SERIES BLITZ The Random Series Author: Julia Kent

SERIES BLITZ

The Random Series

Author: Julia Kent

Genre: Romantic Comedy/Contemporary Romance

Cover Design: Angela Jenks

SERIES BLURB

It all started with a naked hitchhiker wearing a guitar -- and only a guitar.

And turned into a New York Times bestseller.

A random meeting between a rural Ohio chick and a rich Boston musician kickstarted all sorts of random acts of love and lust -- and got even more complicated when his bandmate entered the picture.

And never left.

From unconventional love to second-chance romance to your wildest desires, The Random Series will have you giggling, swooning, and fanning yourself to the heart-pounding beat of the sexiest, most daring and irresistible musicians to come out of Boston.

Five band members form the up-and-coming group Random Acts of Crazy--each with a story of his own in this long-running series.

Let these rock stars take you on a CRAZY wild ride, and with a little TRUST, they can fulfill your every FANTASY.

The Random Series includes:

Random Acts of Crazy (Book 1)
Random Acts of Trust (Book 2)
Random Acts of Fantasy (Book 3)
Random Acts of Hope (Book 4)
Random Acts of Yes (Book 5)
Random Acts of Love (Book 6)
Random Acts of L.A. (Book 7)
Random Acts of Christmas (Book 8)
Random Acts of Vegas (Book 9)
Random Acts of New Year (Book 10)


GOODREADS LINK: https://www.goodreads.com/series/109275-random

PURCHASE LINKS

US: https://amzn.to/2X1i1mE
UK: https://amzn.to/3bFQf3g
CA: https://amzn.to/2xFtcXA
AU: https://amzn.to/2WZKut9
Universal: https://geni.us/Randomserieslink

Now free in Kindle Unlimited!


EXCERPTS FROM RANDOM ACTS OF CRAZY (BOOK 1)

#1

DARLA

The last everloving fucking thing I expected to see as I drove down I-76 toward my little hometown of Peters, Ohio was a buck-naked man wearing a spiked collar and a guitar.

I mean, only wearing a collar and a guitar. The man was barefoot, for goodness sake. On the highway. In May, in Oh-fucking-hi-o, where winter isn’t a season but a state of mind.

How could I not stop and offer him a ride? Seriously? Where was he hiding a weapon? Okay, Okay, maybe up there, but think about it for a minute. He’d have to twist quite a bit to access anything he hid up his puckered—well, there!

And he wasn’t a bit hard on the eyes, either. Kind of a Brad Pitt circa 1991 look, before he married Miss Toothpick and then left her for that wan Elvira and her weak Michelle Duggar imitation.

Anyhow...back to the naked hitchhiker. My 1986 Toyota Tercel wasn’t anything special but it, um, had a floor. And a windshield. And a place for Mr. Naked to rest his weary nuts. The vinyl might be cracked and faded and it wasn’t no Giving Tree from that Shel Silverstein book, but at least the man could give his balls a rest. Those muscles looked like they could sure use some eyes hungrily ogling them, too, for they screamed for loving attention. If I couldn’t touch, I could at least be the one to stare, right? I’m a giver like that.

Always thinking about others.

#2

DARLA
Whoa. If I had to pick a dream to come true, I’d have chosen the winning MegaMillions lottery ticket dream, but this would do as a distant second, Trevor’s mouth warm and inviting, tasting like orange tangy yumminess. He kissed with his whole body, hands roaming through my hair, his tongue parting my lips and going on a search for something so deep in me I thought he’d never reach it and I would have to live in the ecstasy of being loved by his mouth forever.

I was OK with that.

The fact that he was naked brushed through my mind and then my hand brushed against his thick, gleaming manhood, making his stomach tighten under my hands, splayed against the fine, taut skin of his abs. Washboard. I’d heard that word applied to a man’s body before but had never understood it til then. His flesh so different from my own full curves, as if I were exploring an alien body in a state of arousal so high I would reach nirvana soon.

“Oh—” he groaned breathlessly, then stopped. “What’s your real name?” he whispered.

“Darla.” It came out in a rushed gasp as his fingers found my right nipple and pinched just enough to make it—and my pink nub—pebble instantly, as if they were one long, connected nerve ending. His other hand explored my back, sliding up under my shirt, the heat of his flesh pouring into me. The fact that he was fully naked and I was not was a kind of tragedy.

We needed to fix that.

#3

TREVOR

Darla. I needed Darla now. The thrumming power of being on stage was like an aphrodisiac that made me love the crowd, but the lyrics I wrote and performed were all for her. She was all I wanted now. Kissing that mouth and smothering her sharp tongue with my own, hands full of her curvy ass, our bodies smashed together and sweaty, grinding out the fear and the hesitation and the—

There she sat, holding Joe’s hand, his face next to her ear, whispering.

Two different Trevors responded, both devils inside me.

One said: He’s stealing her.

The other said: You can share her.

To this day I have no idea why I listened more to the latter, ignoring the former with such ease it felt fake, as if I were sublimating the thought because it was too hard to consider.

Joe let go of her hand and stood, and Darla threw herself at me, squee-ing like a fangirl. Her words were unintelligible but somehow I managed to catch words like I can’t believe and That was incredible and Holy fucking shit you wrote me a song.

AUTHOR BIO

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Julia Kent writes romantic comedy with an edge. From billionaires to BBWs to new adult rock stars, Julia finds a sensual, goofy joy in every contemporary romance she writes. Unlike Shannon from Shopping for a Billionaire, she did not meet her husband after dropping her phone in a men's room toilet (and he isn't a billionaire). She lives in New England with her husband and three children in a household where the toilet seat is never, ever, down.


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