New Release: Last Call by TL Watson

A new book!

Last Call by TL Watson is out now!


Newly-single attorney Gwen Cooper’s list of things that make her happy is pretty simple:
1. her teenage sons
2. her stilettos
3. finally taking control of her own life

While texting the first on the list to warn them she’s missed her flight home, she plows into a hot-shot movie star, has a lukewarm latte dumped down her blouse, and snaps a heel off item number two. When the actor shows up at the hotel bearing an apology of replacement Louboutins, she should be wondering how he got her room number. Instead, she’s simmering over his well-tailored suit and conjuring more sinful ways for him to make things up to her. And why not? The notorious bachelor is the perfect guy to kick off her post-divorce fantasies of no strings attached. Ever again.

Blake Donovan claimed Hollywood’s top spot by playing the self-centered bad boy his manager and publicist created. Lonely as it is, he’s long since accepted the image he portrays to the world. Until the gorgeous lawyer pegs the man behind the façade in minutes flat. After the hottest one night stand in history, he tracks her down in hopes of a repeat performance. And the encore has him craving far more than being tied up in her strings.

Blake will have to step into the role of a lifetime—himself—in order to convince Gwen that taking a chance on him won’t mean giving up on number three.


TL Watson is a South Floridian transplanted to North Carolina, a wife, a lucky mom of twins, and a lover of Happily Ever After. She writes romances that range from sticky sweet to spicy, and beyond. She can usually be found scribbling hieroglyphics on the wall of her Word cave, and doesn't like chocolate, so in case of emergency lure her out with pumpkin lattes.

 Get it now!
 Amazon.com
 Amazon.ca



And now... two excerpts for your reading pleasure!

"This can't be happening." After finding out my luggage hadn't made the original flight with me, all the fight had been sucked from my soul. Sure, somewhere deep down I wanted to shout and maybe even curse a little, but I'd been standing at the front desk of the swanky hotel for twenty minutes. I'd spoken with three concierges and a manager. They'd all anted up the same bad no-vacancy news. Things had hit bottom.
"There's not even a room that needs cleaning before it can be occupied? I'll wait."
"Ma'am, I offer my sincerest apologies." The pristinely coiffed manager didn't look sorry. Her face, eyes, and mouth were pinched so tight she'd need an immediate face-lift if she relaxed them in the slightest. "About two miles south, there's a Motel—"
"Are you kidding me?" That yanked some of the shouting from the recesses and launched it over my tongue. "If I wanted to stay at a cheap—"
"Is everything okay, Gwen?" A man asked from beside me.
The platinum-bleached concierge jerked up straight and thrust her chest forward, blue eyes gone from bored to bedroom in a blink. Miss Tight-Face lost the managerial air and put on the biggest fake smile that side of the California border.
"Are you kidding me?" I snapped, for the second time.
Blondie almost choked on her own spit, glaring at me as if my tongue had reached out and slapped one of Blake Donovan's sexy slanted cheekbones. Not for long, though; she quickly forgot anyone else existed on the earth and joined the manager in her suddenly beaming façade, staring hungrily at the movie star in their midst.
"Mr. Donovan, what a pleasure. Your room is ready and your bags have been taken up. What else can we do for you?"
Well, at least I knew he hadn't stalked me in hopes of sticking it out until I finally caved and fell to his feet, begging for him to sign the silk blouse he'd destroyed.
A thin oily-haired man lurking in the background heralded the manager's attention to a phone call, but she waved him off.
"I believe you were still helping the lady?" Blake placed a hand on my shoulder, a little too familiarly for someone with whom I'd barely spoken three sentences, in less than exciting circumstances.
"I'm so sorry," she said. "I had no idea she was with you, Mr. Donovan."
"I'm not."
"Oh." The manager looked back to me, down her thin straight nose. "Then we'd be happy to have our shuttle drop you at any hotel you'd like."
She hadn't offered that before the Great Blake Donovan had shown up, and I'd bet she'd never intended to at all.

***

"So is this trip business?" He swirled the whisky in its tumbler before taking a quick slug. "Or pleasure?"
"Business."
"Why doesn't that surprise me?"
"What are you saying, Mr. Donovan? You don't think I'm capable of pleasure?" The implication—no matter how playfully said—bugged me.
His eyes narrowed then settled back on the amber liquid in his glass. A half smile slid up one cheek and my axis tilted. He slammed back the last of the Walker and plunked the glass down onto the small window-side table. "Let me guess. Your deepest darkest fantasy is to have Detective Ryan Shay throw you on the bed, have his way with you then breeze out with the cheesy tagline I've had to repeat in all three flicks."
"Jaded much?"
"Maybe. Avoiding much?"
"I like reality."
"And what's reality to you? Candles, flowers, and a promise to call sometime?"
Wow, he was beyond jaded.
"My own terms," I said. "A beautiful naked man helpless to stop me from doing anything I want to his hard body. Taking my time to explore and taste every inch while he writhes and moans. Then going home. Alone."
Dear God, had I actually said all that out loud? Forget actress, I'd morphed into a siren.
It was too late to take it back. So I kept a straight face and gripped the arms of the chair to avoid fleeing the room in embarrassment. It appeared I'd also left Blake Donovan speechless, and wide-eyed. He didn't utter a word, but reached to pour another whisky while never taking his eyes from my face. With a quick salute of the glass my direction, he tipped it to his mouth and downed it in one shot.
"So," I said, leaning back into my chair and tossing my napkin over my plate, "What makes you think I'm not into having fun?"
He opened his mouth and took a deep breath then shut it.
"Did I say that?" he asked. "I really can't remember much before something about tasting and hard."

My ROW80 goals have fallen by the wayside a bit as I've been so busy reading all these good books! Now I've got to drop everything else and concentrate on my end-of-term essay for school. Wish me luck! As soon as it's over, I've got to get back into blogging and commenting more regularly. And send out a few more query letters...

How many irons do you have on the fire?
When was the last time you dropped everything to just read (or paint or go for a walk or...)?
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