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Two Wedding Crashers

Review - Two Wedding Crashers by Meghan Quinn

Just look at that beautiful cover. How could you not love that cover. It’s eye catching. The colours, the lay out and just the overall feel of the cover brought me into this book.

Meghan brought us sweet and funny romance with those wonderful underlining issues that Meghan is known for. This was a cute love story. One of those it was never supposed to be romances.. at least that’s what I call them.

The story line was smooth flowing and the story has it’s left and rights. Though the underlining issues were present and did affect the characters day to day. The issues were not delved into in excruciating detail, which I think kept this story fun and light.

I found this book’s characters to be very good together. The friends were actually my favourite part of the book, they just has so much personality. I found that the interaction that they has with the main characters was the highlight of the humor for me. I think everyone needs friends like that.

The main characters were good together. They fed of each other’s humor well I think they were matched in wit. Some of their interactions would have left me bright red and living in a hole in the ground, but they pulled through cause they are strong in their sassiness.

Overall I found this book enjoyable and would give it a nice 4 stars and recommend it to those looking for a cute, funny romantic comedy. A nice light read for a Sunday afternoon. Definitely a pretty cover I am going to need on my shelf.

 

A wild, sexy, and heart-filled adventure of two strangers who meet in the most unlikely of places. This laugh out loud and heartwarming romantic comedy from bestselling author Meghan Quinn will keep you on the edge of your feet as you fall in love with the second book in the Dating by Numbers Series.

I don’t know what love is anymore. Well, that’s not entirely true, but I’m going to tell you a little secret: I’ve lost the spark. You know the kind of spark I’m talking about? Where butterflies take flight in your stomach from two hands innocently colliding. Or catching your breath when you first meet someone attractive. Yeah, that spark. Except I haven't felt that feeling in forever; there is nothing left inside of me. Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem--but I’m a writer on a serious deadline, and my editor is breathing down my neck for a romantic, Nicholas Sparks type love story. No pressure, right? That's how I find myself flying across the country to crash a wedding in the name of research, dress and heels stuffed into my small suitcase. It should be the easiest book research ever. Drinking some free champagne, basking in the love of two strangers, and tapping into my romantic side. That’ll be a breeze. I'm a pro. I can handle this. Until I mistakenly end up in the wrong hotel room, naked as the day I was born, with the sexiest human I have ever met staring me down, wondering what I'm doing taking a shower in his bathroom. I don’t think calling it “research” will get me out of this mess. But it will make for one hell of a story.

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Excerpt

Chills scream their way down my arms and legs, my nipples pucker, and just like that, with one word, all humor vanishes from our little conversation and awareness of this all-consuming man wrapped around me hits me hard.

Gathering myself, I say, “Tell me something Chris and Justine know about you.”

“Hmm.” His thumbs hook under the waistband of my shorts, playing with the lower part of my hipbones. His touch spurs on my pelvis, needing to rock, begging for him to go lower. My toes curl in my sandals and my back slightly arches, reaching for more. “Something they know about me.”

His mouth doesn’t stray from its position against my ear, and his hips start to slowly move underneath me, his legs tangling with mine. Involuntarily, one of my hands hooks the back of his neck as I hold on tightly to him, feeling like I need support from the onslaught of sensation I’m feeling.

I hear him say something, but it doesn’t register in my brain, which has turned to mush as his thumbs stray from my hipbones to right above my pubic bone.

There is no denying how turned on I am, how wet I am from his mere touch, how much—despite my reservations—I want this man.

With each stroke, my head turns farther and farther to the side until our noses are touching, Beck’s head bends forward to meet me halfway. My eyes flutter shut for a brief moment before I open them and am captured by those flecks of green and gold.

The air stills around us, our breath mixing, swirling between us, our lips so close. One swipe of this thumb.

Another one.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t focus.

Another swipe, my head leans even closer, my tongue wetting my lips.

One more swipe . . .

My heart hammers in my chest, my skin prickling with awareness.

Beck brings his mouth even closer, only a whisper away now, and he waits.

Holding still.

His breathing feeling erratic beneath me.

One.

More.

Swipe.

And I’m gone.

I bring my mouth to his, slowly parting my lips ever so slightly, just enough to maneuver my mouth across his.

A low, provocative moan escapes Beck as one of his hands snags the back of my head and holds me in place, almost as if he lets go, I’ll disappear.

Needing more, I shift on his lap so I’m straddling him once again, my hands on his bare chest, feeling the powerful sinew that holds him together.

Our lips press and mold, mingling, taking, begging . . .

Desperate.

Beck’s tongue runs against my bottom lip, eliciting a moan from deep within me, lighting a fire so hot, so wild, my hands start to travel up his neck to his cheeks where I grip him, positioning his head so when I open my mouth, I can expertly dive my tongue onto his. He groans, his lap shifting against mine now, his hard-on pressing against my wet and throbbing center. I match his rocking, using my position on his lap to take advantage of his length I can feel through his board shorts.

This is exactly what I didn’t want to happen, but God, am I happy it has. Maybe I really should live in the moment, maybe I should take advantage of the opportunity, maybe I should…

About Meghan

Born in New York and raised in Southern California, Meghan has grown into a sassy, peanut butter eating, blonde haired swearing, animal hoarding lady. She is known to bust out and dance if “It’s Raining Men” starts beating through the air and heaven forbid you get a margarita in her, protect your legs because they may be humped.

Once she started commuting for an hour and twenty minutes every day to work for three years, she began to have conversations play in her head, real life, deep male voices and dainty lady coos kind of conversations. Perturbed and confused, she decided to either see a therapist about the hot and steamy voices running through her head or start writing them down. She decided to go with the cheaper option and started writing… enter her first novel, Caught Looking.

Now you can find the spicy, most definitely on the border of lunacy, kind of crazy lady residing in Colorado with the love of her life and her five, furry four legged children, hiking a trail or hiding behind shelves at grocery stores, wondering what kind of lube the nervous stranger will bring home to his wife. Oh and she loves a good boob squeeze!

Where to find Meghan

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