London Bound (London Lovers #3) by Amy Daws



***After falling in love with "us" in the first two installments of the London Lovers Series, now...it's Leslie's turn in this spicy series stand alone.***


When Leslie Lincoln, a spunky, red-headed American, suffers an awkward moment with an arousingly-sexy British man—she thinks her life can't get any more pathetic.
She's done with men.
She doesn't need them.
She especially doesn't need their muscular thighs.
No siree, she's going to forget all about the brooding, complicated, and seductive "Theo" who captivated her on the dance floor of a London nightclub.

Keep telling yourself that, Lez.....

Immersing herself into a new type of romantic cleanse, Leslie thinks she'll never lay eyes on Theo again. But somehow, he's managed to bulldoze his way back in—her cheetah-print onesie pajamas be damned.

He wants more.
She wants to run.
But he can’t seem to let her go.

Both of them have a past—and neither want to share.

How can love possibly survive in darkness? 

“I think you need a spruce, Lez,” he states deadpan.
“A spruce? And what the hell does that entail?”
“Like a spa visit?” Angela asks excitedly.
“Not a spa exactly. More like…a cleanse.” Frank fixes a salacious grin on me as he appears excited for what he has in mind. I squirm, feeling nervous about where the hell this is going.
“I’ve done cleanses before, they are miserable,” Angela says, dramatically raising her glass and taking a drink.
“This is a different kind of cleanse. It could be miserable for Leslie, but I know many mates who would bloody love it.”
“What’s involved?” I ask warily. Why the hell would I agree to something that might make me miserable?
“It’s…what I would call…a seven-step program. You have to follow all of the steps in order to gain the maximum benefits and achieve full happiness. Do you agree to it?”
“Agree to what? To doing this crazy cleanse that I have no clue what’s even involved? Absolutely not! I can’t even drink black coffee, Frank. If this cleanse drink tastes disgusting, I can’t do it.”
“Nothing will taste disgusting on this cleanse, I assure you,” he replies cryptically.
“I don’t know.”
“You need this, Leslie. You’ve been in a funk ever since Finley got engaged to that sex monster, Brody.”
I blanch. Frank has a huge man-crush on Brody. It all started when he got a full-frontal Magic Mike image of Brody and Finley one morning at the house. Brody’s a good-looking guy, don’t get me wrong. But I see him more like a brother.
“So, this cleanse you’re suggesting will get me out of this funk?”
“Without question,” Frank says, and turns his wide brown eyes on me. He’s sincere. I can see it in his demeanor. He genuinely wants me to do this.
“I’m not interested in a boyfriend, Frank. I don’t want a relationship.”
“That’s not what this is about. I promise.”
I smirk sneakily and Frank jumps up thrusting his hands into the air in victory, knocking his chair down in the meantime. Several people gawk at his obnoxious display.
Holy balls. This is Frank. What have I gotten myself into? 
 
Amy Daws is a goof of epic proportions. She enjoys making dumb videos and laughing at herself...a lot. It gets awkward. She thinks she should have tried her hand at improv theater but figured she'd learn how life looks behind the lens of a camera first.
She also thinks talking about herself in the third person isn't awkward at all.

Amy lives in South Dakota with her husband, Kevin, and their miracle daughter, Lorelei. The long-awaited birth of Lorelei is what inspired Amy’s first book, Chasing Hope, and her passion for writing.

Amy's contemporary romance books are a part of the The London Lovers Series and currently have two installments out with more to come. Her writing style is emotional and self-deprecating with awkward humor sprinkled in. Basically, if she makes you cry happy and sad tears...she's achieved her goal. Extra points if you have to blow your nose.

Amy's inspiration for writing is and always will be her six precious angel babies and her daughter, Lorelei. On most nights, you can find Amy and her family dancing to Strawberry Shortcake’s theme song or stuffing themselves inside children’s-sized playhouses because there is nothing they wouldn’t do for their little miracle. 

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