Author: Kelly Siskind
Release: January 31, 2018
Genre: Romantic Comedy
A down-to-earth carpenter. A Prada loving personal shopper.
A Habitat for Humanity project that erects more than walls…
The word “nail” has so many meanings:
Ainsley Hall’s manicured nails belong in the Museum of Modern Art.
The fashionista hammers nails at Habitat for Humanity.
She desperately wants to nail Owen Phillips.
Unfortunately, she mistakenly thinks he’s gay.
Owen’s never-ending divorce has taken a turn from messy to downright vindictive. Yearning for the simpler things in life, like working with his hands, he joins a Habitat build. Turns out he also wants to work over Ainsley Hall…but the confusing bombshell flirts blatantly with other men.
When Ainsley discovers Owen’s true sexuality, their mutual attraction ignites, but he hasn’t shared the extent of his divorce drama. If he can’t disprove his ex’s false allegations, it will take more than hammers and nails (and nailing studs) to keep their walls from caving in.
Buy Links (Kindle Unlimited):
Amazon CA: http://amzn.to/2mAkgdG
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/2EESbsq
Amazon AU: http://amzn.to/2mCpO7x
Praise for Stud:
"…a sexy and steamy read with loads of flirty and witty banter. Siskind knows how to write characters that have off-the-charts chemistry." ~ RT Book Reviews
“Kelly has outdone herself with this book!” ~ Blushing Mom Book Reviews
"If you like your stories smart, snappy, and stuffed with sweet emotion (and even sweeter heat), Owen and Ainsley will not disappoint." ~ Bookgasms Book Blog
A new to me author that I am going to be reading more books from! The writing just flowed nicely off the pages. From the humour to the dynamic duo of the main characters this book is one to read. This book was surely entertaining! It had me laughing. The characters in this story could be based off of real life situations and those are the stories that I like to read about.
The two main characters in Stud are Owen and Ainsley. Ainsley personality is great from her sassiness to her loving her family to helping others in the fashion department. Owen is the stud in this story with such a heart and a softy for sure. They meet at Habitat for Humanity and the misunderstanding has Ainsley not going after him even with sparks. Owen and Ainsley both had stories in there past that was shared in this story which to me made the story even more real and fun to read. They have some chemistry going and when the story continues you'll need a fan to cool off. The flirting between them was also great moments.
I liked how each chapter started off with a crossword term it added a nice touch throughout the story. If you like romantic comedies then go add this to your tbr.
Parts of the story I like:
When Owen and Ainsley ate lunch and a squirrel came by~ what they both said was funny.
"Zombie bites to the nuts."
"With the right person, it's more intense."
Characters - 5/5
Heat - 4/5
Writing style 5/5
Overall rating - 4.5/5
A small-town girl at heart, Kelly moved from the city to open a cheese shop with her husband in northern Ontario. When she’s not neck deep in cheese or out hiking, you can find her, notepad in hand, scribbling down one of the many plot bunnies bouncing around in her head. She laughs at her own jokes and has been known to eat her feelings—gummy bears heal all. She’s also an incurable romantic, devouring romance novels into the wee hours of the morning.
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It had been years since I’d flirted, and I’d never excelled at it back in the day. My mother had me at fifteen, something that scared the crap out of me. It had kept me away from girls awhile. Until I’d discovered sex. I may have been a late bloomer, but the studious kid I was, I’d made it my mission to uncover the glorious riches of a woman’s body. Every canvas was different. Each woman had her own secrets, her body a treasure map.
Treasures I hadn’t sought in ages.
Ainsley was the first in a long while to spark my interest, and I was about ready to forget my lawyer’s no-dating advice. I’d also vowed to take it slow this time. Make sure I really knew someone before getting involved. If my flirting skills weren’t on the corroded side of rusty, it would make getting to know her a hell of a lot easier.
“You’re doing well on the construction site,” I said. “Making a difference.”
Hope seemed to brighten her face. “Really?”
“Pretty sure you’ve never used that hammer before, but you’re catching on quick.”
Her pointed look held more amusement than animosity. “Says you.”
“You telling me I’m wrong?”
Instead of answering, she said, “Did you know hammer heads can come loose? That’s where the term ‘fly off the handle’ came from.”
I cradled her hardhat against my stomach. It had a worn bit of plastic on top, protruding. I ran my finger over the sharp edge. My hands had a sudden need to keep busy. “You don’t say.”
“I do. Know what else?” She arched her back, and a rip in her shirt shifted, revealing a tease of purple lace beneath. Damn. Purple.
I shook my head in answer, didn’t trust my voice to speak. But man, those eyes of hers were stunning, sucking me in again. I’d bet they burned into blue flame when she was coming. The possibility had me wanting to pin her against the wall, feel her surrounding me, grinding on me. Sweat gathered at the base of my spine.
“Well,” she said, mischief lighting her face, “according to my online dictionary, there’s also a peening hammer. It’s used in metal work. There’s a cross-peen hammer. A diagonal-peen. Point-peen. Chisel-peen. Like lots of peens that hammer things. Ever used one?” She batted her long lashes at me, dangling her teasing bait to see if I’d bite.
I sure as hell wanted to bite. To nibble and lick and kiss. Heat flooded my groin, my thighs flexing automatically. Time to dust off my flirting skills.
Her gaze dipped down my body, slow and languid, soaking me in. Something in me twitched to life, like a phantom limb reminding me hot blood once pumped through my veins. All my veins. My groin got heavy, heat flushing my thighs. Because she looked at me.
I let that notion marinate and did my best to keep my brain on target. “If you plan on volunteering, show up at the construction site at 8:30 a.m. sharp. Nick will take you through the paces.”
“Will you be here?”
“Are you here every day?”
“Do you often answer questions with one word?”
She tipped her head, those stunning eyes intent upon me. Suddenly, heading home for beers and pizza didn’t sound as appealing. I dug my boots deeper into the earth.
She swiped her tongue across her full bottom lip. “All right, tough guy. I’ll be here next week, volunteer ready, where you may or may not be, depending on if you do or do not decide to show up.”
Every word dripped with flirtatiousness, but I stayed quiet. The way I’d all but grunted at her so far, probably better to keep my mouth shut.
So we stood there—her waiting on me to speak, a skateboarder barreling down the road at our left. Me unsure why she was affecting me.
I missed being with a woman. Missed the slide of soft skin and wet mouths, and locking my girl in my arms for the night. But I’d sworn I’d do it right this time. Not rush in. Make sure I dated someone with depth and interests outside of making bank. Everything about this spitfire girl read narcissistic.
When our silence slipped into awkward, she fluttered her fingers in my face. “It’s been…interesting.”
I offered her a curt nod.
Chuckling to herself, she spun around, but her right heel wedged into the loose dirt. Those damn shoes were lethal. She sank an inch and teetered, but seemed to catch herself. Then her massive purse fell. The thick strap landed on her forearm, tipping the balance. She shot out her hand, struggling to stay upright.
I lunged for her, clasping her trim waist to hold her steady. And close. Too close. Not near enough for her to feel how I was thickening behind my zipper, but the air swelled. It dilated with feminine scents. Something sweet. Nice.
She smelled like chocolate.
My hands spanned her waist from behind, her curves above and below all woman. Hour glass, like a modern-day Marilyn Monroe. Jean Harlow. Mae West. Over the years, I’d watched every classic movie there was, wishing I could slip to a time when men danced and women sang and loyalty and love were valued over getting ahead. An old soul, my nana always said. Or a romantic. Or just plain trouble.
Now I had my hands on a dangerous beauty.
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