ARC Review: The Divorce Attorney (Southern Hearts Club 1) by Melanie Munton

Title:  The Divorce Attorney

Series: Southern Hearts Club 1

Author: Melanie Munton

Release Date: May 26, 2020

Published By: Self

Category: Contemporary – Romance – Comedy

Type: Digital – Paperback

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Melanie Munton Website

Rating:

Heat: 

Blurb: 

What are you supposed to do when your insanely hot divorce attorney leans over after you’ve signed your divorce papers and seductively whispers in your ear, “Give me a call if you want to know how it feels to be handled by a real man since you were clearly too much woman for him,” before sliding his business card over and walking out the door?

I mean, what do you do with that?

Sure, I’m tempted. I just lost a hundred and eighty pounds of stupid, cheating man. I deserve to treat myself.

The thing is, I think he might be too much man for me.

After all, he’s fifteen years my senior, though he doesn’t look it.

But the urge to learn what this seasoned pro could teach me proves irresistible.

And as it turns out, he’s a pro at a lot of things…like destroying people’s lives.

By reading any further, you are stating that you are at least 18 years of age.

If you are under the age of 18, please exit this site.

Favorite Lines:

In the wise words of the Spice Girls, if he wants to be my lover, he’s gotta get with my friends.  ~  Sloane

My Ho conscious gives me a nice golf clap.  ~  Sloane 

“Christ, darlin’,” he breathes. “There is no such thing as your mouth…There is no such thing as you…I think I have to keep you.”  ~  Carter

He. Can. Bake. Fucking. Deserts.  ~  Sloane

Vocabulary Word:

Provocation

noun

prov·​o·​ca·​tion | \ ˌprä-və-ˈkā-shən 

Definition of provocation

1: the act of provoking : INCITEMENT

2: something that provokes, arouses, or stimulates

Excerpt:

          Steeling myself with a measured breath, I push open the door and take two steps inside the room before I stop. 

          Hellooo, Counselor. 

          The distinguished man sitting behind the cluttered desk is focused on his computer screen, eyes narrowed in concentration behind a pair of black-frame glasses. His face is tan with a five o’clock shadow beginning to sprout, making him appear almost rugged. His dark, honey blond hair is pushed back off his forehead, dipping in way that indicates the presence of a cowlick. 

          But the suspenders…They’re what really do it for me. 

          Because they frame a set of wide, sturdy shoulders that would look more appropriate at a CrossFit competition than in a law office. His shirt sleeves are rolled up to his forearms, which also seem to have impressive definition. His biceps are straining against the shirt’s material, the muscles rippling every time he types something on his keyboard. 

          All of that magnificence is wrapped up in a pretty red bow. 

          Literally. His red bowtie makes me think of a present dying to be ripped open. 

          The look almost doesn’t seem right on him, yet it somehow works at the same time. Probably because a man like this can wear literally anything and will never make a mistake. There are special rules for his kind of man. The fashion faux pau doesn’t exist for him. The laws of nature don’t apply to someone who clearly defies them. On someone my age, his style would be termed as hipster chic or something along those lines. 

          But on this man—who is clearly not my age, though I can’t tell by how much—I know instantly that his fashion choice is an authentic reflection of Charleston culture. It’s not meant to be seen as modern and ironic or even fashionable. It’s just an old southern thing. 

          And I know that before I hear his deep southern drawl. 

          It’s not full-on Charleston where he drops his “r’s.”I’d guess maybe a North Carolina or Virginia accent. Regardless, the sound makes me want to hand-fan myself and flutter my eyelashes like Scarlett O’Hara. 

          “Sorry to keep you waiting,”he finally says, shifting his gaze away from the screen and down to a folder in front of him. “Are you Mrs. Westbrook?”

          It takes me a second to find my voice. “Um, yes. I was told that you will now be handling my divorce?”

          “That’s correct. I’m taking over for Tamra while she’s out. But don’t worry, she’s gotten me caught up on where we’re at.”

          He still hasn’t looked at me. His head is down, his attention focused on the documents in front of him as he furiously scribbles notes in the margins of the papers, clearly lost in his thoughts. I’m not sure whether I should feel offended or not. He’s either being purposefully rude, or he’s too preoccupied by his job to realize that he’s actually speaking to another human being. 

          I clear my throat, hoping he takes the hint. “Okay. Will this cause any delays with the settlement?”

          He shakes his head, still without looking up. “No, there shouldn’t be any complications. It’s a pretty straightforward case. I spoke with your husband’s attorney, and she doesn’t have any issues with the change.”

          “He’s not my husband,” I snap without meaning to. 

          But I don’t want the term applied to that cheating bastard ever again. 

          That comment manages to grab his attention. 

          My attorney’s head shoots up, his sharp eyes immediately colliding with mine. 

          I swallow, unnerved by the depth in those hazel eyes. The keen awareness I see there. 

          “I would appreciate it if we could refer to him as Mr. Westbroook,” I add in a much gentler tone. 

          “I’m fine with ‘the ex,’too. Or even ‘the douchebag.’” Probably didn’t need to tack on that last one. “And I’d like to refrain from using the Mrs. if we could.”

          The corner of his mouth tugs up in amusement. “Of course. My apologies, Ms. Westbrook.”

          I shudder every time I hear that name. 

          The problem is…it is my name. At least for another few days, I guess. 

          Legally, my name won’t be changed back to my maiden one until the divorce papers go through the courts. I’ll still have to change it on all my IDs and documents, but at least it will be changed back in the legal system. And of course—to add salt to the wound—everything is in my married name. Bank accounts, apartment lease, W-2s, all of my bills, and everything in my student file at the Charleston College graduate school. In summation, I don’t have any money, a reliable vehicle, a respectable credit score, my own apartment, but at least I’ll have my flipping maiden name back. 

          I am so winning in life right now. 

          So, until all the documentation is officially filed, I am cursed to legally remain Mrs. Grant Westbrook. 

          With his gaze finally raised in my direction, my attorney suddenly takes in his new view. 

          And drops his pen. 

          His Adam’s apple noticeably bobs as his eyes trail down my body. It’s not quite languorous, but it’s not exactly brief either. It happens almost absently—as if he doesn’t even realize how much time his eyes remain glued to my plunging cleavage. 

          I know I should feel uncomfortable at being the center of his attention. This so-called “uniform” was tailor-made for one purpose: to turn a lady’s bazongas into a flashing marquee. That’s what customers come to see at The Suckling Pig, a colonial-themed tavern where the female waitresses dress like sultry wenches from the Revolutionary War days. 

          Don’t judge me. 

          I need money. Desperately.

          And in a touristy town like Charleston that has a lively downtown scene, working at The Suckling Pig is a surefire way for a well-endowed girl like me to rake in some extra dough. 

          But his intent expression as he looks me over does not at all make me uncomfortable. And again, it should. Now that I’ve seen his entire face, I realize this man is probably a good ten years older than me, at least. Not that he looks old, by any means. But the crow’s feet around his eyes and laugh—or frown?—lines around his mouth put him in his mid-to-late thirties. 

          I’m twenty-three. 

          Yes, yes, and I’m already getting divorced. Make your jokes now, and stow the judgment. 

          I quickly scan his left hand but don’t see a wedding band. Which is something. Checking out his apparently younger client isn’t wrong if he’s not married. Right? 

          For me, it’s just…different. 

          I’ve only ever hung out with guys my age, and I foolishly married one. 

          And clearly, that’s my problem. 

          Despite the fact that he’s my age, Grant is still too young to handle marriage like a responsible adult. Too inconsiderate to speak up and tell me he doesn’t love me anymore and that we never should have gotten married in the first place. Too much of a coward to admit that he felt pressured into the whole thing by his overbearing father. And of course, he hadn’t been about to share with me how unreliable he is with money. How he tends to piss it all away the second he can get his grimy little hands on it. 

          So, instead of communicating with me like a decent human being, he went and buried his relationship woes balls-deep in the barista at our favorite coffee shop. 

          Unfortunately, I didn’t learn just how immature Grant really is until well after our marriage license was notarized. Hence, my presence here today. 

          Since Grant and I met in college, I haven’t done much venturing outside of my own dating pool age group. For whatever reason, I never really look twice at older men. Even when they hit on me at my job, I just don’t typically give them much thought. 

          Yet I’m giving my new attorney plenty of thought right now. 

          But it only takes me a second to realize he’s a straight-up Maserati. 

          So insanely beautiful to look at, yet completely unattainable to someone like me. 

          I mean, why would a successful man like him, who clearly has his life together, ever find a frazzled, scatterbrained, twenty-three-year-old, soon-to-be-divorcee, hot mess of a graduate student attractive? 

          Although if I’m not mistaken, the gleam in his hazel eyes is one of…interest. 

          With my thick, layered black hair pulled up into a loose knot that shows off my long neck and aforementioned cleavage, sky-blue eyes that I’ve been told are a “mystical”color, narrow waist and hips, and pale Irish skin, I guess I’m not terrible to look at.

          Your boobs are basically winking at him. He would probably show the same amount of interest to a stripper that motor-boated him during a lap dance. 

          No one can put things into perspective quite like my bitch of a conscience, that’s for sure. 

          Then I have to go and make things awkward by actually addressing the elephant in the room. 

          “Yeah, sorry about my attire.”I pick at my asymmetrical skirt, trying to cover as much of my legs as possible. “I had to practically sprint here as soon as I got off work.”

          There was a crazy lunch rush today, so I had to stay later to help with the orders. Between that and the fact that my PMS-ing car decided not to start, forcing me to literally run all the way here, I didn’t have time to change. 

          A coughing sound comes from the back of his throat as he averts his eyes, seeming to shake himself out of his daze. “No problem. It’s actually not the strangest thing I’ve ever seen in this office.”

          My eyebrow goes up, curiosity piqued. “Care to share?”

          His eyes dart back to mine. 

          I shrug. “I could use a laugh right now.”His upper lip twitches. He leans back in his chair, tapping his finger on the desk’s surface. “There was this one client who came into the office for her divorce settlement…and brought along a friend for emotional support. One she’d never mentioned before. And one she failed to mention was an animal.”He visibly shudders, staring at the wall behind me. “I just wish I’d known about the peacock before I went to use the facilities. One minute I’m alone in the stall, and the next, I’m face-to-face with the bathroom bird from hell.”

          I stare at him for four straight seconds—

          Then burst into laughter. 

          My ribs are probably going to bruise from slamming against the tight-ass corset with my every guffaw, but it’s totally worth it. 

          “So, you were ‘peacocked’ in a men’s restroom?”I wipe away tears from the corners of my eyes. “You poor man. How traumatizing that must have been for you.”

          He slowly shakes his head, his eyes wide. “You have no idea. It haunts me. I avoid public restrooms at all costs these days.”

          “That’s understandable. I mean, you never can be too careful with those pervert birds.”

          He nods. “I won’t get cornered again. I carry a rape whistle with me everywhere I go now.”

          “You know, you should probably look into taking some self-defense classes,”I suggest. “I hear that Toucan Sam is teaching some down at the community center.”

          He waves me off. “Nah, I’ve already got it covered. Woody Woodpecker is going to give me some private training lessons.”

          That brings another round of laughter from me.

          It’s refreshing to laugh at someone other than myself and the mess I’ve made of my life for a change. 

          “Thanks,” I eventually say after catching my breath. 

          His gaze remains locked on me for several long, assessing moments, as if I’m an animal at the zoo. I find myself squirming in my chair at his silent scrutiny. When I almost can’t take it anymore, he responds with a curt nod. 

          Funny how I don’t even need to explain what I'm thanking him for. He seems to automatically know. 

          He flashes down at his watch. "We've got a few minutes before the proceedings. You wanna go over some details and get through any questions you might have? 

          My mood sobers. 

          Back to giving my joke of a marriage the ax. 

          "Sure." 

          So that's the story of how I met my drop-dead gorgeous divorce attorney dressed like a lusty tavern wench. 

          And intriguingly...he doesn't seem to mind it.

Highlight:

          The way he says my name is a problem. It’s far too…smooth and edgy at the same time. What’s more is that his expression every time he says it might as well broadcast the words baby, if you burn at the sound of your name on my lips, just wait until you feel what my tongue can do. 

          Oh, God. 

          Just the thought of his tongue gliding along my bare skin almost sets me ablaze. 

          “Thirty-five,” I say. 

          “I’m thirty-eight. Is that a problem for you?”

          He’s fifteen years older than me. 

          I should have a problem with that. I mean, that should be an issue. But why again? 

          Nothing. 

          Where’s my bitchy conscious when I need her now? That ho. 

          Hedging the question, I ask, “Is it a problem for you that I’ve only been legal to work in a place like this for two years?”

          He slowly shakes his head. “Surprisingly, not one damn bit.”

          Surprisingly? So, he’s as thrown off by this energy between us as I am? Okay, that makes me feel a little better. E

          ven more surprising, despite the age difference, I haven’t really felt a gap between us from the moment we met. For all the focus I’ve put on how out of my league he is, I’ve somehow felt on equal ground with him ever since we first locked eyes in his office. It’s strange. Our back-and-forth has felt easy, comfortable even. He hasn’t acted superior or looked down his nose at me. It’s probably the first time I’ve ever really understood that whole “age is just a number”thing. 

          Because Carter’s age hasn’t prevented me from feeling a connection with him. 

          Hasn’t snuffed out the flames I feel scalding my skin. 

          Hasn’t dulled the arousal I feel pooling in my belly. 

          As I stare at his ruggedly handsome face, framed by the almost boyish cowlick in his hair, I feel my guard weaken a touch. “What can I get you to drink?”

          Sensing my temporary capitulation, he relaxes his posture. “Elijah Craig if you’ve got it. Neat.”

          Of course, this man would order a not-fucking-around drink. Straight whiskey. No shortcut, no frills, no fuss. Just right to the hard stuff. 

          That’s attractive as hell. 

          A man that can handle a little burn, a little bite. One who takes life as seriously as he does his liquor but can also kick back when the time calls for it. 

          Grant is a Bud Light guy. 

          That guy. The one who orders it everywhere he goes. I never saw him drink anything else.

          That should have been a red flag in and of itself. 

          I smile at Carter in approval. “I’ll be right back with that.”

          An hour later, any resistance I had toward Carter is dwindling at an alarming rate. In fact, I can barely recall the vehement words I spoke to Gretchen earlier. 

          My other two so-called friends showed up about twenty minutes after Carter did. Gretchen dragged Harper and Quinn over to a table where my roommate no doubt filled them in on my little situation. They’ve been relentlessly peeking over at us every time I approach his table and unabashedly ogling him when I’m not blocking their view. And giving me the thumbs up whenever I’m idiotic enough to look their way. 

          I’ve been flipping them the bird every chance I get. 

          I think Gretchen was on to something with the Bitch Brigade name. 

          ...

         As he dug into his food and ordered another whiskey drink, he’d seemed all too patient to keep talking while I was constantly distracted by my other tables. He never acted bothered, though. Not once. As much as I’ve wanted to ask him questions, too, it’s been hard enough just trying to come up with semi-intelligent responses to his. 

          ...

          The more information he pries out of me, the more suspicious I’m becoming. He’s showing a lot of interest for a guy who gave his number to a girl who never called him. And call me cynical, but that makes me question his motives. Clearly, Grant ruined me for decent men everywhere. 

          But when Carter asks me out to an actual dinner—a date—I can no longer ignore that skeptical voice in the back of my mind. 

          “Are you busy on Thursday?”

          “I teach a class on Thursday nights.”At his confused expression, I clarify, “I’m a teaching assistant. I teach an Intro to Anthropology class on Thursdays.”

          A gleam comes into his eyes, one I can’t put a name to. “How about Friday, then?”

          That’s when I decide to test him. I need to make sure this whole thing isn’t too good to be true because it’s damn sure feeling that way. 

          I lean down, invading his space entirely, and practically shove my cleavage right in his face. 

          Then I get bold. “Are you absolutely sure this has nothing at all to do with these, Carter?”

          I intend for my voice to come out challenging. Instead, it’s all silky and husky, the sound curling around his booth like sweet cigar smoke. 

          He notices the change. 

          He also notices my boobs. How could he not? They might as well be cradling his chin. But that’s the point. As if accepting my dare, his eyes languidly scan the plunging neckline of my dress, along with the pin I have to wear that has my name and The Suckling Pig’s logo printed across it. 

          “It’s complicated at the moment,” he drawls out. “Because a little suckling sounds pretty good right now.”

          I guess he boarded the bold train, too. Choo choo. 

          Why do I really like that? Kind of love it, actually? 

          “You do realize you’re far from the first guy to ever come in here and drop that corny line on me, right?”

          My voice is full of undiluted provocation. But I’m quickly realizing that my opponent might just be equipped for any challenge I toss at him. And has the balls to rise and meet it…both literally and figuratively. 

          His mouth spreads into a lazy grin. “Ah, but this is the first time you’ve ever liked hearing it.”

          I can feel my breathing turn ragged. And I’m pretty sure he hears it loud and clear. Standing this close to him, I can’t mask it. 

          “Why would you say that?”

          “Because you know I’m the only man who could actually follow through on it. All the rest who came before me were boys.”

          Oh, word porn. 

          He can’t possibly know how his words are affecting me. How they’re making me want to squeeze my legs together. How they’re turning my insides into warm liquid. 

          His nostrils flare, his jaw clenching. “And if there is one thing I learned about you yesterday, darlin’, it’s that you are so sick of boys.”

          Lord Almighty. 

          He couldn’t be more right. Those were the exact thoughts that flitted through my mind yesterday in his office. Is he a mind reader? 

          Not to mention, the way darlin’ rolls off his tongue is quite possibly the most tantalizing sound that has ever reached my ears. 

          “So, does my attraction to you have something to do with those?”His eyes lower to my chest, his voice matching my husky tone. “Absolutely, it fucking does. You’re an unbelievably gorgeous woman. But my interest in you?” He shakes his head, his eyes now focused squarely on mine. 

          “That has everything to do with your sharp wit, your clever mind, and your refreshing sense of humor. The fact that I’ve seen this much of your fantastic breasts two days in a row is just a lucky streak for me.”

          I literally cannot think of a single flirtatious or witty response—or hell, even a coherent one. I’m not used to dealing with confident men like him who actually have the right stuff to back up all his big talk. 

          “Objection.”

          He pinches his lips together, clearly restraining his laughter. “I’m sorry, did you just throw courtroom jargon at me?”

Review: 

Sloane is getting divorced. At twenty-three and only two years into her failed joke of a marriage, it’s time to move on. She waited long enough – even put grad school on hold so that her husband could dig himself out of debt. And what did she get? A lying, cheating jack-ass. Yep. Time to cut that string and take her life back. Then a case of premature labor has her case transferred to a different attorney. A smoking hot, ridiculously sexy, suspender-clad man. The attraction is electric, but they have roles to play. As she is walking out the door of his office, he propositions her. She isn’t sure what to do with it, so she leaves. She knows what she wants in life and she can now get back on track, get her masters, and start teaching in history and anthropology just like she always dreamed of. But Carter finds her and that sets off a whole new series of events. He’s rebound guy, but is he really? There’s too much that seems real about their relationship. The feelings are getting messy. Their sexual chemistry is off the chain. He’s a real man and fully supportive of her ambition. He’s even pulled a trick out of his back pocket to help her along. But for all of the right qualities he possesses, there are a couple of huge hurdles to work past … if they can. Because Carter has a tie to Sloane that neither of them could have imagined and it might be the one thing they have no way to fix. You know that wrench that slams you upside the head just when you think everything is perfect? Well, this one is a doozy!

Carter is completely enchanted by Sloane from the moment he lays eyes on her. She may be fifteen years his junior, but she’s everything he ever wanted in a woman. He’s been hurt before in one of the worst ways possible, so he’s guarded, but the more time he spends with her the deeper he falls. He wants more, but he has to tread carefully knowing she literally just came out of a divorce and that she’s nowhere near ready to consider the “forever” aspects to life that he’s looking for. He’s just got to convince her of it. He knows she’s The One and he’s done a damn fine job of showing her just how fantastic they are together. But just as they come to an understanding of what they want, what could be, and that Carter is willing to give her as much time as she needs, a shocking revelation brings him to his knees. A revelation that has his soul-mate slipping through his fingers and there’s not a damn thing he can do about it except wait. In the meantime, it’s up to Carter to try to set things right whether Sloane comes back to him or not.

Ohmigawd! You guys! This book is fricking fantastic! I read the blurb and was immediately caught. It’s everything and sets the perfect tone for this book. I hadn’t realized I could obtain a copy from a blog tour I participated in, but as soon as I did, I went back and immediately pushed it to my next read. And damn if I’m not thrilled that I made that choice! Sloane may be only twenty-three, but she knows what she wants. She’s confident, she’s snarky, and she’s pretty dang intelligent – and now that she’s dropped the douchebag from her life, she’s focused on her career goals. Everything else can wait. She may have been sorely tempted by Carter, but she’s literally just finalized her divorce. She’s not looking for a replacement by any means. But Carter more than liked what he saw and sets out to determine if he’s just caught up in the lust or she’s the real deal; even though he’s pretty sure he already knows it’s the latter. Can I just say I have a newfound obsession *coughs* I mean respect for suspenders and bowties? Good Lord everything about Carter is attractive. I actually just read a book with about the same age gap but an entirely different premise. While the age difference might turn some off, for me it’s all about the writing. In both cases, the men didn’t really get the opportunity to find happiness in love until their mid-forties. And while they could have found women closer to their ages, they also craved the whole package, so they sort of had to find a younger woman. Maybe not necessarily that much younger, but these were vibrant, crazy hot men. In my opinion, finding the right younger woman helped to keep them just as vibrant as they always were. I mean, as Carter describes, can you imagine him rocking on the front porch in his orthopedics? Nope. Sorry. These are our “escape in a book guys” so we can have whatever we want. His youthful exuberance needed a partner with the same lifeforce and energy to match and he found that in Sloane. What clinched it for me was that they do address their ages early on and then make it into a joke. It catches them both off guard initially, they own up to it, and then they move on. I loved it. The book is crazy hot and has quite a lot of yummy sexual positions. *coughs* I mean content. The good grief, this book is foreplay kind. Or as Sloane phrases, “Oh, word porn.” Not even kidding. And the snarky humor? Exactly my style! I lost count of how many times I giggled and snorted through these scenes. And that was in addition to the blushing. *wink*

But despite all of the fun sass, Ms. Munton also addresses the heavy without making it bog down on the story. Because underneath it all, there is some serious drama to deal with. For that alone, I completely respect Ms. Munton. She didn’t create a story with no substance and the characters just falling into bed with one another with life nothing but roses. Yes, everything occurs rather quickly as time frames go, but as Carter says – sometimes you have to go for what you want and help speed it along a bit. Or something close to that. Sloane is the biggest agonizer of the two because she’s got so many emotions tumbling around: so many changes in a short time, then worrying about Carter being a rebound, and not altogether trusting her own judgment given the colossal disaster that her first marriage was. So yeah, shit to work out. And sure, there are hints of insecurity, but in all honesty, who wouldn’t experience that after divorce no matter how much you knew it had to be done? Her Ex got into her head and chinked away at her confidence a little at a time. He didn’t get the opportunity to destroy it because Sloane was too strong to allow it, but those moments of being unsure pop up regardless. Hence her obsession with conquering desserts. Both Sloane and Carter have believable backgrounds and relevant human reactions allowing them a depth that I was able to connect to on a visceral level. Even though they didn’t express something verbally, there was no question as to what they were feeling and communicating. I was caught up from beginning to end.

Now. Can we talk about how amazing Sloane’s friends are? What a fun addition to this series. I’m at least I’m 99 percent confident it is a series. There is no series name listed anywhere that I could locate except at the very back of this ARC, so that is what I titled in my full review. Because really, why tease us with the potential of this fun foursome and then not deliver? It would be cruel. So Harper is next and I actually found the first chapter at the end of this book and – you guys – it starts off just as fantastic as this one did! I can’t wait for the release just a couple of months from now! I have every intention of following this whole series. Books that incorporate snark, sass, and sinful pleasure … well, let’s just say I devour them. And this group of females reminds me of my friends so much. You know, those lifelong ones that you found early in life; the ones you may no longer live near, but once you get back together it’s as if no time has passed at all? Yep. Those ones. I have to say that I had way too many favorite scenes. But if one was to gain honorable mention, it would be Bigfoot at the bar. I refuse to give anything away but remember Bigfoot and I am sure you will all agree just how freaking fabulous that entire scene is! *fans self* I’m pretty sure my eyes glazed over just picturing it as I was reading. Can that happen? Maybe. But dang I created some flipping vivid visions between these pages. And I wouldn’t hesitate to do it again. Oddly enough I have this overwhelming need to Google YouTube videos of a certain karaoke song. Another fun addition was the final chapter (for 1 year later) and the epilogue (for six years later). While I was a bit bereft at the finale, I was also provided a sense of closure to this story simultaneously given the vaguest of glimpses into the future of the three remaining friends who have yet to get their stories. Bittersweet for sure. My heartfelt hope is that my time with Sloane and Carter is not over and that I will get to revisit with them as the series progresses.

I do not know where Ms. Munton has been all my life, but I am a fan as of immediately completing this book. Actually, she’s been on my blog several times, but I haven’t had a chance to read her work until now. Sort of the negative side to a blog – you can’t possibly read as many authors as you can feature. The upside is that I may never have come across this wonderful author otherwise. If all of Ms. Munton’s books are as witty and sexy as this one was then she’s definitely an author to watch. And I noticed I have a lot of books to choose from. Happy day! I will be immediately heading to my TBR list to pick out if I have any of her books sitting in the queue, waiting for my attention. Because I assure you, attention they will get. If you want a series to jump into, then start here. You won’t be disappointed. And just knowing there is more to come following this initial book is thrilling! Hopefully, it will be for you as well.

Kindle version provided by Xpresso Book Tours/Author in exchange for an honest review.