Thursday, January 23, 2014

.@MsMonicaMurphy's SAVOR (Excerpt/Giveaway)

Today we have a special excerpt to share with you from Monica Murphy's SAVOR, which is now available for purchase! SAVOR is a sexy Contemporary Romance novel in Monica’s The Billionaire Bachelors Club Series, published by Avon Impulse (an imprint of HarperCollins). Go out and grab your copy today!!

(Billionaire Bachelors Club #3)
by Monica Murphy
Amazon | Goodreads
New York Times bestselling author Monica Murphy concludes her sexy Billionaire Bachelors Club series with a fiery romance that refuses to be left at the office…

Bryn James can’t take much more. Smart, sexy Matthew DeLuca is everything she wants in a man, but he’s also her boss—the youngest, hottest vineyard owner in the Napa Valley—and he doesn’t see her as anything more than his shy assistant. That’s all about to change. Armed with a hot new look and an attitude to match, Bryn is determined to catch Matt’s eye… professionalism be damned.With his winery’s grand reopening approaching, Matt is trying to stay focused, but Bryn is suddenly making it very difficult. He’s always thought her prim demeanor effortlessly sexy, but Matt can’t deny that her transformation is jaw-dropping …and going to make it very difficult to keep his hands to himself.
But when one thing leads to another and suddenly Matt is stripping Bryn bare, he’ll be faced with the biggest risk of his career—and his heart. Can he convince her—and himself—that this might just be more than a no-strings office affair?


I’m dying for him to notice me. Really, really notice me. I’ve done just about everything I can to get him to see me, but it’s like he looks right past me.
Rather frustrating.
And I want him to like me for more than my looks too. I know he appreciates the work I do for him and admires “the way I handle things so efficiently”—this is a direct quote, one he said to me only yesterday. But what about me? Bryn James, the woman? I may be just some hick from Texas at the mere age of twenty-two who’s hardly lived, and I’m definitely not sophisticated like the women he probably prefers to date or screw or whatever, but damn it, I want a chance.
If I were bold and brave, I’d demand a chance.
I take care of the man, and he doesn’t even realize it. I make sure he eats. I make sure he goes home. I handle his schedule, knowing where he needs to be or what he needs to be doing at all times. I make sure all the little details that he might’ve missed are handled. I’m here for him always. Always.
And he doesn’t really care.
“Are you hungry?” I ask, my stomach grumbling yet again and reminding me that yes, indeed I certainly am.
He shrugs those impossibly broad shoulders. They look even broader when encased in starched white cotton. He’s still wearing a tie though it’s loosened around his neck, the first button undone, tempting me to unbutton his shirt even more and see what he’s hiding beneath the fabric.
Like I don’t know. I might’ve spent a few hours Googling Matt DeLuca. It was easy—the man has a ton of photos out there. Some of those pictures are mouthwateringly good because holy hell, the man’s body is perfection. He’s posed for a few magazines over the years wearing little, and I said a little prayer of thanks when I stumbled across those after I first started working for him.
I might’ve gone in search of those photos again last night. Staring and drooling and wondering what the heck I can do to garner this man’s attention. How much more obvious do I need to be?
He’d dressed to impress today because he met with reporters from a local news station for a video interview about the winery earlier this afternoon.
Matt most definitely impressed me. I love it when he wears suits or at least a dress shirt and tie, which is not often enough in my humble opinion.
“I’m kind of hungry, I guess,” he finally answers, his gaze locked on the computer screen as he taps away at the keyboard with his typical index-finger pecking. I have no idea what he’s working on, but it’s definitely holding his interest better than I am. “But I don’t have time to eat.”
“Want me to bring you something then?”
He looks at me once more, peering over the top of his monitor, his gaze narrowed, his expression skeptical. I’m sitting across from his desk, feeling a little rumpled, a lot tired and wishing I looked as perfectly sexy as he does. “You don’t need to do that,” he says carefully. “Maybe you should go on home, Miss James. It’s late. You’ve put in a long day.”
What, go home to an empty apartment and more Lean Cuisine? I don’t think so. “I don’t mind picking you up something to eat, Matt . . . er, Mr. DeLuca.” I try to keep it formal between us, and he does the same, but we both slip on occasion. There’s something a little fun about addressing him so properly. Makes my wicked thoughts of him all the more lurid. “I could call in an order from somewhere you like and have it here for you within thirty minutes.”
“I don’t know. I’m not even sure what I’d want.” He rubs his hand along his jaw. I can hear the rasp of stubble against his palm, and my knees literally go weak. I would love to know what that slightly rough face would feel like against mine, or even better—how it would feel between my thighs.
Thank goodness I’m sitting down, or I swear I’d collapse because my legs are so wobbly.
“I’ll take care of everything,” I say, my mind scrambling as I stand. “I’ll order some food and deliver it to you before I leave for the night.” I start to leave the office, wondering if he prefers Italian or Chinese when he says my name in that deep, delicious voice of his.
I stop and slowly turn to find him looking at me, his expression one of pure gratitude. “Thanks a lot for taking care of me these last few days. I know I’ve kept you far busier than you should be.”
Smiling, I try to ignore the mass of butterflies fluttering in my stomach at his words. “You’re welcome. And it’s my job, right? I’m just doing what I’m supposed to.”
“Not necessarily a part of your formal job description, but I suppose.” He smiles. “You should join me.” At my confused look he explains further. “For dinner.”
“Oh, I-I couldn’t.” I shake my head at the same exact moment my stomach decides to grumble loudly, and I rest my hand over my front, horribly embarrassed. I can feel my cheeks heat, and I’m tempted to duck and run.
But I stand my ground instead, trying to pretend it didn’t happen.
Soft laughter escapes him as he quirks an eyebrow at me. “Not hungry, huh?”
“Fine. I’m starving.” I roll my eyes. Are we flirting? It feels like it but . . . not. Ugh, he’s so confusing. “But I’m sure you don’t want to eat with me. We spend enough time together, don’t you think?”
“Do you want to eat with me?” he asks, his dying laughter replaced with this foreign gleam in his eyes. “I don’t mind if you don’t. Come on, Bryn. Let’s have dinner together at my desk. It’ll be exciting.” He laughs. “We can go over the caterer menu one more time. Exciting right?”
“All right,” I agree, trying my best to stomp down the giddy sensation that wants to take over but it’s so hard. It’s bubbling to the surface ready to burst out all over Matt. “Let me find a restaurant. What do you prefer, Italian or Chinese?”
“Italian, of course,” he says, and I’m thankful.
I prefer Italian too—especially the DeLuca variety.


New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Monica Murphy is a native Californian who lives in the foothills below Yosemite. A wife and mother of three, she writes New Adult and contemporary romance for Bantam and Avon. She is the author of One Week Girlfriend and Second Chance Boyfriend.

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