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Rash & Rationality by Ellen Mint - Book Tour + Giveaway

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Rash & Rationality 
Happily Ever Austen Series Book 2 
by Ellen Mint 
Genre: Contemporary Romance 

Love is a lot closer and more complicated than Marty ever dreamed. 

Marty Dashwood is a true romantic. Hearts, chocolates, kisses on the hand—the whole nine yards. His killjoy brother Eldon doesn’t believe in love at first sight, but one day Marty will have the perfect meet-cute, she’ll fall helplessly in love with him and they’ll live happily ever after. 

Brandy’s worked with Marty for almost two years. He’s the best friend she could ever have hoped for after the accident that took her husband. So she should be happy that Marty finally found what he’d always wanted, right? 

So why does it feel like every time she sees Marty with the ‘Social-Media Angel’ he rescued from a mugger, a piece breaks off her heart? How can she explain any of this to him before she loses her best friend forever? 

Reader advisory: Rash and Rationality is a modern gender-swapped friends-to-lovers Sense & Sensibility, set in a cozy bookshop. 

Pride & Pancakes 
Happily Ever Austen Series Book 1 

When a cold-hearted singer and a hard-headed journalist are trapped together in a blizzard, there will be sparks—and pancakes. 

When Beth Cho is tasked with interviewing elusive musician Tristan Harty, it’s hate at first sight. Despite his sapphire-blue eyes and lithe frame, he’s got to be the most infuriating man on the planet. 

Tristan Harty is already sick of reporters and this one is proving no different. Sure, she might be adorable with her ebony hair and big brown eyes, but her incessant need to dig into his past is dragging on his last nerve. 

The bickering duo vow never to meet again, but Mother Nature has other plans for them, trapping them in a Vermont cabin via a blizzard. The more Beth learns about the aristocratic Tristan, the harder it is for her to keep her professional distance, just as Tristan discovers that a loving heart beats inside the beautiful reporter. 

But what happens when the snowstorm’s over, and the melted Tristan and enamored Beth are free to leave? Can their reluctant attraction bloom into a deeper love now their cold-as-ice judgment has thawed? 

Reader advisory: Pride and Pancakes is a sweet yet steamy contemporary story inspired by the immortal Pride & Prejudice. There are references to sexual abuse, death from drug overdose and death in car crash. 

“The snow’s stopped.” Tristan’s voice echoed through the cabin.
“Thank God,” she gasped, pressing Save and backing her work up into the cloud. At least this place had working internet and electricity. The heat seemed to come predominantly from the fire, but there were a lot of trees around. And all she had to do was make it through the night, then she’d be free of him.
He stared at her from the reflective window, but she wouldn’t look up. What time was it? The moment she saw it was nearing midnight, a yawn rumbled in her gut.
“There is the matter of sleeping arrangements,” the strange man she’d only met this afternoon declared.
Beth’s heart sank. One bed in the honeymoon cabin. Not a reason for another. “I don’t care how big it is. I don’t want it,” she babbled, rising from the couch.
To her surprise, and small delight, Tristan blinked in confusion, his brow clouding. “What…what are you? What do you mean?”
“The bed, the only bed.”
“Oh!” he gasped as if coming to God. He canvassed the ceiling before landing his sight upon her. “You referred to…yes, of course.”
“Why? What did you think I meant?” The moment the question left her lips, she played back what she’d said without thought and the innuendo it crafted. A blush moved to scamper over her cheeks, which she could disguise thanks to the firelight.
“You take the bed, alone,” he tacked on quickly. “I’ll sleep out here on the couch.”
Beth glanced at the small two-seater. She could probably scrunch up to fit, but no way he’d manage. “I’ll sleep on the couch. You, Mr. Big-Wig Musician, take the bed.”
“Ha,” he snorted. “You think I can’t hack it out here?”
“Damn certain you can’t.” Beth nodded to herself, well aware of the riders most celebs demanded just to sit for a few minutes and talk about themselves. No way anyone who’d gone platinum would demean themselves by sleeping on a couch.
“I’ll have you know, I’ve slept on buses in my touring days.” Tristan broke from his vigil over the snow, his closed-off body sliding closer.
“Oh yeah? I’ve done Greyhound.”
“Vans, as well. One time, I had to sleep on the floor of an overbooked hotel room.”
“Big deal.” She prodded at him without touching him. “You ever slept on the floor of a cargo plane? Or a rickshaw? Or the bottom of a leaking boat?”
Her rather colorful background threw Tristan off. The cocky demeanor melted, his arms falling out of their tight cross as he eyed her. “No. No, I haven’t.”
“Then take the damn bed.” She indicated the bedroom, exhausted by his sudden chivalry. “I can handle myself on a damn sofa for a few hours. And no, I won’t mention it in the article. ‘Musician sleeps in bed.’ Hardly pull quote material.”
The edge of his stark-white canine emerged as he sneered. Had he perfected that in the mirror when younger or was it simply his face reacting to his soul? “You cannot stop riling people up, can you? Like a scrap of splintered wood rubbed over skin.”
Beth moved to rise to defend herself and point out how he knew as little about her as she did him. But the haughty musician spun on his heels and finally trudged off to the open bedroom. Without another word, the door slammed, rattling the cabin’s frame until snow plummeted off the roof. A shudder climbed her spine as she remembered she was trapped in a cabin with a stranger.
A near-stranger known to have a temper problem. He buried it under cold scowls and erudite language, but it was there. It was the sixth or seventh thing people thought about when imagining Tristan Harty. And Beth knew better than to ask about it, especially with no one around to pillow his punches.
Twisting in place, she glared at the short sofa she’d vehemently insisted be hers. Sitting up wasn’t so bad, with her back nestled against the armrest and her feet up on the cushion. But how was she going to sleep on this thing? She’d have to scrunch up like a child in the throes of a nightmare to fit. And he’d thought he could do it?
Too riled up to sleep, Beth turned her back to the closed bedroom and opened her laptop. The blank page mocked her, the blinking cursor questioning why she didn’t get a job in engineering instead.
Because you’re awful at math and fear being electrocuted.
At least engineers didn’t have to deal with being trapped in snow-bound cabins with fickle, thin-skinned musicians. He’d been so damn insistent she not take her car when there’d been a chance and now they were both stuck together. Always having to be right, having to throw his intellectual weight around as if it were a ten-ton wrecking ball.
Flexing her fingers, Beth laid into her keyboard to quickly type, Tristan Harty is an arrogant know-it-all who cares little for the consequences of his actions. The cursor flickered at the end of her cruel cut, wondering about the bias and the rather limp lede. Folding her other fingers into a fist, Beth plunged her pointer to the delete key, pressing to vanish every letter of the accurate but inflammatory sentence.

Tristan Harty is…

The sound of the door opening caused her to crane her head around. Instinctively, she closed her laptop as the subject of her non-start barreled out of the room. A blanket curled from his arms down to the floor and a pillow nestled against his chest. “Here,” he said, thrusting both at Beth.
She reached for them, confused as to why he’d bothered. Before she could ask, he spun on his heels and marched back into the bedroom, once again slamming the door. Wrapping her arms around the offering ripped from his bed, Beth breathed in a surprising masculine scent. Warmth lingered in the wool fibers. Had he been tossing and turning in the bed before deciding to give the blanket to her? Or had he been holding both blanket and pillow, pacing back and forth, wondering if she’d even accept them?
Despite her annoyance at the man, she wasn’t stupid enough to turn down potential warmth in the midst of a snowstorm. Tucking the pillow behind her back and laying the blanket out over her legs, Beth tried to dive back into her work. She stared blindly at the blinking cursor, watching as the document automatically synched up to the cloud with its half a sentence. As she leaned back into the pillow, warmth curled across her weary back and the smell of sandalwood spiced with juniper wafted around her.

Tristan Harty is confounding.

Ellen Mint adores the adorkable heroes who charm with their shy smiles and heroines that pack a punch. She has a needy black lab named after Granny Weatherwax from Discworld. Sadly, her dog is more of a Magrat.

When she's not writing imposing incubi or saucy aliens, she does silly things like make a tiny library full of her books. Her background is in genetics and she married a food scientist so the two of them nerd out over things like gut bacteria. She also loves gaming, particularly some of the bigger RPG titles. If you want to get her talking for hours, just bring up Dragon Age. 

Follow the tour HERE for special content and TWO giveaways! 

Giveaway #1 

Here's a link to my landing page:

Giveaway #2 

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  1. These books look so cute. I love everything Jane Austen and love variations of Pride and Prejudice.
    flyergal82 AT (yahoo /dot ^com)


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