SALE—Fluffy by Julia
Kent (@jkentauthor) is Only 99c April 6-17! #sale #99c #romcom #romance #comedy
FLUFFY
Author: Julia Kent
Release date: April 30,
2019
Genre: Romantic Comedy, Contemporary Romance
Cover Designer: Hang Le
Editor: Elisa Reed
Audiobook narrator: Erin Mallon
99¢ SALE –
add audio with Whispersync and/or Audible Escape
Description:
It all started with the wrong Help Wanted ad. Of course it
did.
I’m a
professional fluffer. It’s NOT what you think. I stage homes for a living. Real
estate agents love me, and my work stands on its own merits.
Sigh.
Get your mind out of the gutter. Go ahead. Laugh. I’ll wait.
See?
That’s the problem. My career has used the term “fluffer” for decades. I didn’t
even know there was a more… lascivious definition of the term.
Until it
was too late.
The ad
for a “professional fluffer” on Craigslist seemed like divine intervention. My
last unemployment check was in the bank. I was desperate. Rent was due. The ad
said cash paid at the end of the day.
The
perfect job!
Staging
homes means showing your best angle. The same principle applies in making a
certain kind of movie. Turns out a “fluffer” doesn’t arrange decorative pillows
on a couch.
They
arrange other soft, round-ish objects.
The job
isn’t hard. Er, I mean, it is — it’s about being hard. Or, well… helping other
people to be hard.
Oh, man…
And
that’s the other problem. A man. No, not one of the stars on the movie set.
Will Lotham – my high school crush. The owner of the house where we’re filming.
Illegally. In a vacation rental.
By the
time the cops show up, what I thought was just a great house staging gig turned
into a nightmare involving pictures of me with an undressed naked star, Will
rescuing me from an arrest, and a humiliating lesson in my own naivete.
My job
turned out to be so much harder than I expected. But you know what’s easier
than I ever imagined?
Having
all my dreams come true.
Buy links:
AmazonUS:
http://mybook.to/fluffy
AmazonUK:
http://smarturl.it/fluffyAMZuk
AmazonCA:
http://smarturl.it/fluffyAMZca
AmazonAU:
http://smarturl.it/fluffyAMZau
Nook/BN:
http://bit.ly/2CGtnBE
Apple
Books: https://apple.co/2RmE159
Kobo: http://bit.ly/2BjWvxL
Google
Play: http://bit.ly/2COKLmQ
Audible:
https://adbl.co/2KRgFGR
Amazon
Audio: https://amzn.to/2Vm0cdF
iTunes: https://apple.co/2E4ZEmM
Print:
mybook.to/fluffy
Goodreads:
http://bit.ly/2TjDjqS
Bookbub:
http://bit.ly/2ThoLrZ
Author Bio:
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling
Author Julia Kent writes romantic comedy with an edge. From billionaires to
BBWs to new adult rock stars, Julia finds a sensual, goofy joy in every contemporary
romance she writes. Unlike Shannon from Shopping
for a Billionaire, she did not meet her husband after dropping her phone in
a men's room toilet (and he isn't a billionaire). She lives in New England with
her husband and three sons in a household where the toilet seat is never, ever,
down
Social Media Links:
Website: http://jkentauthor.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/jkentauthor/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/jkentauthor
Newsletter: http://bit.ly/2PIBi9n
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/jkentauthor/
Amazon
Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/Julia-Kent/e/B00A99V268/
Read a teaser
“It is time to DANCE! Find a partner and hold each other’s
hands, facing one another.”
Five
women start walking toward Will.
“Mal?” Shyness infuses his question, sending chills up and
down my arms and legs. They settle at the base of my neck, riding shotgun next
to the arousal centers of my nervous system. He’s adorable, one hand out to me,
eyebrows slightly up, blue-green eyes asking to dance with me but hinting at
more.
Or... am
I inventing that part?
“Sure,” I say, instantly regretting my answer. Does it sound
grudging? He doesn’t seem to think so as I take his hand and stand before him,
tall in my high heels but he’s even taller. Looking at him from this height
makes him even more human, more masculine, more real.
My heart
skips a beat.
But the
music sure doesn't.
“Now, the ‘man,’” Philippe starts, using finger quotes
because there are several female-only couples in the class, “puts one hand on the
woman’s waist. The right hand.”
Will
complies.
It’s
like sticking my finger in a light socket and orgasming at the same time.
His left
hand takes my right hand and he holds it, strong and firm, smiling at me with a
boyish grin that makes me feel instant remorse for hurting him today.
“I’m sorry I bashed your head in,” I whisper, moving near his
ear, our mouths inches apart.
There is
a gap between us. My lungs live there, in that space. They breathe. I don’t
make a move. My autonomic nervous system works without intention. If it didn’t,
I’d die.
Because
I would hold my breath forever in Will’s arms.
Philippe
is moving from couple to couple, adjusting positions, commenting and
correcting.
“Closer,” Philippe says right behind me, the press of his firm
palm against my lower back a shock as he pushes me into Will, closing that gap.
My
autonomic nervous system gives up entirely.
“Look into each other’s eyes,” Philippe commands, his accent
making this even sexier. “When you dance, you show your love with your hips,
your eyes, your languid grace. You are making love in public with your bodies,
fully clothed.”
Is Will
holding his breath, too?
“Your hand goes here, Mallory,” the teacher says, taking my
left hand and putting it on Will’s shoulder. My breasts brush against his
chest, our breathing ragged. I try to look away, but we’re too close. All I can
do is look at his eyes or his mouth, and right now, both are so, so dangerous.
No one
else in the room exists. The light that bounces off the polished floors is ours.
The murmurs and giggles in the background are ours. The way he breathes my air
and I inhale him is ours, too. We’re touching, my thigh against his, and every
warm part of Will Lotham’s front half that is decent to display in public is
rubbing against me.
Except
his lips.
“Now, take one step forward,” Philippe says. “Together.”
Will
steps on my foot. Hard.
I make a
very unfeminine sound and start to pitch backwards. Tightening his grip on my
waist, his hand sliding, open and splayed, across the small of my back, he
saves me from a complete wipeout.
But that
save has its costs.
In an
instant, all traces of that teenage girl in me are gone, disintegrating, turned
to stardust that sweeps off me like a fine spring breeze. I am all woman now, mature
and wanting.
All I
want is this. Now. The man before me, his arms warm and assured, grasp
confident and bold.
And very
much wanting me back.
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