Review! Something Borrowed by Eve Dangerfield

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Title: Something Borrowed

Author: Eve Dangerfield

Genre: Contemporary Romance

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Synopsis

Going to an eight-day tropical wedding sounds great, right?

Wrong.

Elle Sahlstrom hates weddings, but she promised her best friend Tory she’d attend her destination ceremony. That is, despite having to endure obnoxious cousins, bad wine, and a phallus-laden bachelorette party. But that’s not the worst part.
The worst part just happened to be sitting next to her on the plane, on his way to the same wedding, guaranteed to be the same insufferable jerk he was years ago.

Jackson Proveaux knows Elle hates him with a passion, but it’s that same passion that has him convinced she’s perfect for him. Unfortunately, he made mistakes in the past, mistakes that involved cocktails, out of control minivans, and a giant misunderstanding that cost him his one and only shot with Elle. The French expat sees the wedding as a chance to atone for his sins. He offers to spend a week at Elle’s mercy, and if she still hates him at the end, he’ll leave her alone forever.

Unable to resist a win-win deal, or Jackson, Elle agrees. Their arrangement quickly becomes more complicated than either of them could have anticipated. The grumpy environmentalist never thought Jackson would be able to make her laugh, and he didn’t count on the hot-headed beauty dominating him in the bedroom…or the fact that he’d like it.

A fiery temper, two sets of handcuffs and copious amounts of tequila are guaranteed to make this situation complicated. As the lovers become more entwined in each other’s lives and hearts, one question remains—will their truce survive the wedding, or are they living on borrowed time?

OFFICIAL REVIEW!

I received a copy in exchange for an honest review

Ever since opening Degrees of Control and being dazzled by Eve Dangerfield’s writing, I have become a huge fan and read each and every one of her books. So when I read the blurb about Something Borrowed and found out it was about a hero and heroine who love/hate each other on an eight day tropical destination wedding, I was ready to pack and book a one way flight to dip my toes in the sand with Elle and Jackson and experience their brand of heat. Soon Eve had me twisted in the sweaty sheets, restrained with handcuffs, and ready to obey in submit to all of the sweltering lust between these two!

Elle Sahlstrom is my kind of heroine with her sarcastic wit and hard outer shell that does not melt from hearts and flowers, instead she wants her men tied down and ready to succumb to everything she has in store for them. I loved getting to know Elle and all of her misunderstood fantasies and desires. She charmed me with her eccentric ways and laughing at her approach to marriage and social situations. Who doesn’t love an introvert who hates phallic symbol themed parties and rubbing elbows with debutantes?

Jackson had me swooning with his French accent, well dressed muscular body, and his willingness to make amends with Elle and be her play toy in the process. Who wouldn’t want a man like that? I could picture him calling me Miss and tied to my bed and I was already halfway to being madly in love with this hero. I have never seen a character be so virile and submissive at the same time. No one could doubt Jackson’s manhood and prowess with the ladies or his feelings where Elle was concerned. If there was ever a man worth forgiving, Jackson is the one!

Eve Dangerfield delivers her readers a fictional vacation that we will never want to leave. I highly recommend Something Borrowed for a romance full of blistering heat, bouts of funny, and lots of steamy kink! Eve never fails to draw me into her fictional worlds and leave me panting and ready for her next story telling adventure!

Author Bio

Eve Dangerfield has loved romance novels since she first started swiping her grandmother’s paperbacks. Now she writes her own sexy tales about complex women and gorgeous-but-slightly-tortured men. Eve currently lives in Melbourne with a bunch of semi-dead plants and a rabbit named Billy. When she’s not writing she can usually be found juggling a beer, her phone and a lipstick while she yells about Lord of The Rings.

 

Excerpt

Elle proceeded through the glass doors, half convinced Bernie had had one of those personality-altering strokes. She gave her ticket to the attractive Balinese woman waiting at the entrance of the plane. “Ms. Sahlstrom, you’re in first class, seat Five A.”
“I’m where?”
“You’re in first class.” The woman beamed. “Didn’t you know?”
“No, my best friend booked the flight, I’m going to her wedding.”
“Oh, isn’t that lovely. Where are you—”
The man behind Elle cleared his throat loudly. “You’ll have to tell me later. Please head inside, your seat is on the left.”
Elle hustled onto the plane. First class? Would she get one of those big capsule beds? Would there be salmon? Would the experience be enough to forget she was sailing through infinite space with no means of escape? At least this explained Bernie’s abrupt attitude change; he thought she was the kind of wealthy bitch who could get him sacked if she complained. She sniggered to herself, maybe this trip wouldn’t be so shitty after al—.
“Hello Ellie.”
She stopped dead in the aisle. There was no mistaking that smokey, accented voice. Still, she tried. “You’ve gotta be fucking joking.”
A dark chuckle. “No. It’s me.”
A quick glance to the right confirmed it. Reclining in his seat like some combination of oil sheik and Elvis, was Jackson fucking Proveaux. Elle’s stomach plummeted. “What are you doing here?”
He smirked. “Nice to see you too.”
When she wanted to list his many faults to strangers, Elle found it difficult to describe her nemesis. You could list his individual features; liquid brown eyes, dark curly hair, tanned skin, the kind of brick shithouse body that should be in a museum of Greek statues, not propping up some poncy, obnoxious Frenchman, but you could never explain the overall effect. Encountering Jackson Proveaux was like witnessing a solar eclipse, it was rare and beautiful and a threat to your eyeballs. It was sickening how hot he was.
Jackson patted the seat beside him “C’mon, sit down. Plane’s about to take off.”
“We are not sitting together.”
“We are.”
Yearning and revulsion tumbled in Elle’s chest. She closed her eyes. “I knew this trip was going to be a nightmare. I just didn’t know it was starting so soon.”
“Well, you planning on surfing the plane all the way to Bali to avoid me? Or are you going to sit down?”
She opened her mouth to say she’d rather sit next to Stalin when the beefy guy behind her nudged her in the back. “Hurry up, lady.”
Before she could react, Jackson was on his feet. “Get your hands off her.”
“Sorry, mate,” the big guy said sheepishly. “It’s just…I want to get to my seat.”
“It’s a plane to Bali, not the last spot on the Enterprise,” Elle snapped. “How about you calm down?”
A different flight attendant came over, wearing a concerned expression, and in Elle’s opinion, way too much lavender Eau de Toilette. “Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine.” Elle stalked over to the window seat and threw herself into it. “I’m sitting down, see?”
“Okay then, I’ll let you get settled,” the flight attendant chirped. “We’re going to have a lovely flight.”
“Yeah, I seriously doubt that.”
“Cheer up, Ellie. It’ll be fine.” Jackson yawned and ran a hand through his perfectly tousled hair. He looked as at home in first class as he did in his crisp white shirt and burgundy chinos. Forget ‘not her type,’ he was like a whole other species of human. All of Elle’s ex-boyfriends were blue collar guys like her father and brother, the men Jackson called when his sink clogged up or his BMW wouldn’t start.
Still, it wasn’t like she was his brand of human female, either. A quick scan of his social media accounts revealed a penchant for tall, dark-haired glamazons. As a short, blonde rage-troll, she was exactly none of those things. In the dank recesses of his soul Jackson was probably as baffled by their hate-lust as she was, but while Elle was happy to ignore it, he insisted on prodding it. Like an arsehole.
“You’re such an arsehole,” she announced.
“Yes, you mentioned that earlier, Ellie.”
She could feel Jackson’s eyes on her, searing into her skin like a red hot brand. She wondered if he was noting her too-pink cheeks, her lack of makeup, or her rumpled as fuck hair. “Shouldn’t you be getting your cock smoked in the toilet or something?”
“Why? Are you offering?”
Elle supposed she’d walked right into that one. “Piss off.”
Jackson laughed. He let his long manicured fingers venture dangerously close to her armrest. “It’s been such a long time, I kind of hoped you’d forgiven me.”
Elle looked down at her own hands, her fingernails were filthy as usual, bitten down to the quick, thanks to nerves about flying and the wedding. “There isn’t enough time in the ever-expanding universe for me to have forgiven you.”
“I don’t know if that makes sense. Scientifically.”
“Shut up.”
Jackson tapped an immaculately polished wingtip. “Your hair’s longer, it suits you.”
She sighed, a loud expulsion of air that fell short of her intended mindful breathing. “Please don’t start this bullshit. We haven’t even left the tarmac.”
“What bullshit? I want to talk to you. I haven’t seen you since Tory’s birthday.”
“And you think that’s a coincidence?” Elle shot back. “I know what you did in that toilet.”
Jackson, for all his infinite faults, had the wisdom to look guilty.
A year and a half ago they’d collided in the hallway of Delegrante’s Italian restaurant, where Tory’s birthday party was being held. They’d endured a long crackling pause, and then, for reasons Elle still didn’t understand, she and Jackson started making out against the hatstand. It had taken all of her strength to shove him away, but she had. She’d pleaded a stomach virus to Tory, gone to a dive bar, and drank herself stupid. Meanwhile Jackson had sought an end to his frustration by screwing Tory’s sister Mel in the Delegrante’s handicapped bathroom. Say what you will about their quote unquote ‘bond,’ she and Jackson certainly didn’t bring out each other’s classy sides.
The plane’s engines rattled to life and Elle leaned back in her seat, breathing hard. This was so profoundly unfair. She’d had a plan for seeing Jackson again. It involved swanning up to him, champagne in hand, Douglas at her side, and saying something cutting like, “hello, Jason. How’s being the world’s biggest twat-factory working out for you?”
Instead she was single, sweating like a horse, and about to confront one of her biggest fears. As though sensing her fears, the plane rattled even more loudly.
“This is such garbage,” Elle moaned.
“What is?” Jackson enquired.
“The way you smell. It’s like Giorgio Armani’s having sex with paint thinner.”
“My mother bought me this cologne,” he said mildly.
“Well, tell her other people have to exist in the same ozone as you.”
“Forgive me if I don’t pass that message along, Ellie.”
“Can you stop saying my name? I don’t know if it’s a pickup tactic or you’re trying to hypnotize me, but it’s very annoying.”
Jackson grinned. “I thought you were forced to put a lid on your anger management issues? Something about hitting a man with a brick?”
Elle glared at him. She was going to have a word to Tory about what she told her fiancée’s nosy, arsehole friends. “It was his car. And shut up, I don’t have anger management issues.”
“Oh you do,” Jackson said, grinning. “But I don’t mind. I’ve always thought your attitude was the sexiest thing about you. The way you look at me when you’re angry…” He gave an obnoxious fake shudder.
Elle forced herself to laugh. “That’s funny, I’ve always thought that if I strangled someone on a plane, they’d have a minuscule chance of getting necessary medical attention before we landed.”
Jackson grinned. “Can you sit on my lap while you choke me? If I’m going to die, I want some auto-erotic elements brought to it.”
The flight attendant came down the aisle, checking seatbelts and inspecting overhead compartments. Jackson shoved his sunglasses into the side pocket of his chair and she tutted. “Let me take those for you, Mr. Proveaux.”
She plucked the eyewear from his fingers, her cheeks slightly pink.
“Michelle, please call me Jackson.”
Elle snorted. The flight attendant glanced nervously at her, as though she was doing something illegal. “I should…I’m going to go. I’ll be back to take your drink order soon.”
“Glad to hear it.”
Michelle sashayed away, and Jackson turned to her. “What are you cackling about?”
Elle clasped her hands to her chest. “Oh, Mister Proveaux, you’re so charming.”
She tucked her chin into her neck and made her accent obnoxiously French. “Call me Jacqusonne, sweet-cheeks. I own zis airline and I think you’re verre sex-ehy.”
He smirked at her. “Jealous?”
“You wish.”
“You know, if you want my undivided attention, all you have to do is ask.”
Elle started to tell Jackson she wanted him to fall down a well, but realized she was playing right into his hands by paying attention to him. She turned and stared out of the window. “I have nothing to say to you, feel free to say nothing to me in return.”
He tapped her shoulder. “Where’s the man you’re seeing?”
Elle immediately turned back towards him. Resistance had never been her strong suit. “Don’t ask me questions. And we split up.”
“What happened?”
“Your mum happened.”
He rolled his dark eyes. “Very mature. How’s work? Are all your bandicoots alive and well?”
“More alive than you’ll be if you don’t shut your mouth.”
Jacksons’ grin displayed his dimples to a disgusting degree. “It’s impossible to sit next to someone as delightful as you and not talk to them, Ellie.”
Bone-deep lust clanged through her, a tin can down an empty mineshaft. She pinched her arm hard enough to burst a blood vessel. It relaxed her temper enough to say, “Shut up pretty boy.”

 

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