The first book in my new series, Tiny Houses, Big Hearts, hits the virtual shelves today.
If you follow me on any social media at all you are well aware of my obsession with the Tiny House Movement.
I fell hard for Tiny Houses and could not resist writing about them.
Love Shack is my first full length contemporary and I hope you'll come along for the ride with me, and I dip my toes in a pool without fangs, fur, or gears.
Keep reading for a little tease of the love/hate drama I've got for you. Grab yourself a copy of Love Shack and let me know what you think! I love hearing from my readers.
~Roxy
LOVE SHACK
AMAZON, iBOOKS, KOBO, ALL ROMANCE, B&N
Living tiny doesn’t leave many places to hide.
Tiny Houses, Big
Hearts,
Book 1
Felicity Newhouse left a life of excess for a
tiny house—and she’s never felt richer. She’d like to give back to the
artisanal community who gave her wounded spirit a place to land, but she wants
to do it on her own terms. Except she’s been turned down for a loan four times.
And the fifth bank on her list isn’t looking too promising, either.
The woman sitting across Brandon Halston’s
desk must be out of her mind. Who’d want to live in a house the size of his
walk-in closet, much less create an entire community of them? He’s drawn to her
soft beauty and her ideals, but business is business.
When her story hits the news, Brandon’s boss
solves the PR nightmare by ordering him to spend a month in her house—while
cameras roll. The heat between them boils over like the water for their morning
coffee. But when one person is hiding who they really are, passion may not be
enough to clean up the dirt someone is digging up behind the scenes.
Warning: This book
contains copious amounts of coffee and sex in confined spaces. If the tiny
house is rockin’ don’t come a-knockin’.
Keep reading for an excerpt...
Brandon found a café that offered breakfast all day. He was getting pancakes. It wasn’t
technically his cheat meal day, but since the diner didn’t serve alcohol and he was driving,
he was getting pancakes.
His hostage—because that was basically what she was—pursed her lips and looked at the menu.
When the waitress came, Felicity ordered some kind of perverted version of a grilled chicken sandwich.
After their orders were placed and he had taken a drink of water, Brandon grabbed a notepad from his briefcase and opened it to a fresh page.
“Now...tell me about your plan again.”
“Why?”
“Because I need to tear it apart and figure out how to make myself look better while
making the plan good enough to follow through with.”
The woman across from him stopped mid-drink and just stared.
He clicked his pen so he could write, but it was obvious she wasn’t talking until he
explained.
“You wanted to get funding for your shanty project, right?”
“Tiny houses.”
“Whatever. You want money, right?”
“For tiny houses, yes.”
This woman was frustrating as hell, but with the reporter in her back pocket instead of
his, Brandon had to remember to not be rude. It took effort. “My boss wants to get in on the ground floor of this and write it off as a charity project.”
“But it’s only a charity project for me. I would be paying back my loan to the bank. Or I would have, if you’d approved me.”
“Whatever you say, lady. I just want to see how I can help make this not a total disaster.”
“I think I’m done with this meeting.” Ms. Newhouse stood to leave, but the waitress came back and pushed her down.
“Nope. I already put your order in, woman. You are getting your super special breadless sandwich cooked in olive oil, not lard. So sit your butt down, because that took me damn near five minutes to explain to the cook. I don’t speak Spanish and there was a lot of hand signals that went down to get your order right. Not all of them were of the polite variety.”
Ms. Newhouse sat. “I didn’t mean to be any trouble. I usually eat at home and that’s
His hostage—because that was basically what she was—pursed her lips and looked at the menu.
When the waitress came, Felicity ordered some kind of perverted version of a grilled chicken sandwich.
After their orders were placed and he had taken a drink of water, Brandon grabbed a notepad from his briefcase and opened it to a fresh page.
“Now...tell me about your plan again.”
“Why?”
“Because I need to tear it apart and figure out how to make myself look better while
making the plan good enough to follow through with.”
The woman across from him stopped mid-drink and just stared.
He clicked his pen so he could write, but it was obvious she wasn’t talking until he
explained.
“You wanted to get funding for your shanty project, right?”
“Tiny houses.”
“Whatever. You want money, right?”
“For tiny houses, yes.”
This woman was frustrating as hell, but with the reporter in her back pocket instead of
his, Brandon had to remember to not be rude. It took effort. “My boss wants to get in on the ground floor of this and write it off as a charity project.”
“But it’s only a charity project for me. I would be paying back my loan to the bank. Or I would have, if you’d approved me.”
“Whatever you say, lady. I just want to see how I can help make this not a total disaster.”
“I think I’m done with this meeting.” Ms. Newhouse stood to leave, but the waitress came back and pushed her down.
“Nope. I already put your order in, woman. You are getting your super special breadless sandwich cooked in olive oil, not lard. So sit your butt down, because that took me damn near five minutes to explain to the cook. I don’t speak Spanish and there was a lot of hand signals that went down to get your order right. Not all of them were of the polite variety.”
Ms. Newhouse sat. “I didn’t mean to be any trouble. I usually eat at home and that’s
how I make it.”
“Well, you’s eatin’ here tonight, and I expect a tip when your order comes out perfect.
Got it?” She sauntered off and yelled at a patron who was sipping on a never-ending cup of coffee. “And buy some damn pie at least, Marshall.”
“She scares me,” his hostage said.
“Well, I’m tipping her fifty percent, because she kept you here. Now...” Brandon leaned forward, knowing he finally had the upper hand again. “Tell me about these shan...” He saw her narrow her eyes. “Tell me about these tiny houses.”
“Well, you’s eatin’ here tonight, and I expect a tip when your order comes out perfect.
Got it?” She sauntered off and yelled at a patron who was sipping on a never-ending cup of coffee. “And buy some damn pie at least, Marshall.”
“She scares me,” his hostage said.
“Well, I’m tipping her fifty percent, because she kept you here. Now...” Brandon leaned forward, knowing he finally had the upper hand again. “Tell me about these shan...” He saw her narrow her eyes. “Tell me about these tiny houses.”
LOVE SHACK is available NOW from
AMAZON, iBOOKS, KOBO, ALL ROMANCE, B&N
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