Thursday 27 August 2015

Promo Post - Brain to Books Blog Tour - Elley Arden

Fast Fact

Author: Elley Arden
Genre: Contemporary Romance, Sports Romance
Books: Crossing Lines from the Cleveland Clash series


Elley Arden (2)

Elley Arden is a born and bred Pennsylvanian who has lived as far west as Utah and as far north as Wisconsin. She drinks wine like it’s water (a slight exaggeration), prefers a night at the ballpark to a night on the town, and believes almond English toffee is the key to happiness. Elley writes books with charming characters, emotional stories, and sexy romance—on and off the field. Take a peek at her bookshelf for a detailed listing.


Elley Arden (1)Party girl and standout wide receiver Jillian Bell sees no problem with her "no rules" lifestyle as long as she's scoring on the field. But her sexy new offensive coordinator doesn't see it that way.

Former marine turned successful restaurateur Carter Howl agreed to whip his father's undisciplined women's full-tackle football team into shape out of guilt. But the job comes with more trouble than he bargained for thanks to one spitfire of a wide receiver who challenges his every play.

When Jillian's little sister begs her to come back to their small-minded hometown and be on her best behavior at a family event, she unexpectedly enlists prim and proper Carter to help her keep her cool. But two days and one pretend engagement later, this straight-laced former soldier is doing all sorts of things he normally wouldn't. Is the wrong girl the right girl for him?


“Arden has definitely done it again. She has penned a novel that will stand up against the best of the best. The wildly romantic (and at times steamy) relationship between the two main characters is so genuine that you can’t help but get caught up in it.”


Coach Howl replaced Coach Malloy with his son!
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Jillian said a little too loudly, then grabbed her sore neck and rubbed. What was that bit about the apple not falling far from the tree? If that was true, then their passing game was doomed.
The younger Coach Howl looked at her, and—ooh!—those magic eyes produced a heat that pierced through her to the center of her neck pain, until she couldn’t even feel her toes.
I’m cured, she thought, followed by, maybe he won’t be so bad. In fact, maybe he wasn’t anything like his father at all. Maybe he was the black sheep in his family—just like she was.
He looked away, patted his father on the shoulder, and then stepped up to address the team. “Ladies, I’m honored to be here,” he said. “Rather than bore you with details about my football background, let me just say that I have plenty of experience with both the sport and the discipline needed to get the job done. Winning isn’t rocket science. The team that wins works harder and longer than the losing team, and the team that wins knows how to stay out of trouble—on and off the field.”
Why the hell was he looking at her?
She rolled her eyes. He narrowed his.
“You were late,” he said.
She looked behind her, knowing full well he was talking to her. “Barely late.”
At her response, he stood straighter and narrowed his eyes until they were slits. “Late is late, and it’s not tolerated on this field.” He made a whirling signal with his finger. “Laps ... until I tell you to stop.”
He had to be kidding. She was the best player on this team. She’d scored every single one of the twenty-one points they’d scored so far this season.
She crossed her arms and looked at Coach Howl. He was no help. The faintest smile curved his lips.
“I miss Coach Malloy already!” she yelled as she threw her helmet to the sidelines and started jogging around the track.
By the time Thor deigned to release her from lap running, stretching was over and her mood was foul. She got in line and readied to run routes.
“Partying got the best of you this weekend, didn’t it?” MJ asked.
“Never.” They just had a new OC with a stick up his ass. Or a hammer. She looked at him and snickered.
He paced the sidelines, watching the team’s every move, looking way too serious for his own good. He’s going to have a heart attack, she thought. Which wouldn’t be terrible. At least then he couldn’t coach anymore.
He stopped pacing and stood with his feet shoulder width apart, a position that showed off strong thigh muscles beneath his thin athletic pants. She bet he had a six-pack. What a shame. God had formed a whole lot of fine man around one big asshole.

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