{"id":7945,"date":"2016-06-23T07:30:18","date_gmt":"2016-06-23T11:30:18","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.escapistbookblog.com\/?p=7945"},"modified":"2017-01-15T19:18:47","modified_gmt":"2017-01-16T00:18:47","slug":"excerpt-reveal-filthy-english-by-ilsa-madden-mills","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.escapistbookblog.com\/?p=7945","title":{"rendered":"Excerpt Reveal: Filthy English by Ilsa Madden-Mills"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"filthy<\/p>\n

The British are HERE! \u00a0<\/b><\/h4>\n

Are you ready for Filthy English? <\/b><\/h4>\n

RELEASING July 11, 2016<\/strong><\/h4>\n

 <\/p>\n

Find\u00a0Filthy English\u00a0<\/em>on\u00a0GOODREADS<\/a>!<\/h4>\n
\n

Excerpt<\/strong><\/h4>\n

Chapter 1<\/b><\/h4>\n

Remi<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

Plain and simple, this night sucked.
\n<\/span>Sadly, it was my honeymoon.
\n<\/span>I sighed heavily and gazed around Masquerade, an intimately lit London nightclub where everyone wore black domino masks, some elaborate and some plain, to hide their identity. A few die-hards even sported dark clothing with long, loose cloaks. Not me though. I\u2019d gone modern with a slinky little number and three-inch heels, putting my height at nearly six feet. Yep, I\u2019m the giant in the blue dress, towering over every girl and some guys at the bar.
\n<\/span>My top teeth dug into my bottom lip as I gazed around the smoky club, my eyes bouncing off random faces. Even in a room full of party people, music, and strobe lights, I was lonely.
\n<\/span>My groom was missing.
\n<\/span>That\u2019s right. Hartford Wilcox, Jr., aka Mr. Nice Guy at Whitman University in North Carolina, had jilted me two weeks before the big wedding day as we had dinner at our favorite Italian restaurant, Mario\u2019s.
\n<\/span>And now here I was\u2014on my honeymoon and getting trashed with my best friend Lulu who\u2019d decided to skip her beach vacation and come with me at the last minute.
\n<\/span>She poked me with her finger as we sat in front of the heavy wooden bar of the club. \u201cHey, Earth to Remi, get that glazed look out of your eyes and order a drink already. I\u2019m thirsty.\u201d She fluffed her pixie-cut pink hair and straightened her black tutu, eyes scoping out the club. \u201cDang, the men in here are hotter than a billy goat with a blow torch,\u201d she said in her honeyed southern drawl.
\n<\/span>I half-heartedly agreed, not really caring, more intent on scanning the bottles behind the bar. \u201cI want tequila,\u201d I murmured. \u201cA whole bottle.\u201d
\n<\/span>Her face snapped back to me and her green eyes widened. \u201cUh-uh. No way. I know what happens when you drink that crap. You either eat a ton of tacos and puke, or you wrap yourself around some cocky bastard with a well-developed tush.\u201d
\n<\/span>True. I did love a tight muscular ass.
\n<\/span>But I wouldn\u2019t get one tonight.
\n<\/span>A short laugh burst out of me, one of those I\u2019m-miserable-but-pretending-to- be-okay-laughs that I\u2019d been doing a lot of lately. For the past two weeks, I\u2019d vacillated between a sobbing mess and an angry woman who became so incensed that \u201cfuck\u201d was the only word that seemed appropriate in any given situation. Going to the post office to mail <\/span>he dumped me, but thank you anyway <\/span><\/i>cards. Fuck. Going to the wedding venue and not getting the ten thousand dollar deposit back. Fuck. Realizing I was homeless fall semester\u2014which was in two weeks\u2014fuck. Listening to my mother tell me it was my fault. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
\n<\/span>The bartender delivered my bottle and poured me a shot. I sucked the tequila down while Lulu watched me warily. It tasted like bad decisions and gasoline, but tonight was about forgetting. The sooner the better.
\n<\/span>A few minutes later, Lulu went out to dance with a British guy she\u2019d been making eyes at. I sat glumly at the bar, fiddling with my diamond tennis bracelet, rubbing it like rosary beads. I needed to forget Hartford, and according to Lulu, that meant hooking up with someone.
\n<\/span>Was she right?
\n<\/span><\/i>Fate answered in the form of a beautiful man\u2014and by beautiful I mean drop-dead sexy with a backside so delectable and muscular my mouth plopped open.
\n<\/span>I snapped my lips shut and adjusted my velvet half-mask\u2014the annoying feathery plumes on the sides kept sticking to my red lipstick\u2014and turned ever so slightly to check him out, not wanting to appear obvious. He slid into the seat next to me, tall and broad with rippling shoulders and a massive frame.
\n<\/span>I checked my appearance in a mirror behind the bar, mentally analyzing the odds of a girl like me snagging a hottie like him.
\n<\/span>Although no one had ever called me beautiful, I did have two\u2014okay, maybe three\u2014things going for me in the looks department. My shiny, golden-brown hair that hung down in waves to my shoulders, my fluffy \u201cpillow lips\u201d as Lulu described them, and lastly, I had an itsy bitsy space between my two front teeth which were otherwise white and perfect. Lulu claimed the gap lent me an exotic look, like Madonna or Sookie Stackhouse. Whatever. I was a True Blood fan. I went with it.
\n<\/span>He shifted on the stool, leaning closer to me. His cologne swirled in the air, the smell of expensive Scotch and musk mingling together to create a heady, slightly dangerous scent. I paused, goosebumps rising on my bare arms. The spicy whiff triggered a distant memory just out of reach.
\n<\/span>As slyly as I could, I studied his profile from top to bottom. Like me he wore a black mask, although his was more masculine, not hiding his chiseled, movie star jawline. His lips were carnal and luscious, the bottom more plump than the top with a slight indentation in the middle. As I watched, his tongue swept out and caressed it, his top teeth biting it as if he were deep in thought. He raked a hand through his dark, longish messy hair, held it suspended above his head for a few seconds and then released it, letting it swish back into its tousled yet perfect place.
\n<\/span>I tore my eyes away.
\n<\/span>Something about him sent loud warning bells ringing in every atom of my body.
\n<\/span>Danger, danger. Don\u2019t touch that.
\n<\/span><\/i>But my gaze would not be denied as I took in the tight black shirt and sculpted chest that was obviously used to the inside of a gym, right down to an arm that looked like it could snap a board in half\u2014or me.
\n<\/span>Nice biceps, Mr. Beautiful.
\n<\/span><\/i>The <\/span>pi\u00e8ce de r\u00e9sistance<\/span><\/i> was the vivid blue and orange dragonfly tattoo displayed on his left arm. It was larger than my hand and took up most of his bicep. My eyes traced the contours of the design from the papery wings to the multi-faceted eyes. A bold black color outlined the insect, giving it a masculine feel.
\n<\/span>Gorgeous.
\n<\/span><\/i>True Religion jeans stretched down long legs and ended in a pair of black Converse without socks, giving him a boyish quality that was in direct contrast to the crazy-sexy-bad-boy vibe he had going on.
\n<\/span>Him tonight?
\n<\/span><\/i>Maybe. He was the polar opposite of Hartford who was blond, lean, and tattoo-free.
\n<\/span>I nibbled on my fingernail. <\/span>How do I get him to notice little ol’ me?
\n<\/span><\/i>Just then a redhead with fluffy Farrah Fawcett hair strode up to his stool, bold as brass, wearing a tight, white mini-skirt that barely covered her booty. She brought with her the smell of sweet, cloying perfume, the kind I always got spritzed with at the mall.
\n<\/span>She flicked her hair over her shoulder, casually rubbed her finger down his arm and struck up a conversation. Her fake, black lashes\u2014which she\u2019d somehow managed to get outside the eyeholes of her mask\u2014batted. She puffed out her well-developed chest.
\n<\/span>He smiled back at her with a wicked grin, his relaxed body language telling me he was confident when it came to women. She whispered in his ear, boobs right in his face, but whatever he said back wasn\u2019t what she wanted to hear because a few ticks later, she crossed her arms, glared at me, and stalked away.
\n<\/span>I blinked.<\/span> What had I done?
\n<\/span><\/i>Then he turned and pointed his devastating smile at <\/span>me<\/span><\/i>.
\n<\/span>Shit, he\u2019d made eye contact\u2014as much as you could with a claustrophobic mask on.
\n<\/span>But wait\u2026
\n<\/span>Was he crazy?
\n<\/span><\/i>Because if he\u2019d turned down <\/span>her <\/span><\/i>flirtation, I didn\u2019t have a shot.
\n<\/span>I didn\u2019t know how to do the fingers-tip-toeing-up-his-arm-thing and sexy hair flicking. I didn\u2019t know a thing about applying fake eyelashes. I didn\u2019t know how to make my breasts sit up that high. I looked away from him and took another shot, feeling anxious and strangely off-kilter.
\n<\/span>Mr. Beautiful ordered a drink from the bartender, his British accent smooth as silk as it washed over me. I froze. I <\/span>almost <\/span><\/i>knew that voice\u2014deep with soft rounded vowels that made you tingle in your lady parts.
\n<\/span>What was it about this guy that had me all jacked up and hot for him?
\n<\/span>Hello, tequila,<\/span><\/i> my inner voice said<\/span>.<\/span><\/i> But it was more than that.
\n<\/span>Getting brave, I pivoted on my barstool, and found Mr. Beautiful\u2019s eyes on me once more, searching my face. As if he too recognized the pull between us.
\n<\/span>My heart played hopscotch, jumping against my chest. My skin prickled. I shivered.
\n<\/span>Did I know him?
\n<\/span><\/i>It clicked.
\n<\/span>Dax Blay?
\n<\/span>It was <\/span>his <\/span><\/i>voice, the same deep quality, the kind of voice that made you want to hop into his bed and ride him like a cowgirl.
\n<\/span>My breath hitched, and I swallowed down the emotion that zipped up my spine whenever I thought of <\/span>him<\/span><\/i>. He was my one mistake, the time I\u2019d tossed inhibitions and carefully laid plans aside and went with my instincts, only to have them tossed back in my face.
\n<\/span>But the man next to me <\/span>wasn\u2019t<\/span><\/i> Dax. Thank God.
\n<\/span>Last spring at the campus-wide end of the year fraternity party with Hartford, I\u2019d seen Dax, and he\u2019d had shorter hair, like always, and zero tattoos. Yeah. No way.
\n<\/span>Plus, last I heard, he was in Raleigh where his father lived.
\n<\/span>Yet\u2026
\n<\/span>Dax was British. He could have family here. Maybe he got a tattoo?
\n<\/span>Nah. I mean, what were the odds of us both being at the same club on the same night in a country where neither of us lived?
\n<\/span>I tore my eyes off Mr. Beautiful and waved at a bartender for more limes, but somehow my tennis bracelet snagged on the bodice of my dress, leaving my wrist dangling like a wet dishrag in a most inappropriate place.
\n<\/span>I wiggled my arm.
\n<\/span>Jiggled it.
\n<\/span>Even went so far as to jerk, but it wouldn\u2019t separate.
\n<\/span>Sweat popped out on my forehead. Holding my breath, I twisted and tugged the bracelet, forcing the delicate material in my bodice to stretch beyond normal limits.
\n<\/span>\u201cWell, hell,\u201d <\/span><\/i>I breathed, pausing to assess.
\n<\/span>Skin-tight with a plunging neckline, the dress was mostly a stretchy fabric held together by sequined straps and a zipper on the side. Slated as part of my honeymoon wardrobe, it was a Tory Burch and had cost four hundred dollars, the most I\u2019d ever paid for a fun outfit, and no way did I want to damage it. I might have to return it to rent an apartment at Whitman.
\n<\/span>Lulu. I needed Lulu. She was a whiz with wardrobe malfunctions.
\n<\/span>I spun around on the barstool and used my free hand to wave at her, but she was slinging herself around dancing, having a great time and completely oblivious. I resorted to flapping both hands at her, one high and one low. Several people waved back with baffled expressions, but Lulu didn\u2019t notice. <\/span>Dammit.
\n<\/span><\/i>I groaned and slumped down in my seat, ready to scream. Now what? Go to the bathroom and repair it there? Good plan.
\n<\/span>But the club tilted when I stood, the strobe lights making me squint as they flashed in my face. I wobbled in my leopard print heels\u2014that Lulu had insisted I wear\u2014and grabbed the stool to keep my balance. `
\n<\/span>I sucked in a breath to gather myself, but I couldn\u2019t think straight. The room spun, and I was suddenly queasy, and why did I slam all that tequila, <\/span>and oh my god, my wrist is currently attached to my tit like a T. rex arm.
\n<\/span><\/i>I had to get out of here before someone noticed what an idiot I was.
\n<\/span>Trying to be stealth like, I reached across the bar to get my beaded clutch, but because it was my left hand and not my right that I used most of the time, I got off balance and stumbled\u2014and my ankle folded in on itself. I yelped as my shoe catapulted off my foot and vaulted off toward the dance floor, while I fell forward, straight into Mr. Beautiful\u2019s lap.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Filthy English (unedited excerpt)<\/span><\/p>\n

Copyright Ilsa Madden-Mills<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\n

Blurb<\/b><\/h4>\n

A smokin\u2019 hot British player\u2026<\/b><\/p>\n

A jilted girl\u2026<\/b><\/p>\n

One night of mistaken identity\u2026<\/b><\/p>\n

Two weeks before her wedding, Remi Montague\u2019s fianc\u00e9 drops her faster than a drunken sorority girl in stilettos. Armed with her best friend and a bottle of tequila, she hops a plane to London to drown her sorrows before fall semester begins at Whitman University.<\/p>\n

She didn’t plan on attending a masquerade party.<\/p>\n

She sure didn\u2019t plan on waking up next to the British bad boy who broke her heart three years ago\u2014the devastatingly handsome and naked<\/i> Dax Blay. Furthermore, she has no clue how they acquired matching tattoos.<\/p>\n

Once back at Whitman together, they endeavor to pretend they never had their night of unbridled passion in London.<\/p>\n

But that\u2019s damn hard to do when you live in the same house\u2026<\/p>\n

One night. Two damaged hearts. The passion of a lifetime.<\/b><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

*A modern love story inspired by Romeo and Juliet*<\/i><\/p>\n

**no one dies in the writing of this novel**<\/p>\n

\"filthy<\/p>\n

\n

About the Author<\/strong><\/h4>\n

\"ilsa<\/p>\n

New York Times<\/i>\u00a0and\u00a0<\/span>USA Today<\/i>\u00a0best-selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills writes about strong heroines and sexy alpha males that sometimes you just want to slap.<\/span><\/p>\n

She’s addicted to all things fantasy, including unicorns and sword-wielding heroes in books. Other fascinations include frothy coffee beverages, dark chocolate, Instagram, Ian Somerhalder (seriously hot), astronomy (she’s a Gemini), Sephora make-up, and tattoos.<\/p>\n

She has a degree in English and a Master’s in Education.<\/p>\n

When she’s not pecking away on her computer, she shops for cool magnets, paints old furniture, and eats her weight in sushi.<\/p>\n

WEBSITE<\/a>\u00a0<\/b>|\u00a0<\/b>FACEBOOK<\/a><\/b>\u00a0|\u00a0<\/b>TWITTER<\/a>\u00a0<\/b>|\u00a0<\/b>PINTEREST<\/a>\u00a0<\/b>|\u00a0<\/b>GOODREADS<\/a><\/b>\u00a0|\u00a0<\/b>INSTAGRAM<\/a><\/b><\/h4>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n

Standalones<\/strong><\/h4>\n

\"27152124\"<\/p>\n

Dirty English\u00a0<\/b>(Declan Blay)
\nReview<\/a>
\n<\/b>Buy:\u00a0Kindle Ebook<\/a>\u00a0|\u00a0Paperback<\/a>\u00a0| Audio<\/a><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"filthy<\/h4>\n

Filthy English\u00a0<\/strong>(Dax Blay)
\nReview<\/a>
\nBuy:\u00a0Kindle Ebook<\/a>\u00a0| Paperback<\/a> | Audio<\/a><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n<\/div>\n

 <\/p>\n

Briarcrest\u00a0Academy Series<\/strong><\/h4>\n

\"Very\u00a0\u00a0\"Very\u00a0\u00a0\"Very\u00a0\u00a0\"Very<\/p>\n

Very Bad Things\u00a0<\/b>(#1)
\n<\/span>Buy:\u00a0Kindle Ebook\u00a0<\/a>|\u00a0Paperback<\/a>\u00a0|\u00a0iBooks<\/a>\u00a0|\u00a0<\/span>B&N<\/a>\u00a0|\u00a0<\/span>Kobo<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n

Very Wicked Beginnings<\/strong>\u00a0(#1.5)
\n<\/span>Buy:\u00a0Kindle Ebook<\/a>\u00a0|\u00a0Paperback<\/a><\/p>\n

Very Wicked Things<\/b>\u00a0<\/i>(#2)
\n<\/span>Buy:\u00a0Kindle Ebook<\/a>\u00a0|\u00a0Paperback<\/a>\u00a0|\u00a0iBooks<\/a>\u00a0|\u00a0B&N\u00a0<\/a>\u00a0|\u00a0Kobo<\/a><\/p>\n

Very Twisted Things\u00a0<\/b>(#3)
\n<\/span>Buy:\u00a0Kindle Ebook<\/a>\u00a0|\u00a0Paperback<\/a>\u00a0|\u00a0iBooks<\/a><\/span>\u00a0|\u00a0B&N\u00a0<\/a><\/span>\u00a0|\u00a0Kobo<\/a><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The British are HERE! \u00a0 Are you ready for Filthy English? RELEASING July 11, 2016   Find\u00a0Filthy English\u00a0on\u00a0GOODREADS! Excerpt Chapter 1 Remi Plain and simple, this night sucked. Sadly, it was my honeymoon. I sighed […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":8710,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","yasr_overall_rating":0,"yasr_post_is_review":"","yasr_auto_insert_disabled":"","yasr_review_type":"","_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[290],"tags":[301,357],"class_list":["post-7945","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-book-news","tag-excerpt","tag-ilsa-madden-mills"],"yasr_visitor_votes":{"stars_attributes":{"read_only":false,"span_bottom":false},"number_of_votes":0,"sum_votes":0},"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.escapistbookblog.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/06\/filthy-english-cover.jpg?fit=150%2C234&ssl=1","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p7gaNL-249","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.escapistbookblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7945","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.escapistbookblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.escapistbookblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.escapistbookblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.escapistbookblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=7945"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.escapistbookblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7945\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.escapistbookblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/8710"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.escapistbookblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=7945"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.escapistbookblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=7945"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.escapistbookblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=7945"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}