Release Blitz: Fake Fiancee by Isla Madden-Mills
Fake
Fiancée is a new standalone romance from Wall Street Journal Bestselling Author
Ilsa Madden-Mills!
ONLY $0.99 & FREE on
Kindle Unlimited!
**limited time**
Full Blurb
From WSJ Bestselling Author Ilsa Madden-Mills comes a new
stand-alone contemporary romance.
Fake engaged to the hottest
quarterback in the country? SCORE.
They say nothing compares
to your first kiss,
But our first kiss was
orchestrated for an audience.
Our second kiss . . . that
one was REAL.
He cradled my face like he
was terrified he’d f*ck it up.
He stared into my eyes
until the air buzzed.
Soft and slow, full of
sighs and little laughs,
He inhaled me like I was
the finest Belgian chocolate,
And he’d never get another
piece.
A nip of his teeth, his
hand at my waist . . .
And I was lost.
I forgot he was paying me
to be his fake fiancée.
I forgot we weren’t REAL.
Our kiss was pure magic,
and before you laugh and say those kinds of kisses don’t exist,
Then you’ve never touched
lips with Max Kent, the hottest quarterback in college history.
Three months. Two hearts. One fake engagement.
EXCERPT
Max stalked over to the barrier that divided
the stands from the football field and jumped it. The fans went nuts as he
brushed past them, some not even realizing it until he was down the aisle. The
Jumbotron followed him.
“Good Lordy, what’s he doing?” Mimi asked,
clutching at her chest.
“I don’t know,” I said rather weakly, taking
the chance to study him the closer he came. He was beautiful, his shoulders
impossibly broad. To add to the distraction, his helmet was in his hand and all
that dark brown hair was flowing around his chiseled features as if he had a
fan in his face. My Viking.
“He’s coming over here,” Mimi commented.
He was. But why?
I stopped breathing . . .right
when he came to a halt in front of me and knelt down on one knee.
Eyes the color of a wild ocean gazed at me.
He took my left hand in his right one.
“Max,” I breathed, my heart fluttering.
He gazed up at me. “Sunny Blaine, will you
marry me?”
The stadium went wild. In a daze, I looked up
at the Jumbotron and felt like I was watching this happen to someone else.
Camera phones flashed all around us.
My first clear thought was I’ll kill him.
Aloud, nothing came out but a faint wheeze.
Clearly someone had stuffed a giant wad of cotton in my mouth. Clearly I needed
something a lot stiffer to drink than this Diet Coke. Clearly my fake boyfriend
was a freaking raving lunatic.
He sat his helmet on the ground next to my
feet, reached inside it and pulled out a small black box.
No, no, no!
The box opened, and my stomach churned at the
sight of the large round solitaire diamond ring that was nestled on the black
silk. I blinked repeatedly to clear my vision.
With deft fingers, Max eased it out of the
lining and slipped it on my left hand.
I stared down at it. Then back at him.
I was going to murder the hottest quarterback
in the country.
Kiss her, Kiss her, the crowd chanted.
We were the focal point of the entire world.
Max stood and tugged me up with him until we
were standing. He slid his hand around my neck and pulled his face to mine. The
sky was blotted out as he kissed me.
But I hadn’t said yes!
I wouldn’t say yes.
Not to a fake engagement.
The applause of the stadium was deafening.
And his kiss—it was deadly. Despite my rage, my body craved him. His lips were
hot, so hot, and my tongue met his with a vengeance. We kissed hard, and I
nipped at him, my teeth scraping across his lips. But the only one who’d end up
bleeding in this scenario was me.
He eased back to take me in, and with a final
look at my face he gave a thumbs-up sign to the entire stadium. They went nuts,
chanting his name.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered in my ear, letting
his hand trail down my arm as he stepped back from me. He walked away backward,
eyes on me the entire time. The announcers for the game told everyone who might
have missed it that Max Kent had just asked his girlfriend to marry him, and
she’d said yes. More cheers came as they replayed him on his knee in front of
me with a giant YES written across the top.
I plopped back down in my seat. Frozen.
“. . . did you see her face?
Shocked . . .”
“. . . most romantic thing in
football . . .”
“. . . luckiest girl in the
world . . .”
My face went hot. Even my ears burned. I
wanted to crawl under a seat.
God.
What a lie.
The half ended and our offense came out to
the field, snapped the ball, and Max threw it straight to Tate who ran it in
for another touchdown. My chest constricted and anger churned in my gut.
I didn’t care who won.
I hated football right now.
Most of all, I hated Max Kent, and I was
going to make him pay.
About the Author
Wall Street Journal best selling author Ilsa
Madden-Mills writes about strong heroines and sexy alpha males that sometimes
you just want to slap.
She's addicted to all things fantasy, including
unicorns and sword-wielding females. Other fascinations include frothy coffee
beverages, dark chocolate, Ian Somerhalder, astronomy (she's a Gemini), and
tattoos. She has a degree in English and a Master's in Education. When she's
not pecking away on her computer, she shops for cool magnets and fuzzy pajamas.
She loves to hear from readers and fellow
authors. Email her at ilsamaddenmills@gmail.com.
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