bored, too. But the dick part
had him worried.
He slouched back
on the padded bench in the VIP booth. Yvette and her friend—couldn’t remember
her name—danced near the edge of the balcony. They were conspicuous enough that
someone among the writhing mass of bodies in the club below would snap a
picture with their phone. Before sunrise, they’d be plastered on a gossip blog
as a romantic item.
He hadn’t been to
a club in almost a year, and right now, he wasn’t sure why he’d ever enjoyed
this kind of thing. Since his little sister called him out at a family
gathering, his father had kept him on lock down.
The only reason
he was off-leash tonight was a business dinner with an out-of-towner who wanted
to see the Miami nightlife. His father was quick to nominate him for that job.
But not before pushing him out the door with a few words on how to land the
client’s cash into their family’s hedge fund.
The potential
client was currently passed out in a black car on the way to the airport. His
father might not like how he got things done, but the guy was happy, and Javi
didn’t doubt that they’d have his business.
He didn’t know
why he was still hanging around. For the past year, he’d had his shit
together—working out, showing up to work on time, and staying away from women
who would garner any publicity for the family. He’d thought that being back in
a familiar environment would be a relief. Instead, it felt like pants that
didn’t fit—his old life was tight in the crotch, and not in a good way.
Both models shot
him suggestive glances, and Yvette beckoned him with one finger and a flutter
of her eyelashes. A year ago—fuck, six months ago—he’d have been with them,
taking a selfie, and posting it on social media. Thinking that people would be
jealous of him—Javier Hernandez, asshole who cavorts with models.
Losing the regard
of his family had cured him of the idea that he was living some sort of charmed
life. He’d used that image to bolster his wounded ego after his wife left him.
He didn’t need that Band-Aid now that the wound had closed up. If he wanted to
fuck, he fucked. But he didn’t make a big production of it. He didn’t make a
point to be photographed with models, strippers, or club girls. He’d even
closed down his Instagram account. There wasn’t any point. All of those women
had made him feel precisely nothing.
Andie J. Christopher writes edgy, funny, sexy contemporary romance. She
grew up in a family of voracious readers, and picked up her first
Harlequin romance novel at age twelve when she’d finished reading
everything else in her grandmother’s house. It was love at first
read. It wasn’t too long before she started writing my own
stories—her first heroine drank Campari and wore a lot of Esprit.
Andie holds a bachelor's degree from the University of Notre Dame in
economics and art history (summa cum laude), and a JD from Stanford
Law School. She lives in Washington, DC, with a very funny French
Bulldog named Gus.
grew up in a family of voracious readers, and picked up her first
Harlequin romance novel at age twelve when she’d finished reading
everything else in her grandmother’s house. It was love at first
read. It wasn’t too long before she started writing my own
stories—her first heroine drank Campari and wore a lot of Esprit.
Andie holds a bachelor's degree from the University of Notre Dame in
economics and art history (summa cum laude), and a JD from Stanford
Law School. She lives in Washington, DC, with a very funny French
Bulldog named Gus.
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