I don’t know what love is anymore.
Well, that’s not entirely true, but I’m going to tell you a little secret: I’ve lost the spark.
You know the kind of spark I’m talking about?
Where butterflies take flight in your stomach from two hands innocently colliding. Or catching your breath when you first meet someone attractive. Yeah, that spark.
Except I haven’t felt that feeling in forever; there is nothing left inside of me.
Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem–but I’m a writer on a serious deadline, and my editor is breathing down my neck for a romantic, Nicholas Sparks type love story. No pressure, right?
That’s how I find myself flying across the country to crash a wedding in the name of research, dress and heels stuffed into my small suitcase.
It should be the easiest book research ever. Drinking some free champagne, basking in the love of two strangers, and tapping into my romantic side. That will be a breeze. I’m a pro. I can handle this.
Until I mistakenly end up in the wrong hotel room, naked as the day I was born, with the sexiest human I have ever met staring me down, wondering what I’m doing taking a shower in his bathroom. I don’t think calling it research will get me out of this pickle.
What I love most about Meghan Quinn’s romantic comedies is that they’re equal parts humorous and emotional; the story lines are rich with playful and witty banter as well as heartfelt moments that create engaging, entertaining, and thoughtful texts that readers can’t put down. And, Quinn’s newest release, Two Wedding Crashers, continues to showcase her ability to tell emotionally driven and laugh out loud stories.
Readers who read the first book in the series, Three Blind Dates, have already met Beck, the hero in Two Wedding Crashers, and while many rooted for Noely to choose Beck, the charming rebel, he wasn’t ready for love quite yet nor had he met the woman who would turn his life on its head when they decided to crash the same wedding.
I really like how Quinn characterized her heroine, Rylee. She’s a romance author who’s fighting an horrendous case of writer’s block, struggling to tell a love story because she doesn’t feel like she knows what love is or means anymore. So, in a show of solidarity, she and her friends go on a road trip to help Rylee find some inspiration…to get her groove back so to speak, and while she definitely acquires some first-hand knowledge that can be used for her next story, what she also finds is a man she has great chemistry with…the same guy she thinks about beyond their weekend fling even if that exponentially complicates her life as well as scares the living daylights out of her due to her painful past and her need to protect her heart.
There’s a depth to Beck that readers will not fully see until his regretful past is revealed, and while Quinn spreads small hints throughout Beck’s perspective, it isn’t until it’s completely addressed that readers will understand why he became the man he is today and what he lives to do in order to assuage his quilt…to make amends for a horrible past mistake.
Quinn provides quite the leading lady in Rylee; she’s quirky, loving, sassy, and when she’s with her girls, she feels freer than she’s ever felt. Rylee’s insecurities will resonate with readers, allowing them to journey with Rylee as she works through her issues and opens herself up to the possibility of something meaningful with Beck, even if neither of them were looking for a relationship.
Rylee and Beck’s story is quite the emotional experience. Readers will laugh, cry, sigh, and even swoon over these two and what’s building between them even though anything long-term doesn’t seem viable to either of the. I love that Meghan Quinn gave Beck is own story after he wasn’t Noely’s choice because as much as Beck seemed to want something with her, the moment he connects with Rylee proves that Noely wasn’t the one for him and thankfully, Quinn found the perfect girl for a man who’s been trying to make up for his past since it happened, and in a way, Rylee’s Beck’s reward for working to right the horrendous wrong that he committed and while some might be less inclined to forgive Beck’s actions, the way that Quinn characterizes Beck illustrates the penance he’s taken upon himself to endure because I don’t think he could live with himself any other way.
Two down…One to go? I can’t wait to see who the hero of book three is…I hoping it’s a certain blind date contestant, but we shall see!
4.5 Poison Apples
Chills scream their way down my arms and legs, my nipples pucker, and just like that, with one word, all humor vanishes from our little conversation and awareness of this all-consuming man wrapped around me hits me hard.
Gathering myself, I say, “Tell me something Chris and Justine know about you.”
“Hmm.” His thumbs hook under the waistband of my shorts, playing with the lower part of my hipbones. His touch spurs on my pelvis, needing to rock, begging for him to go lower. My toes curl in my sandals and my back slightly arches, reaching for more. “Something they know about me.”
His mouth doesn’t stray from its position against my ear, and his hips start to slowly move underneath me, his legs tangling with mine. Involuntarily, one of my hands hooks the back of his neck as I hold on tightly to him, feeling like I need support from the onslaught of sensation I’m feeling.
I hear him say something, but it doesn’t register in my brain, which has turned to mush as his thumbs stray from my hipbones to right above my pubic bone.
There is no denying how turned on I am, how wet I am from his mere touch, how much—despite my reservations—I want this man.
With each stroke, my head turns farther and farther to the side until our noses are touching, Beck’s head bends forward to meet me halfway. My eyes flutter shut for a brief moment before I open them and am captured by those flecks of green and gold.
The air stills around us, our breath mixing, swirling between us, our lips so close.
One swipe of this thumb.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t focus.
Another swipe, my head leans even closer, my tongue wetting my lips.
One more swipe . . .
My heart hammers in my chest, my skin prickling with awareness.
Beck brings his mouth even closer, only a whisper away now, and he waits.
His breathing feeling erratic beneath me.
And I’m gone.
I bring my mouth to his, slowly parting my lips ever so slightly, just enough to maneuver my mouth across his.
A low, provocative moan escapes Beck as one of his hands snags the back of my head and holds me in place, almost as if he lets go, I’ll disappear.
Needing more, I shift on his lap so I’m straddling him once again, my hands on his bare chest, feeling the powerful sinew that holds him together.
Our lips press and mold, mingling, taking, begging . . .
Beck’s tongue runs against my bottom lip, eliciting a moan from deep within me, lighting a fire so hot, so wild, my hands start to travel up his neck to his cheeks where I grip him, positioning his head so when I open my mouth, I can expertly dive my tongue onto his.
He groans, his lap shifting against mine now, his hard-on pressing against my wet and throbbing center. I match his rocking, using my position on his lap to take advantage of his length I can feel through his board shorts.
This is exactly what I didn’t want to happen, but God, am I happy it has. Maybe I really should live in the moment, maybe I should take advantage of the opportunity, maybe I should…
Born in New York and raised in Southern California, Meghan has grown into a sassy, peanut butter eating, blonde haired swearing, animal hoarding lady. She is known to bust out and dance if “It’s Raining Men” starts beating through the air and heaven forbid you get a margarita in her, protect your legs because they may be humped.
Once she started commuting for an hour and twenty minutes every day to work for three years, she began to have conversations play in her head, real life, deep male voices and dainty lady coos kind of conversations. Perturbed and confused, she decided to either see a therapist about the hot and steamy voices running through her head or start writing them down. She decided to go with the cheaper option and started writing… enter her first novel, Caught Looking.
Now you can find the spicy, most definitely on the border of lunacy, kind of crazy lady residing in Colorado with the love of her life and her five, furry four legged children, hiking a trail or hiding behind shelves at grocery stores, wondering what kind of lube the nervous stranger will bring home to his wife. Oh and she loves a good boob squeeze!