Truth or Dare
Dare to Love # 1
By: Mira Lyn Kelly
Releasing September 16th, 2014
In a deliciously sexy twist on the classic game, USA Today bestselling author Mira Lyn Kelly proves that when playing truth or dare—always choose dare.
After her one attempt at commitment ends with the discovery that her fiancé already has a wife and kid, Maggie Lawson vows that the only people she’ll love ’til death do they part will be her friends. Unfortunately that means Maggie letting her bestie rope her into a year-long dating dare: score a new date each month or pay a penalty. Seems doable—until Maggie’s date stands her up, leaving only one option: the sexy stud who just moved in upstairs. The problem? He and Maggie can’t stop fighting—and that’s just the beginning.
His name is Tyler Daniels and the last thing he needs is his neighbor distracting him with her girl-next-door smile and sharp tongue. Tyler’s in Chicago for one reason: to woo back his selfish ex in order to reclaim the child he once thought was his—and that means keeping Maggie out of his bed. A tall order, since Maggie has become a bigger temptation than he ever expected to face. But before they can even consider leaving the past behind, Maggie and Tyler must accept a brand-new dare: real, forever love.
Link to Follow Tour: http://www.tastybooktours.com/2014/06/now-booking-tasty-virtual-tour-for_7103.html
Goodreads Link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18666175-truth-or-dare?from_search=true
USA Today bestselling author Mira Lyn Kelly grew up in the Chicago area and earned her degree in Fine Arts from Loyola University. She met the love of her life while studying abroad in Rome, Italy, only to discover he’d been living right around the corner from her back home. Having spent her twenties working and playing in the Windy City, she’s now settled with her husband in rural Minnesota, where their four beautiful children provide an excess of action and entertainment. When she isn’t reading, writing, or running to keep up with the kids, she loves watching movies, blabbing with the girls, and cooking with her husband and friends.
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The keys hadn’t even finished their first revolution around the wide-mouthed catchall beside her front door before Maggie was hit with a condemning, “I feel dirty.”
Ava. Shaking her head from her perch on the couch, where she’d no doubt been watching the closed-circuit security feed from the front stoop.
She should have known. Because this night just got better and better.
It wasn’t enough to have been within a hairsbreadth of tasting the physical manifestation of Ford’s disgust. Or that her least favorite sour-patch stud, Apartment Three, had gone and pissed all over her hard grudge by making her laugh. Flashing his bit of humanity and humor around like . . . like . . . like he was human or something. Which he wasn’t.
Nope. What she needed was another witness.
Sliding her purse off her shoulder, Maggie tucked it on the secretary’s low shelf and then turned to face her accuser. “So maybe you shouldn’t have broken into my apartment to spy, huh?”
Though on closer consideration, she didn’t actually mind Ava seeing that train-wreck-in-action kiss. If Maggie and Ford were forced to endure it, Ava deserved to share in the post-traumatic suffering as well. The pact had been her idea.
Ava shook her head. “I didn’t break in.”
From the back of the apartment, Sam called out, “It wasn’t breaking. I used my key.”
Oh, well then. Except . . . “What’s he doing in my bedroom?”
“Checking to see if that three-pack of condoms I bought you was still in your bedside table. We thought you might have been . . . you know, hopeful or something.”
Really, it should have felt like a violation, but compared to having Ford’s tongue in her mouth, this paltry bit of B&E barely ranked.
Leaning back a step, she called down the hallway, “The rubbers are still there.”
“Yeah, found ’em already,” came the enthusiastic reply. “I’ve moved on to your panty drawer. And how about a hell, yes for the racy stuff at the bottom.”
Heaving a deep sigh, she staggered into the living room and snuggled into her favorite cushy chair. “So how bad was it? Did we at least look kind of sexy?”
“Not even close, no.” Sam strolled down the hall, wearing a beat pair of faded jeans the same color as his eyes and a plain white long-sleeve T-shirt that told the story of a career rooted in manual labor without bragging about it. His hair was its usual tousled mess of sandy blond and his face sported a just-back-from-the-beach warmth that was a gift of his natural complexion.
“It was bad, Maggie,” he said. Then elaborating as only he could, added, “Like blunt trauma to the eyeballs—bleach-scrub-for-the-brain bad. Seriously, I don’t get why you keep doing this. You sucked face with Ford, a guy you have zero romantic interest in, for the sake of some stupid pact. Why don’t you girls stop trying to force something that isn’t ready to come and wait for a guy who actually does it for you? I mean, if you were getting an itch scratched once in a while, I suppose it would be different. But with the rules—”
Suddenly he broke off, a curious look fixed on his face. He turned to Ava. “Where do you get your itch scratched?”
Ava froze, her big brown eyes gone saucer wide.
Aha! Someone else on the hot seat tonight.
But before Maggie could get too excited about the coming squirm, the front door swung open and Ford stepped in, looking suspiciously . . . clean.
And totally oblivious. “Who’s got an itch?”
“Did you . . . shower?” Maggie asked, her ego more than a little dinged.
Ford at least had the courtesy to look apologetic when he raked his hand through the still-damp strands of his dark hair. “Sorry. I felt dirty.” Then, grasping for a distraction, “Ave, you have a rash or something?”
Sam had an unholy glint in his eyes, and apparently not willing to take any chances, Ava cut in with a delighted smile. “Maggie was thinking about letting Apartment Three scratch her itch for her.”