Low
Tide Bikini
A
Pleasure Island Romance
By:
Lyla Dune
Blurb
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Reluctant
housemates make fun bed fellows…
Sam
Carlisle is the double bass player in the all girl jazz ensemble,
Bikini Quartet. When her truck breaks down on the drawbridge, a
panty-melting muscle man comes to her rescue in the rain. This isn’t
the first time her life has resembled a bad country song. She later
discovers he’s her new landlord, and she has six weeks to find a
new place to live. After a devastating breakup, she swore off men.
Will
Brock convince her he’s better than the men from her troubled past?
Brock
Knight is a retired rugby player from Wales. He's eager to get away
from the paparazzi that hound him day and night. When he moves into
his new beach house on Pleasure Island, North Carolina before Sam has
a chance to relocate, he learns the proper way to shag.
Will
he convince her to stay, or will she convince him she’s gay?
Low
Tide Bikini is a funny, sexy romance that will make you laugh and
sigh. With naughty naked seniors and an ostrich farm, Pleasure Island
has it all. It's a great place to visit, and for Sam and Brock, it
just might be the perfect forever home.
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Author
Info
Lyla
Dune has taught music for eighteen years, played saxophone and
clarinet in numerous orchestras and ensembles, taught piano, written
songs, and repaired more musical instruments than she can recall.
Yes, in case you’re wondering, you can fix the rotary valve on a
student’s french horn with a paper clip and a rubber band three
minutes before the kid’s horn solo at Lincoln Center.
How
did Lyla become a writer? A few years ago, she stumbled across a
poetry forum online and dabbled in poetry for kicks. She became a
word junkie. She’s published poetry, flash fiction, and short
stories in many different genres.
She
lives on the coast of North Carolina with her husband, Gary, and her
cat, Miura. One day, she’d like to have a pet ostrich. She’d name
it Robirrrda, of course.
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Teaser
“Did
you just take my picture?” She actually stomped her foot. Brill.
Absolutely brilliant.
“You
Americans really are vain, aren’t you? I took a picture of the view
behind you. Is that all right?”
After
a peek over her shoulder, she faced him again and said, “No need to
take a picture of that, you’ll see it every day from nearly every
room in the house.” Her voice wilted to a thin tone. She turned and
gazed out at the sea once more. “Luckily, it’s the kind of thing
you can never grow tired of seeing.”
He
soaked in the amazing view of her backside and the triangular sliver
of light where her caramel thighs met her denim clad bum. “I see
what you mean. One could never grow tired of this view. Ever.” He
snapped another picture of her landscape.
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