Showing posts with label pregnancy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pregnancy. Show all posts

Monday, March 11, 2019

Taking a pregnancy test is not rocket science... #99Cents #romcom @JKentAuthor

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Description

You know what's even better than marrying a billionaire? Having his baby.

We're ready. We've studied and planned, read all the birth and labor books, researched parenting classes, consulted our schedules, and it's time.

And by we I mean me.

Declan's just ready for the "have lots of sex" part. More than ready.

But there's just one problem: my husband and his brother have this little obsession with competition.

And by little, I mean stupid.

That's right.

We're not just about to try to bring a new human being into the world.

We have to do it better, Faster, Stronger.

Harder.

McCormick men don't just have babies.

They engage in competitive billionaire Babythons.

I thought the hardest part about getting pregnant would be dealing with my grandchild-crazed mother, who will go nuts shopping for a billionaire's baby.

Wrong.

Between conception issues, my mother's desire to talk to the baby through a hoo-haw cam, a childbirth class led by a drill sergeant and a father-in-law determined to sign the kid up for prep school before Declan even pulls out, my pregnancy has turned out to be one ordeal after the other.

But it's nothing -- nothing -- compared to the actual birth.

Shopping for a Billionaire's Baby is the newest book in Julia Kent's New York Times bestselling romantic comedy series and is a 400+ page full-length novel.

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Excerpt

First morning urine is precious cargo. My Kegel muscles kick in and I halt midstream, panicking, my wet thighs making me slip slightly forward on the toilet seat, and– 

I drop the test into the toilet.

DAMN!” I scream. My vaginal wall muscles are clamped down like the Hoover Dam holding back an unexpected early thaw, and I involuntarily shake the urine off my hand, flinging droplets all over the rest of me. I jump up, turn around, and try to retrieve the ruined test.

Just then, a whuff of cold air assaults my bare ass. Declan has apparently opened the bathroom door.

What’s wrong? I heard you scream. Are you...” His voice trails off as I look at him, hand in the toilet, naked ass on display, single-handedly proving that taking a pregnancy test is, in fact, rocket science after all.

We have got to stop meeting like this,” he says softly, closing the door before bursting into laughter.

Now I know why they sell pregnancy tests in packages of two.


About the Author

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Julia Kent writes romantic comedy with an edge. From billionaires to BBWs to new adult rock stars, Julia finds a sensual, goofy joy in every contemporary romance she writes. Unlike Shannon from Shopping for a Billionaire, she did not meet her husband after dropping her phone in a men's room toilet (and he isn't a billionaire). She lives in New England with her husband and three sons in a household where the toilet seat is never, ever, down.

Sale blitz organized by Writer Marketing Services.


Saturday, May 26, 2018

What's better than marrying a billionaire? #RomCom #ReleaseBlitz #Pregnancy

Teaser image

Description

You know what's even better than marrying a billionaire? Having his baby.

We're ready. We've studied and planned, read all the birth and labor books, researched parenting classes, consulted our schedules, and it's time.

And by we I mean me.

Declan's just ready for the "have lots of sex" part. More than ready.

But there's just one problem: my husband and his brother have this little obsession with competition.

And by little, I mean stupid.

That's right.

We're not just about to try to bring a new human being into the world.

We have to do it better, Faster, Stronger.

Harder.

McCormick men don't just have babies.

They engage in competitive billionaire Babythons.

I thought the hardest part about getting pregnant would be dealing with my grandchild-crazed mother, who will go nuts shopping for a billionaire's baby.

Wrong.

Between conception issues, my mother's desire to talk to the baby through a hoo-haw cam, a childbirth class led by a drill sergeant and a father-in-law determined to sign the kid up for prep school before Declan even pulls out, my pregnancy has turned out to be one ordeal after the other.

But it's nothing -- nothing -- compared to the actual birth.

Shopping for a Billionaire's Baby is the newest book in Julia Kent's New York Times bestselling romantic comedy series and is a 400+ page full-length novel.


Excerpt

This conception stuff has you thinking. Philosophically, I mean,” Andrew notes, suddenly paying close attention to me.

Of course. It’s powerful.”

How? It’s just sex.”

I snort. “I thought so, too. Until I had sex where I tried to get her pregnant on purpose.”

Vince, Gerald, and Andrew all take a step closer to me.

Bareback,” Vince whispers, like the word itself is holy.

Buy links

Google Play: http://bit.ly/2EH54lR

Goodreads http://bit.ly/2ze6PaD

About the Author

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Julia Kent writes romantic comedy with an edge. From billionaires to BBWs to new adult rock stars, Julia finds a sensual, goofy joy in every contemporary romance she writes. Unlike Shannon from Shopping for a Billionaire, she did not meet her husband after dropping her phone in a men's room toilet (and he isn't a billionaire). She lives in New England with her husband and three sons in a household where the toilet seat is never, ever, down.



Release blitz organized by Writer Marketing Services.

Saturday, March 17, 2012

St. Paddy's Day

By Ginger Simpson (Guest Blogger)

I guess because I'm not Irish, I don't see a need to get all giddy over a day when folks drink Green Beer and wear shamrocks. Forty-Five years ago today, March 17th was to become an entirely different reason to celebrate--the due date of my first child.

Now that I look back on the occasion, I suppose I shouldn't have been disappointed when he didn't show up. He's been full of surprises from the moment he was born on April 18th. Yes, a month and a day LATE. I safely say "late" since doctors predicted an early arrival when I went for my check ups in January and February. I swear if one more person had asked, "Are you still pregnant," I would have been convicted of murder.

Scott, or Skid, as he prefers to call himself, always marched to his own drummer. Unusually smart as a toddler, and very normal-looking, I had no idea I had mothered the first punk-rocker who'd live in a red-neck town. While everyone else wore cowboy boots and drove four-wheel drive vehicles (yes even then), my son wore mis-matching Van's tennis shoes, spiked his hair, and became an airport security system's nightmare by holding his clothes together with as many safety pins as he could find. Although he promised if I let him get his earlobe pierced, he'd only wear a small stud, I'm pretty sure if he could have held up the weight of the toilet seat, I would have seen that it in his ear.

Kids do grow out of phases, though, I'm pleased to say. I have to admit I wanted to slap Scott when he asked, "Why'd you let me dress like that?" I don't know if he's referring to the time he wore a kilt with pink high tops, dressed in a god-awful outfit from the thrift store for his prom and blew chartreuse bubbles during the photo session, or any of the many times he dyed his hair a rainbow of colors. I painfully admit, as his mother, I often pretended not to be when I heard others talking about that weird punk-rock kid they saw on the street. I just nodded and kept my mouth shut. In retrospect, I realize how much courage my son has. He's an amazing man.

Still, I can't believe I'm going to be the mother of such an old child. AKKK. How can he be turning forty-five when I'm just a tad older myself? One of my very first, very short, publications, Life Is a Bowl of Toilets and I Clean Them, is sort of a tribute to my children and the reason for my gray hair. I'm mentioning it, not suggesting you pay the ridiculous price the publisher is asking for a fifty-page book.

Thanks to Lisabet for allowing me to post on her blog today. Although this isn't nearly as sexy as the stuff she writes, I had sex to create the topic today. *lol* Please stop by and visit my blogs, Dishin' It Out and Cowboy Kisses. I'd love to hear from you.