*BLOG TOUR* Getting Hot with the Scot by Melonie Johnson

Getting Hot with the Scot by Melonie Johnson

A Sometimes in Love Novel

Cassie and friends are taking a break and visiting their favorite European countries. Cassie, a pop-culture reporter who has plans to become a serious reporter, and find herself a hot Scot for a one time fling.

Liam, hides a lot of pain under a devil-may-care attitude and his own show of pranks and shenanigans.

When they meet it is instant chemistry and this may become something much more serious.

This was a fun, instantly engaging romantic comedy. The characters were hilarious and exactly the type of friends I would want to go on a vacation with! I never read this genre’  but took a chance and I have to say I’m glad I did! I already have her next one in my TBR list.

Well Done!

Netgalley/ St. Martin’s Press April 30th, 2019

Getting_Hot_with_the_Scot_Tour_Banner (1)

Would you look at that? The man is wearing a kilt.
Note to self: Cassie Crow—be careful what you wish
for.
The man groaned again and raised a hand to shield his
eyes from the sunlight now cutting across the hidden al-
cove.
“Are you all right?”
“I will be fine once ye douse that blasted light.” He
squinted up at her. “Be ye a new chambermaid?”
Chambermaid? She eyed the wide sleeves and open
neck of the old-fashioned piratey shirt he wore. “Not sure
what kind of weird-ass stuff you’re into buddy, but I don’t
do RPG.”
“Weird . . . ass?” His dark red brows drew together as
he shaped his mouth around the letters. “Are pee gee?”
“Role playing games. You know, like cosplay or what-
ever.” She pointed at him. “Look, you’re the one wearing
that get-up and talking like a reject from Macbeth.”
He narrowed his eyes at her finger. “Be ye a witch?”
“What did you call me?”
With another groan, he lurched forward. Oh God, what
if he was hurt? For all she knew he was a member of some

12 MELONIE JOHNSON
historic castle tour who got lost in a back passageway and
hit his head. She leaned down to inspect him for bruises.
He threw a hand out, palm up, warding her off. “Back
away, sorceress,” he hissed.
“Seriously?” She slapped his hand out of the way.
“Here, let me help you out of there.” Cassie tugged gently
on his shoulder. The voluminous shirt was loose, but she
could feel—and appreciate—the thick spread of muscle
beneath the soft fabric.
Just my luck, I finally run into a hot Highlander, and
he’s delusional.
The man waved off her assistance and struggled to his
feet, shaking a wild tousle of thick, red hair out of his eyes.
Cassie never fancied herself to be a ginger girl, but it
worked on him . . . or maybe that was the kilt talking. She
eyed the swath of plaid fabric wrapped around his hips and
wondered, like any female in her position would, what
might or might not be under there. Reluctantly, she raised
her gaze and caught him scrutinizing her in return.
“What be these strange breeks ye wear?” he asked,
moving in a circle around her.
Cassie swore she could feel the weight of each of his
eyeballs resting on her denim-clad backside. Fair enough.
After a prolonged moment, she glanced over her shoulder.
“Get a good look?”
“Aye.” He swallowed. “’Tis most unseemly, lass.” He
shook his head, gaze still glued to her ass.
“They’re called jeans.” She pivoted to face him. “Are
you for real?”
He met her gaze, his answer falling from his lips in a
deep, rich brogue with trilling r’s that curled her toes, “Aye,
lass, I’m real.”
Cassie’s heart hiccupped. Of course he’s real. Unless

GETTING HOT WITH THE SCOT 13
those shots were stronger than I thought. “Were you at the
whisky tasting?”
“Whisky?” His green-gold eyes lit with interest. “Do
ye have whisky for me, then? I could use a wee dram. Be
a good lass and fetch it for me.”
“Ha! I think you’ve had enough, mister. Is that how you
ended up stuck in there?” Even as she said this, Cassie
doubted it. She didn’t smell a hint of alcohol on him,
though she did pick up other pleasant smells. Mint and
clove and man and . . . Stop being ridiculous.
His broad shoulders lifted and dropped. “I dinna ken.”
“How long were you in there?”
Another shrug.
Cassie dragged her attention away from the wide curve
of his shoulders and leaned past him, inspecting the dark,
narrow space behind the bookshelf.
He grabbed her wrist and pulled her back, panic edg-
ing his voice. “Nay, lass. Doona be going in there.”
“Why not?” She inched forward and tried to get a bet-
ter look.
“It canna be safe.” He tugged on her wrist again, his
fingers warm and firm.
Tiny butterflies danced along the path where his skin
touched hers. She brushed away the tingling sensation and
slipped out of his grip, careful not to snag her bracelet.
“Well, you were in there, and you appear to have man-
aged.”
“Are ye daft, wench? I was trapped!”
She sniffed, not sure she liked being referred to as a
wench, and frowned up at him. “What’s the last thing you
remember?”
He closed his eyes and slumped against the shelf. “I
canna recall anything afore the moment I woke to find my-

12 MELONIE JOHNSON
self crammed within yonder wall.” He blinked and fo-
cused intently on her. “The moment I found you, lass.”
Cassie decided she liked being called lass much better
than wench, especially when he was looking at her like
that. Gazes locked, her other senses sharpened, heighten-
ing her awareness of his body and its proximity to hers.
She cleared her throat. “Hm. I think it’d be more accurate
to say I’m the one who found you.” Telling herself she was
only searching for injuries, she reached up and tentatively
skimmed her palms along his temples, her fingers trailing
his scalp.
“Looking for devil’s horns?” The man cocked one
wicked brow at her as he raised his arms to mirror her
movements, running his hands over her head and shoul-
ders before brushing his palms down her back. “Ye’ve
naught got any fairy wings, so I’d say we’re even. In fact,”
he whispered against her hair, standing so close the low
burr of his voice became a purr in her own chest, “ye feel
perfect to me.”
Like the migrating monarchs her dad studied, the but-
terflies made a return trip, enveloping her in a fluttery
haze. She shivered. Whether it was the Scot or the scotch
or both, Cassie didn’t care. He was here and she was here,
and damn it all, it was about time she skipped to the good
stuff. With a forceful mental click, Cassie turned off her
brain, tilted her chin up, and caught his mouth with hers.
He made a low sound in the back of his throat, of pro-
test or surprise, she wasn’t sure. But then his hands settled
at her waist, and he returned the kiss. His mouth was
somehow soft and hard at the same time, and when he
slipped his tongue between her lips, she felt more light-
headed than if she’d downed every shot of whisky that
had been on that tasting list.

GETTING HOT WITH THE SCOT 13
Cassie rolled her tongue against his, savoring the deli-
cious contact. He met her thrust for thrust, deepening the
kiss until she was swept away on a tidal wave of desire.
This. This is what I’ve been waiting for. She clung to
him, hands gripping his shoulders, swimming in sensa-
tion, drowning in it.

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