Shopping for a Billionaire’s Wife by Julia Kent @jkentauthor ~ A Romantic Comedy

 
Book
Blurb:
Who needs a SWAT team to escape from their
own wedding? Me.
My Momzilla turned us into hostages at our
own ceremony, so Declan and I are getting married the good old-fashioned way,
just like everybody else.
By calling in his private security team,
stealing away before the ceremony by helicopter, connecting to his corporate jet
and heading for Las Vegas.
The Boston wedding of the year is about to
become a trashy Elvis drive-thru ceremony.
Until the best man spills the beans and Mom,
Dad, my sisters, his brothers, my maid of honor, my friend Josh, and even my
cat, Chuckles, all come along for the ride.
I can’t win, can I?
Oh. Yeah. I already did.
Love conquers all.
Even my crazy family.
Shopping for a Billionaire’s Wife is the 8th
book in the New York Times and USA Today bestselling Shopping for a Billionaire
series. After Declan convinces Shannon to escape from their own wedding minutes
before the ceremony begins, the madcap adventures are just getting started.
When the mother of the bride pries their location out of the tortured best man,
the whole crazy crew follows the bride and groom to Las Vegas in this romantic
comedy from Julia Kent.
 
Buy
Links: 
Google Play:  http://bit.ly/1OMTusz
 
Excerpt:
Bzzzz.
“I’m ready to throw my phone into a
running jet engine,” Declan says against my mouth, the vibration of his deep
voice making me shiver.
“Better than throwing in my mother,”
I joke.
His silence makes me stomach clench.
“Declan!” I say with a nudge.
He laughs, the chuckle a tactile
sensation I feel through his chest. My hands are still on his neck and back,
and he’s pressing his forehead against mine.
“Let’s not talk about Marie right
now,” he says.
“Agreed.”
Without effort, we pivot and return
to the path toward the terminal. My wedding dress has a long train, covered in
silk, tartan, tulle and what feels like chain mail. Declan seems to anticipate
any potential mishap I may experience, expertly shoving various pieces of
fabric out of the way so I can move with freedom and grace. Who on earth
thought this monstrosity of a wedding dress was a good idea for a July ceremony
in Massachusetts?
Oh. Right.
She Who Must Not Be Named.
I love my mom. I do. But I don’t
love what the wedding made her become.
We enter the private airport lounge,
where a large, thin-screen television is bolted to the ceiling in one corner.
When I was a little girl, Dad liked to bring me, Carol and Amy to the local
small airport. The place had a diner in it, and we’d order French fries and
strawberry milkshakes, spending an hour or two watching the planes land and take
off. If we were lucky, a helicopter would come along.
Once, a really friendly pilot let us
climb in his plane.
The place is nothing like that little airport. This is where
millionaires and billionaires go to avoid the TSA.

 

The rich really do live different
lives than the rest of us.
This lounge is all clean glass and
smoky brown leather. If you told me that the same interior designer who
decorated James McCormick’s office at Anterdec had done this job, I’d believe
you.
It looks like Teddy Roosevelt came
back from the dead and demanded his own airport.
The small bar chairs, dark brown and
creased with the kind of patina and age that looks shabby on cheaper leather,
but chic and old-world sophisticated among the wealthy, are filled with a
smattering of men and women, most in their fifties on up.
All of the servers and bartenders
are in their twenties, and not a single one has an extra ounce of fat on them.
It’s like Crossfit decided to hold a bartender school.
As we walk into the lounge, every
single pair of eyes swivels to take us in.
“Why are they staring at us?” I ask
Declan, clutching his arm.
“Because you’re wearing a wedding
dress and I look like something out of a BBC documentary?” he answers smoothly.
I look down at myself. Look over at
him. Take in the kilt, the socks covering his calves, the laces on his special
Scottish shoes.
“Oh.”
One of the patrons, a man who is
sitting next to a woman who looks like an adventurous traveler and not a
mannequin on a rich man’s arm, points to the television, then back to us.
“You two on the run?”
Author
Bio:
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Julia Kent
writes romantic comedy with an edge, and new adult books that push contemporary
boundaries. From billionaires to BBWs to rock stars, Julia finds a sensual,
goofy joy in every book she writes, but unlike Trevor from Random Acts of
Crazy
, she has never kissed a chicken.

 

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Muffy, author of provocative romance about
love, sex, hope and passion, was born in Texas to traditional parents. With two
older brothers, she was the youngest, the family “princess,” indulged
and pampered. Her father was a career Colonel and pilot in the U.S. Air Force
which required the family to travel extensively. Muffy spent her formative
years in Europe and ‘came of age’ in France which forged her joie de vivre and
love for books, writing and education.
Married and living in the tropical paradise of
SW Florida along the Gulf Coast, Muffy dabbles in real estate, writes and
enjoys life in the sun with her husband and wee Havanese pup, Burt.
 
~ Live, Laugh, Love with Passion
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Muffy Wilson. 
[Muffy@MuffyWilson.com] All rights reserved.
Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission
from the author.

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