**No Damaged Goods by Nicole Snow**
Good Morning,
Everyone! So thrilled to see you all today! We have another new-to-me author
and book! Please allow me to feature on the blog Nicole Snow and her latest
release, NO DAMAGED GOODS … I have heard a lot of good things about this book so far! I can't wait to read my copy!
**NICOLE SNOW**
**BIO**
Nicole
Snow is a Wall Street Journal and USA Today bestselling author. She found her
love of writing by hashing out love scenes on lunch breaks and plotting
her great escape from boardrooms. Her work roared onto the indie romance scene
in 2014 with her Grizzlies MC series.
Since then Snow aims for the very best in growly, heart-of-gold alpha heroes, unbelievable suspense, and swoon storms aplenty. With over a million books sold, she lives for the joy of making two people fight with every bit of their soul for a Happily Ever After.
Current fan favorites include her Enguard Protectors series, accidental love novels, plus long beloved MC romance thrillers like the Grizzlies and Deadly Pistols.
Since then Snow aims for the very best in growly, heart-of-gold alpha heroes, unbelievable suspense, and swoon storms aplenty. With over a million books sold, she lives for the joy of making two people fight with every bit of their soul for a Happily Ever After.
Current fan favorites include her Enguard Protectors series, accidental love novels, plus long beloved MC romance thrillers like the Grizzlies and Deadly Pistols.
To
find out more about Ms. Snow, please visit:
**NO DAMAGED GOODS**
Publication
date:
February 20, 2020
Genres: Adult, Romance, Contemporary
Genres: Adult, Romance, Contemporary
**BLURB**
Fearless firefighter. Mesmerizing voice. Damaged single dad.
Stick a freaking fork in me…
Stick a freaking fork in me…
There’s
a reason he’s called Mr. Silver Tongue.
Blake Silverton could sweet talk an angel into sin.
Fierce small-town fire chief. Rough velvet voice. Drop dead gorgeous.
Don’t even get me started on the tortured single dad thing.
Blake Silverton could sweet talk an angel into sin.
Fierce small-town fire chief. Rough velvet voice. Drop dead gorgeous.
Don’t even get me started on the tortured single dad thing.
Wintering
in Heart’s Edge isn’t a choice when my van goes kaboom!
Neither is gawking at the human bulldozer who keeps charging to my rescue.
If only we could stop butting heads.
Neither is gawking at the human bulldozer who keeps charging to my rescue.
If only we could stop butting heads.
But I’m a healer. What’s wrong with offering a grumpasaurus a massage?
I’m
hardly obsessed.
I’m not tuning into his radio love line every single night.
That charred lump of coal he calls a heart isn’t that fascinating.
I can handle one itsy bitsy insta-wildfire kiss.
Those fires some arsonist punk keeps setting around town, though…
I’m not tuning into his radio love line every single night.
That charred lump of coal he calls a heart isn’t that fascinating.
I can handle one itsy bitsy insta-wildfire kiss.
Those fires some arsonist punk keeps setting around town, though…
Fine.
I know I don’t belong in Blake’s desperado world.
Only, he won’t let me go until I’m safe.
Some men wear Bad Idea on their sleeve.
But sometimes the heart falls hard for damaged goods.
Hold me.
Only, he won’t let me go until I’m safe.
Some men wear Bad Idea on their sleeve.
But sometimes the heart falls hard for damaged goods.
Hold me.
From Wall Street Journal bestselling author Nicole Snow – cupid
slaps some sense into one small-town protector who swore he’d never love again.
Witness an ultra broody hero man coming back to life for the spitfire he can’t
live without. Full-length standalone romance novel with a bold shot of Happily
Ever After.
**TEASER**
**EXCERPT **
Lines of age and maybe frowns, maybe
laughter, trace wild history around his mouth, his eyes. He’s got cheekbones
for days, a mouth like a cruel kiss, and his pulse ticks in stark highlight
against his strong, firm throat as the light glides over him.
Oh. My. God.
He’s grimmer than I expected.
Harder.
An absolute stone of a man.
That softness I’d heard in his voice
isn’t there in his face. Almost like his body’s a granite vault for holding the
gentleness hidden away inside.
Why, Blake? I can’t help wondering.
But I think I get a little hint of an
answer as he turns, striding toward me.
He moves like a man who knows how
powerful he is.
Slow and controlled, smooth ripples of
chiseled musculature trailing down from broad shoulders, over the
sweat-darkened pull of pecs against his clinging black shirt. The tight line of
his abs and narrow hips switch in a rhythm that’s as sensuous as a hunting panther’s
slink.
But he also moves like a man who knows
what hell is.
Somehow, I don’t think it’s just
firefighting that taught him.
He’s favoring his left leg. Some kind
of injury, the kind of walk that says he’s learned how to hide it, but he can’t
always keep it down.
His strength fights against his own
weight. He’s built to support that wall of a body, but every ounce of
well-crafted muscle is also another ounce of pressure crushing down on the
invisible wound, making him list just slightly to the left with every stride.
I probably wouldn’t notice if I wasn’t
used to searching for pain.
That’s what massage therapists do.
Learn people’s pain, so I can tame it
and chase it away.
But he’s stoic, withdrawn, as he stops
in front of me, scanning my body with a critical eye that makes me feel kind of
like one of those dummies they teach you first aid on.
Eep.
So much for all those flutters. My butterflies just iced over.
“You Peace?” he growls.
I smile faintly, pulling my frozen
fingers from my pocket to wiggle them at him in a little wave. “Only person out
here with a burning wreck. Blake, right?”
He only grunts, giving me another one
of those looks. “You’re not hurt?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I jumped out
and got away as soon as I had the van parked on the side of the road. I’m just cold.”
“Lucky it’s not quite cold enough
tonight for hypothermia, but you’ll still catch a chill.”
He takes a step back then, retreating
to the fire truck, and digs out one of those massive, thick fire jackets from a
side compartment. It’s deep grey with reflective yellow and orange bands on the
sleeves and back.
Slowly, he returns to me and swings it
around my shoulders.
For a moment, I’m almost wrapped up in
his arms. He reaches around me to pull the jacket tight, draping it over my
shoulders and then drawing it in to bundle me up.
Now, my butterflies are thawed.
And it’s definitely not the jacket
leaving my face so hot my ears burn against the cold, the contrast
bordering on painful.
Oh, no.
Why did he have to be so...so...
That.
All of that, including the faint whiff of cologne and Goliath I get as
he straightens, still looking at me with this fierce, unmovable gaze.
Buy Links
**GIVEAWAY**
Blitz-wide giveaway (US ONLY)
$10 Amazon gift
card
&
Signed Copy of NO DAMAGED
GOODS
a Rafflecopter giveaway
Thanks so much for joining us today!
HAPPY READING!!!
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