Author: Christina Lauren
Series: Wild Seasons #4
Publisher: Gallery Books
Release Date: February 2, 2015
Genre: Contemporary Romance, Erotic Romance
More Info: Goodreads
Purchase: Amazon US
Purchase: Barnes & Noble
Purchase: Amazon UK
Wicked Sexy Liar is the story of surfer-girl London who falls for the charms of an on-again, off-again player Luke. The twist is, London later discovers that he’s the ex of one of the girls in her circle.
Dating a friend’s ex is supposed to be off the table. But sometimes what’s really, really wrong is actually really, really right.
The Wild Seasons series follows three college best friends who have a chance encounter with three guys in Vegas that changes the course of their lives! Of course anything that happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, right? Wrong.
A throat clears behind me and I turn, finding myself now only a foot away from the eyes that were all the way across the bar only seconds before.
“What can I get you?” I ask, and it’s polite enough, delivered with what I know to be a friendly-but-professional smile. His eyes narrow and even though I don’t track them moving down my body in any perceptible way, I get the feeling he’s already checked me out, made up his mind and filed me away in the same way all men categorize women: Doable, or not. From my experience, there isn’t a whole lot of in between.
“Can I get another round, please?” he says, and motions vaguely over his shoulder. His phone vibrates in his hand and he glances down at it, tapping out a quick message before returning his attention to me.
I pull out a tray. I don’t know what they’d ordered since Fred brought them their first round, but I can easily guess.
“Heineken?” I ask.
His eyes narrow in playful insult, and it makes me laugh.
“Okay, not Heineken,” I say, holding up my hands in apology. “What were you drinking?”
Now that I really look, he’s even prettier up close: brown eyes framed with the kind of lashes mascara companies charge a fortune for and dark hair that looks so soft and thick I just know it would feel amazing to dig my fingers—
But I assume he knows this, and the confidence I noticed from across the room, practically saturates the air. His phone buzzes again, but he gives it only the briefest glance down and silences it. “Why would you assume Heineken?” he asks.
I stack a handful of coasters on the tray and shrug again, trying to nip the conversation in the bud. “No reason.”
He’s not buying it. The corner of his mouth turns up a little, and he says, “Come on, Dimples.”
At almost the same time, I hear Fred’s, “Dammit,” and hold out my hand, ready when he slaps a crisp dollar bill into it. I smugly tuck it into the jar.
The guy follows my movement and blinks back up at me. “‘Car Fund?’” he asks, reading the label. “What’s that about?”
“It’s nothing,” I tell him and then wave to the line of draft beers. “What were you guys drinking?”
“You just made a buck off of something I said and you’re not even going to tell me what it was?”
I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear and give in when I realize he isn’t going to order until I’ve answered him. “It’s just something I hear a lot,” I say. In fact, it’s probably something I’ve heard more than my own name. Deep dimples dent each of my cheeks, and I’d be lying if I didn’t say they’re at once my most and least favorite feature.
“Fred didn’t believe it happens as often as I said,” I continue, jerking my thumb over my shoulder. “So we made a little bet: A dollar every time someone calls me Dimples, or references said dimples. I’m going to buy a car.”
“Next week at this rate,” Fred complains from somewhere behind me.
Dudebro’s phone chirps again, but this time he doesn’t check it, doesn’t even look down. Instead he tucks it into the back pocket of his jeans, glances from Fred to me again, and grins.
And I might actually need a moment.
If I thought this guy was pretty before, it has nothing on the way his entire face changes when he smiles. A light has been switched on behind his eyes, and every trace of arrogance seems to just . . . evaporate. His skin is clear and tan and women must ask what kind of highlighter he uses because it practically glows, a warmth that seems to radiate out, coloring his cheeks. The sharpness of his features soften; his eyes crinkle a little at the corners. I know it’s just a smile but it’s like I can’t decide which part I like more, the full lips, white, perfect teeth, or how one side of his mouth lifts just a fraction higher than the other. He makes me want to smile back.
He spins a coaster on the bar top in front of him, and continues to grin up at me. “So you’re calling me unoriginal,” he says.
“I’m not calling you anything,” I tell him, matching his grin. “But I appreciate that it seems to be true, because I am raking in the cash.”
He considers my cheeks for a moment. “They are pretty great dimples. I can imagine a lot of worse things to be known for. Nobody calling you Peg Leg or the Bearded Lady.”
No way is this guy trying to be cute.
The New York Times bestselling author of Beautiful Bastard, Beautiful Stranger, and Beautiful Player starts a brand new story of friends, love, and lust with Book One of the Wild Seasons series.
One-night stands are supposed to be with someone convenient, or wickedly persuasive, or regrettable. They aren’t supposed to be with someone like him.
But after a crazy Vegas weekend celebrating her college graduation—and terrified of the future path she knows is a cop-out—Mia Holland makes the wildest decision of her life: follow Ansel Guillaume—her sweet, filthy fling—to France for the summer and just…play.
When feelings begin to develop behind the provocative roles they take on, and their temporary masquerade adventures begin to feel real, Mia will have to decide if she belongs in the life she left because it was all wrong, or in the strange new one that seems worlds away.
From the New York Times bestselling author of Beautiful Bastard,Beautiful Stranger, and Beautiful Player, Book Two of the brand-new Wild Seasons series that started with Sweet Filthy Boy—a story of friends, love, and lust.
Despite their rowdy hookups, Harlow and Finn don’t even like each other…which would explain why their marriage lasted only twelve hours. He needs to be in charge and takes whatever he wants. She lives by the Want-something-done? Do-it-yourself mantra. Maybe she’s too similar to the rugged fisherman—or just what he needs.
What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.
But what didn’t happen in Vegas seems to follow them everywhere.
Lola and Oliver like to congratulate themselves on having the good sense to not consummate their drunken Las Vegas wedding. If they’d doubled-down on that mistake, their Just Friends situation might not be half as great as it is now.
… Or so goes the official line.
In reality, Lola’s wanted Oliver since day one—and over time has only fallen harder for his sexy Aussie accent and easygoing ability to take her as she comes. More at home in her studio than in baring herself to people, Lola’s instinctive comfort around Oliver nearly seems too good to be true. So why ruin a good thing?
Even as geek girls fawn over him, Oliver can’t get his mind off what he didn’t do with Lola when he had the chance. He knows what he wants with her now … and it’s far outside the friend zone. When Lola’s graphic novel starts getting national acclaim—and is then fast-tracked for a major motion picture—Oliver steps up to be there for her whenever she needs him. After all, she’s not the kind of girl who likes all that attention, but maybe she’s the kind who’ll eventually like him.
Sometimes seeing what’s right in front of us takes a great leap of faith. And sometimes a dark wild night in Vegas isn’t just the end of a day, but the beginning of a bright new life…