Release Day! Eye Candy
“…a cute, humorous, sexy story with plenty of steam." ~Carol
“Her writing style is perfect: light, funny and without unnecessary ramblings.”
~Under the Pages
“Eye Candy is the perfect example of best friends falling in love.” ~Beth
“a fantastically written friends-to-lovers romance that will have you smiling the entire time you’re reading.” ~Sabrina
Once upon a time . . . or, well, in June of 2016 . . . my husband and I were on a Tennessee vacation with a group of close friends. We’d just bellied up to the bar and ordered drinks when a man jogged by the huge glass windows. My husband pointed him out, watching me as I watched the runner—in his gorgeous, splendid, shirtless glory—dash by outside and disappear out of sight. My beloved wore a smirk when my eyes came back to his. Then he said, “You’re welcome,” because he knew he’d gifted me the mother of all plot bunnies.
I kept wondering what kind of heroine would be watching that golden god jog by. Who was she? Where did she work? At 4 AM that next morning, I jolted out of bed when I figured it out, and grabbed my laptop. The answer, as we now know, was Jacqueline Butler from her office window where she is Vice President of a marketing company. The even bigger surprise for me was when Vince, her coworker, uttered his first line mid-Chapter 1, and I realized that *he* was the hero, not the buff runner outside.
(Oh, and guess what else? I was only going to write *one* book… until Vince’s best friend Davis hit the page and then I decided I had to know more about him, too.) Arm Candy
I hope you get swept off your feet by this book as much as I did while writing it. It’s a lot of romantic fun, with that serious emotional punch you’ve come to expect from a Jessica Lemmon book.
I WANT IT!
Watching Jackie run is painful. Mostly for my erection.
Do you know how uncomfortable it is to sport a boner while jogging? My only saving grace is that my shorts are baggy, unlike hers.
Hers are molded to her ass. Spandex, pink with a white stripe down each leg. And she’s wearing a sports bra with a sliced tank top over it. I can see so much of her skin, I’m having trouble concentrating on anything but the part of me demanding to make himself known.
“I’m . . . awful . . . at . . . this,” she pants, coming to a clumsy stop, her ponytail drooping to one side. She tugs the elastic free and pulls her fingers through her hair. “Dumb. Dumb idea.”
I come to a stop too, nowhere near as out of breath as she is. I can run ten miles. We’ve only gone a few blocks from my house.
“I don’t know why we didn’t do this at your apartment,” I argue. Again.
“Because! I don’t want him to see me like this!”
Her full lips are parted, breasts heaving as she sucks in another breath. Her cheeks have a pink hue and are slightly damp from perspiration. I agree with her. I don’t want him seeing her like this either...