Wednesday 13 November 2019

Blog Tour & REVIEW ***The Billionaire's Forbidden Little Sister by Max Monroe***

TBFLS - BT banner

Question: What do you do when you fall for your best friend’s little sister?

More important question: How long can you keep it a secret before it all goes up in flames?


The Billionaire’s Forbidden Little Sister, an all-new brother’s best friend rom-com from New York Times bestselling author Max Monroe, is available now!


The Billionaire's Forbidden Little Sister Official Cover

Theo Cruz, a New York man known for his family’s billion-dollar empire, Cruz Enterprises, has been indicted this afternoon in the Court of Public Opinion on charges of Bro-Code Conspiracy.

Chief counsel for the prosecution, Caplin Hawkins, spoke candidly about the accusation.
“Once thought of as a best friend to many—including myself—Theo Cruz has officially turned his back on human decency. He’s conniving and dishonest, and a habitual offender of Bro-Code Law 676. He’ll rue the day he forgot that you never—under any circumstances—get involved with your best friend’s little sister.”

Fact: I haven’t actually been arrested or indicted.
More important fact: I inadvertently messed up—big-time.
Two strangers in a foreign country, we said hello.
Hello turned into a kiss.
A kiss turned into a rendezvous.
And a rendezvous turned into more than I’d ever imagined.
But her unruly golden curls and beautiful body hid an important detail—She’s my mouthiest billionaire best friend’s forbidden little sister.
Fact: I knew not of my crimes.
More important fact: I know now, but even though I know I’m playing with fire, there’s no way I’m stopping. I can’t leave her alone.
Question: What do you do when you fall for your best friend’s little sister?
More important question: How long can you keep it a secret before it all goes up in flames?


TBFLS - AN

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TBFLS - Teaser 5 AN

Excerpt

Lena
Two hours and another two shots for Pippa later and she’s in full-on dance
mode. Shaking her hips and tits like she owns the joint. It only took one
intense shimmy during “Gonna Make You Sweat” to understand what she meant—her
boobs, left braless, would absolutely be a lethal weapon. I’m pretty sure the
sweat between them even vaporized into a misty Mel Gibson mirage, they shook so
hard.
  
And not once has she wanted to stop for a break.

She’s in the running to be the next Energizer bunny, but my bladder is full,
and I’m dehydrated. For the love of God, I need something to drink other than
Mel-flavored sweat mist and gasoline.

Thankfully, when Pip spots Sophie and Frederick on the other side of the dance
floor, she does some weird version of the robot, spins in their direction, and
makes like the wind through the crowd while letting her arms trail behind her.

It’s so fucking strange, it’s hilarious, and I can’t help but laugh.

Sophie feels the same, covering her mouth comically as she spots Pippa. I wave
my hand, hoping to get her attention, and by some miracle, she spots me through
the strobing lights and writhing bodies.

I jerk my chin and swipe a hand across my chest before tapping the skin next to
my eye and doing the walking symbol with my fingers. Sophie nods, interpreting
my baseball-esque code, regardless of its lackluster delivery. If I were on the
other end of things, I’d be waffling between second and third base right now,
trying to figure out what to do.

“I’ve got her!” she whisper-yells toward me, and the weight of
drunken-friend-motherhood lifts off me in a flash. I’m sure my friends with
kids would tell me this is how they always feel when they actually make it to
the bathroom.
    
I didn’t think it was a possibility for a female living on planet Earth, but
when I make it to the toilets—as the Italians call them—the line is short and
speedy. I’m standing at the bar again, waiting on a bartender to take my order
in under five minutes.

Of course, the bar takes so long, I have to sit down on one of the stools to
bide my time. And just like that, the timetable of the universe has been
righted.

While I wait, I glance back toward the dance floor to check on Pip, the dancing
queen—who is now showing off her twerking skills to a cute twentysomething guy.
If I had to guess based on his appearance, I’d peg him as one of the locals.
But for all I really know, he hails from the Jersey Shore.

Thankfully, Sophie and Frederick are sticking close to Pip’s side, and her
dance partner of unknown origin isn’t getting too handsy.

All is well. I breathe a sigh of relief and turn back toward the bar to resume my
quest for a drink and, like magic, lock eyes directly with a bartender.
        
Thank God!

He jerks his chin up to head my way, and I climb to stand on the rung of my
barstool with glee.

But when he’s five steps away, his attention swings back to a point down the
bar, and immediately, he diverts.

What the hell?
   
I glance down at my perky, tight-nippled breasts and frown. How in the hell did
he see these fuckers and not come in for the landing?

Annoyed, I follow him with my gaze to what I’m sure must be a woman with three
tits and an exposed pussy.

I pause. Stop. Go completely still.
   
Wow. That is definitely not a woman with freakish anatomy. In fact, that’s no
woman at all.

Midnight-blue eyes, a little scruff on his strong jaw, and the kind of lips
that I instinctually know will be good at kissing, the man who stole my
bartender warrants more than a double take.
    
Hot damn.

He’s clad in a smart suit but no tie, and his collared shirt is loose at the
neck but perfectly fitted around the tight, firm muscles of his chest. The suit
is obviously tailored and screams of money, but I have a feeling not even
gold-plating would be able to disguise the spectacular body he’s got
underneath.

His face is serious—but God, even serious, he is handsome as fuck.

The urge to find out what he looks like when he smiles is both overwhelming and
terrifying. I mean, how would I even quantify anything beyond perfection?
  
A shiver runs up my spine. I really want to see what this guy is all about.

I imagine if I could remember Pippa existed at this point, I’d try to thank her
for insisting I celebrate our accomplishments by lifting the man ban for the
night.

As it is, I’m not sure anyone but me and the hottie with the sparkling eyes are
left on the planet.

When he finishes talking to what I can only assume is the bartender who
abandoned me, he turns back toward the dance floor and rests his hip against
the bar.

His still-serious eyes scan the joint, moving from the dance floor to the VIP
section to the intimate booths scattered along the walls and then back to the
line of the bar, all the way back to me.

My breath catches in my throat when he meets my curious gaze and pauses.
   
Yes, please.

Drink forgotten, I mouth the word “Hi” toward him, and the slight hint of a
smile threatens to quirk up just one corner of his lips.

God, I want to see him smile.

He mouths “Hi” back before pulling the center of his bottom lip between his
teeth and dragging it back out. One perfect dimple pokes out from his cheek.
  
Hell’s bells, that’s one dangerously sexy look…
    
Unconsciously, I lick my bottom lip, and without hesitation, he shoves away
from his spot at the bar and closes the distance between us.

“Hi,” I repeat when he stops within hearing distance—and in this club, with
this crowd and noise, that’s pretty fucking close.

With full lips, white teeth, and two dimples, he smiles the sexiest smile I’ve seen in my life at the single-syllable word. And as a bonus, I can see now that his sparkling eyes are midnight blue, like
the deepest part of the ocean.

“Hi,” he responds, rounding out our freak cycle of hellos, and it’s instantly
evident he’s an American like me.

“You should do that more.”

He raises a questioning brow, leaning just one hand into the lighted marble bar
top behind me. It makes his size feel impressive, makes me feel enveloped. My
whole body spasms, and I take a deep breath to control it. “Do what more?”

“Smile,” I clarify.

A soft but deep and raspy chuckle leaves his perfect, kissable mouth. “Who says
I don’t?”

I reach up toward the skin between his brows and his gaze follows my hand
skeptically, but he doesn’t back away. “This little, almost nonexistent line
right here,” I say softly, running a finger across it.

His eyes search mine in the kind of hot and sexy way that makes me wonder if my
panties are still there, but I do my best to keep my voice even as I explain
further. “I bet you furrow your brow all the time.”

He leans closer to me, and my fingers slide into the lush, dark locks of his
hair on accident. “Is that right?”

“Uh-huh,” I answer simply, unable to form words until my hand finds its way
back to the safe space of my lap. It’s purely circumstantial that my fingers
graze his cheek and then his neck along the way. I clear my throat and look up
to meet his eyes again. “I mean, here you are, in a club, at a bar with
beautiful women all around you, and until you came over here, I couldn’t tell
if you were having a good time at all.”

He laughs a little and then asks, “You know what’s funny?”

Completely oblivious to the answer but equally eager to find out, I shake my
head.

“Neither could I.”

 “And now?” I challenge with one inquisitive
eyebrow.

“Now, I definitely am.”

I smile then, allowing a cascade of goose bumps to cover my arms from my
shoulders to my fingertips.
   
Goddamn. He’s trouble, and I like it. In fact, I like it way too much.

“Well, in that case…” I pause and bite down on my bottom lip. “Since you stole
my bartender, I think it’s only fair that you buy me a drink.”

He searches my eyes, a small smile once again lighting his own. “Stole your
bartender?”

“Yep. Plucked him right from my braless grasp.”

He laughs again, shaking his head and fighting like hell not to look down. I’m
immediately impressed by his level of self-control. Nine out of ten of the men
I’ve been with in the past would have focused in on my buzzword and failed to
look away from it for the rest of the night.

But not this guy. He’s interested—I can tell by the way his pupils have
dilated—but for now, he’s content to focus on my eyes.

Irony at its finest, as that simple behavior actually increases his chances of
seeing my nipples later.

“Okay, then. I guess I owe you one. What’s your poison?” That handsome grin of
his grows wider, and I swear to God, I can feel it all the way to my damn toes.

Tell him gin and tonic because it will taste good when you get him to kiss you later,
my horny, sex-deprived subconscious instructs.

The other side of my brain—the rational side—suggests something low in alcohol
content—something that promotes good decisions.

I think it over for a brief moment, scanning the features of his too-handsome
face and landing on his luscious smirking lips once again.

The answer pours out of me like a benediction. “Gin and tonic, please.”


Review

Review by: Jennifer

(5 Stars)

When workaholic Theo goes overseas to coordinate the opening of a new club, the last thing he expects is to find someone that makes him want to stop working. After meeting Lena all Theo wanted to do was spend what little time they had together, knowing there was an end in sight there were rules laid out to make their parting easier. Neither knew very much about the other and when all was said and done, Theo was left wishing he knew just who Lena was, wishing that he didn't let her go. When he gets back to New York, and back to his regular life, he is shocked when he sees Lena again, but thats not where the surprises end. Nope, Theo finds out that Lena is non other than one of his best friend's little sister. Now the two have to figure out just how to navigate this minefield that neither knew they were entering. Will Theo lose his best friend and get the girl, or will he end up losing both in the end?

I think out of all the books in the Billionaire series, this is my absolute fav! I laughed and giggled pretty much the whole book, throw in the drama and some steamy naughty bits and this turned out to be a real page turner. I give this 5 stars. 




About Max Monroe
A secret duo of romance authors team up under the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling pseudonym Max Monroe to bring you sexy, laugh-out-loud reads.
Max Monroe is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of more than ten contemporary romance titles. Favorite writing partners and long time friends, Max and Monroe strive to live and write all the fun, sexy swoon so often missing from their Facebook newsfeed. Sarcastic by nature, their two writing souls feel like they’ve found their other half. This is their most favorite adventure thus far. ​
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