Just last month we say another of Dades Lovestruck Librarians in Mayday and after enjoying that one so much I’m definitely ready to get my hands on this one!
Ready to Fall
Lovestruck Librarians series
by Olivia Dade
Elementary school teacher and part-time librarian Sarah Mayhew has the perfect plan: show off her cycling skills at her school’s bike retreat and attract her oblivious coworker in the process. Her end game? Fall in love. Only one problem: she needs to find someone to teach her how to ride a bike pronto. But when she catches sight of Chris Dean’s gorgeous physique, her best laid plans are about to go off track . . .
Chris is not looking for a girlfriend. He’s getting over his last one by focusing on his bike repair business. So when a feisty, sexy schoolteacher urges him to help improve her cycling skills, he does it strictly for the money. He vows he won’t repeat history, even for a blond bombshell like Sarah. But when the two find themselves alone on the road, they can’t help taking a detour straight into each other’s arms . . .
Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/ready-to-fall-olivia-dade/1122713762?ean=9781616509408
Sarah had been talking nonstop for at least twenty minutes. Chris hadn’t said much in response, but she didn’t seem offended. From what he could tell, she didn’t require much in the way of audience participation.
“I figure there’s about a fifty-fifty chance I’ll die along that canal.” Tilting her head in thought, she drummed her fingers along the edge of the table. “If I do, please attend my funeral. Tell the crowd I died doing what I loved most—chasing after an eligible guy. Of course, I’ll also have died doing what I hated most. Namely, riding an accursed form of transportation in sweaty clothes while fighting that [w]itch Mother Nature.”
Good thing she was hilarious. If she wasn’t, he’d probably have donned his safety headphones about fifteen minutes ago.
She pointed an admonishing finger his way. “At the service, don’t tell my dad you’re the one who taught me to ride. He might blame you for my untimely demise, especially if he sees this shop. My guess? He’ll assume you tampered with my bike. Largely because your front room looks like the hideout of a crazed loner.”
He bit back yet another grin and snuck a glance at her, marveling once again at how relaxed she seemed. As soon as he’d brought her back to his workroom, she’d boosted herself up onto one of his work benches and sat to watch him adjust her bike. Her natural, open smile had returned. And then she’d started talking. And talking. And talking.
For some reason, she looked completely comfortable up on that bench. Almost as if the two of them had spent pleasant evenings here dozens of times before.
To his surprise, he was enjoying himself too. More than he had in months. Maybe years.
It was all very odd. The sight and sound of her in this room—a place he’d used for solitude since first opening the shop—should bother him. Should make him regret bringing her here. And on some level, he was bothered. On some level, he did regret bringing her here.
Not because he wanted her gone. Because he didn’t.
While I was growing up, my mother kept a stack of books hidden in her closet. She told me I couldn’t read them. So, naturally, whenever she left me alone for any length of time, I took them out and flipped through them. Those books raised quite a few questions in my prepubescent brain. Namely: 1) Why were there so many pirates? 2) Where did all the throbbing come from? 3) What was a “manhood”? 4) And why did the hero and heroine seem overcome by images of waves and fireworks every few pages, especially after an episode of mysterious throbbing in the hero’s manhood?
Thirty or so years later, I have a few answers. 1) Because my mom apparently fancied pirates at that time. Now she hoards romances involving cowboys and babies. If a book cover features a shirtless man in a Stetson cradling an infant, her ovaries basically explode and her credit card emerges. I have a similar reaction to romances involving spinsters, governesses, and librarians. 2) His manhood. Also, her womanhood. 3) It’s his “hard length,” sometimes compared in terms of rigidity to iron. I prefer to use other names for it in my own writing. However, I am not picky when it comes to descriptions of iron-hard lengths. At least in romances. 4) Because explaining how an orgasm feels can prove difficult. Or maybe the couples all had sex on New Year’s Eve at Cancun.
During those thirty years, I accomplished a few things. I graduated from Wake Forest University and earned my M.A. in American History from the University of Wisconsin-Madison. I worked at a variety of jobs that required me to bury my bawdiness and potty mouth under a demure exterior: costumed interpreter at Colonial Williamsburg, high school teacher, and librarian. But I always, always read romances. Funny, filthy, sweet–it didn’t matter. I loved them all.
Now I’m writing my own romances with the encouragement of my husband and daughter. I found a kick-ass agent: Jessica Alvarez from Bookends, LLC. I have my own stack of books in my closet that I’d rather my daughter not read, at least not for a few years. I can swear whenever I want, except around said daughter. And I get to spend all day writing about love and iron-hard lengths.
So thank you, Mom, for perving so hard on pirates during my childhood. I owe you.
Kensington website: http://www.ekensingtonbooks.com/book.aspx/33043
Author website: http://oliviadade.com/
Twitter: twitter.com/OliviaWrites (@OliviaWrites)
ebook Ready To Fall