Friday, January 17, 2014

Tasty Book Blast: Low Tide Bikini by Lyla Dune




Low Tide Bikini
A Pleasure Island Romance
By: Lyla Dune

Blurb

Reluctant housemates make fun bed fellows…

Sam Carlisle is the double bass player in the all girl jazz ensemble, Bikini Quartet. When her truck breaks down on the drawbridge, a panty-melting muscle man comes to her rescue in the rain. This isn’t the first time her life has resembled a bad country song. She later discovers he’s her new landlord, and she has six weeks to find a new place to live. After a devastating breakup, she swore off men.

Will Brock convince her he’s better than the men from her troubled past?

Brock Knight is a retired rugby player from Wales. He's eager to get away from the paparazzi that hound him day and night. When he moves into his new beach house on Pleasure Island, North Carolina before Sam has a chance to relocate, he learns the proper way to shag.

Will he convince her to stay, or will she convince him she’s gay?

Low Tide Bikini is a funny, sexy romance that will make you laugh and sigh. With naughty naked seniors and an ostrich farm, Pleasure Island has it all. It's a great place to visit, and for Sam and Brock, it just might be the perfect forever home.

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Author Info

Lyla Dune has taught music for eighteen years, played saxophone and clarinet in numerous orchestras and ensembles, taught piano, written songs, and repaired more musical instruments than she can recall. Yes, in case you’re wondering, you can fix the rotary valve on a student’s french horn with a paper clip and a rubber band three minutes before the kid’s horn solo at Lincoln Center.
How did Lyla become a writer? A few years ago, she stumbled across a poetry forum online and dabbled in poetry for kicks. She became a word junkie. She’s published poetry, flash fiction, and short stories in many different genres.
She lives on the coast of North Carolina with her husband, Gary, and her cat, Miura. One day, she’d like to have a pet ostrich. She’d name it Robirrrda, of course.

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Teaser 

“Did you just take my picture?” She actually stomped her foot. Brill. Absolutely brilliant.

“You Americans really are vain, aren’t you? I took a picture of the view behind you. Is that all right?”

After a peek over her shoulder, she faced him again and said, “No need to take a picture of that, you’ll see it every day from nearly every room in the house.” Her voice wilted to a thin tone. She turned and gazed out at the sea once more. “Luckily, it’s the kind of thing you can never grow tired of seeing.”

He soaked in the amazing view of her backside and the triangular sliver of light where her caramel thighs met her denim clad bum. “I see what you mean. One could never grow tired of this view. Ever.” He snapped another picture of her landscape.

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