❤❤REVIEW❤❤

 

“If opposites attract, then I am nothing. Because you, you are everything.”

There’s no easy road traveled to such an intense sentiment, one I never dreamt I’d feel…

But I also never planned on Cannon Blackwell climbing aboard my tour bus.

I fell in love with Pretty Instinct from the moment the opening line started. Lizzie is such a tough,strong, devoted and loyal person. She takes nurturing to the next level when it comes to Connor her brother.

Tour bus + 4 hot men on the road = Happy Carrie

Lizzie is Type A personality, she needs to control the situations surrounding her. But what she didn't expect was to pick up Cannon Blackwell, and her control was lost the moment she saw his guitar in hand. Loosing a bandmate, and desperate to find another, the crew finds Cannon at a rest stop. Agreeing to join See you Next Tuesday on a tour bus going country wide, both Cannon and Lizzie get the Pretty Woman factor of instant love.

"You are not in charge, Cannon Blackwell. You do not eat my pussy or pay my bills, so you don't get a say"

Now I dont know how much i believe in instant love, but I guess when you know you know, and both Lizzy and Cannon know. The quick banter they both share together was easy and flowed without trying, and the compassion and understanding that Cannon has with her brother Conner was amazing.

"Not sure that does it anymore... I worship, no, I live, because you make my heartbeat"

Another beautiful character was Connor- Connor is Lizzy's brother, and he has some challenges in life, and his her older brother. Lizzy nutured him as if he was her own child. His needs came before anyone else and you knew that thru the whole story. Im so happy he was involved from start to finish in this book.

The boys aka band mates aka family- Jarrett, Rhett the boys that have stayed by her side from the beginning. Nothing would stop them from loving Lizzy & Connor- and the loyalty they have for her- it was very refreshing that these boys didn't run the story..but as back up and it was nice.

The over all lead of the story was perfect, SE HALL brought you a story that was craving for more. She took you on a family destruction that ended with a wipe of a tear. She makes you feel the anger and hate for one and than love and compassion of another. I felt like I was sitting in that bank opening the safety deposit box reading the letter from her mother. You feel it all, just like all the other books SE HALL brings us, she doesn't disappoint.

"A daughter's your daughter for the rest of your life. A son's a son 'til he takes a wife"

AMAZON

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OZNB6Yzthmk

“I can’t let a stranger on the bus with Bubs. What if he’s a mass murderer?” What if he’s not as pretty on the inside as he is on the outside?

“Ah, Mama Bear, run him through all the tests. You’re careful. And he might say we’re crazy and tell us to fuck off. Let’s ask before we worry about it.”

Biding my time, I chew on the inside of my cheek and look back, confirming Conner’s still tossing the Frisbee happily, Rhett watching him. “You asking or am I?” I sigh, hopefully masking the foreign tingle of anticipation working its way up my battered spine.

“He’s hetero, I can tell from here. I say we send in,” he flicks a finger back and forth between my boobs, “the big guns.”

“Don’t lick your lips!” I shove him, mouth agape. “You’re like my brother. That’s illegal in at least forty states, and gross.”

“You didn’t think it was gross when—”

“Enough.” I slap my hand over his mouth hastily. “I’ll go, but you stay right here and watch, closely. He makes a move for a weapon, dial 911 as you run to rescue me.”

“On it.” He grins at me, full of victory, a hint of his earlier teasing still lingering in his expression.

Girding my loins, I think, do women have loins and can they be girded or is that only a guy thing? Summoning my courage, I move with slow, hesitant steps in the miraculous unknown’s direction, reminding myself with each one that it’s for the boys, the band, the overall goal of staying the hell out of Sutton. And it is, but I’m kidding myself if I don’t admit I wouldn’t be this anxious if I was walking up to an ugly man. Or even a kinda good-looking man. Shallow much, Liz? Nah, I have no control over biological response.

Almost there now, his head lifts and turns at my approach, connecting eyes as sable brown as thick molasses to my own. He was tummy-turning enough far away. Up close, he’s better than photoshopped, a clear-cut case for Guinness Genetics. His lips are full, much plumper than my own, and he has a strong nose and jawline, both very masculine, the latter covered in a dark scruff. His hair is the same rich chestnut as his eyes, not too short, but definitely not too long. “Just fucked” hair (isn’t that what they call it?) be damned. He’s got “just fucked her and she had to hold on” locks, unruly in the most intricate fashion. The black boots at the end of long, thick legs are scuffed, faded jeans worn, well, and the long sleeved black thermal he’s wearing? Oh, he wears it, or rather, every muscle in his torso holds it up flawlessly.

Bottom line—he’s easy to look at.

“Are you a deranged serial killer and/or rapist?”

I like to open subtly.

“No, are you?” His timbre is deep and gravely, sending my vagina subliminal messages. Something along the lines of “yup, you want it.” With a voice like that, I’m praying he isn’t a chain smoker. To fuzz this perfect picture with the stench of an ever-present cloud of smoke would be one helluva slap in the face of the Almighty creator.

“No,” I answer too defensively, this instant, highly unusual attraction frying my staple “too cool to care” attitude that, up until right now, I’d like to think I pull off fabulously. “You any good?” I lean and point to the instrument on his back, brows bowed in questioning antagonism.

“Define good,” he deadpans, head down as he pulls the guitar off his back and puts it back in its case.

“Hendrix.”

“Not left-handed.” He shrugs as he straightens back up and captures my gaze.

“Page.”

He laughs, treating me to one seriously enlightening sound, accompanied by the sexiest blindingly white smile. “Then no, not even close to good.”

Damn, I should’ve gone with a mediocre guitarist! Now I’ve backed myself into a corner, Stranger Danger not giving me anything in the form of segue. Struggling, I shove my hands in my back pockets and rock nervously back and forth on my heels, forced to come up with another revealing yet seemingly aloof question.

“Why do you ask?” he rescues me.

“Our band.” I toss my head back toward the bus. “We need a bassist. And since you’re hitchhiking, I thought maybe—”

He drops down from his perch on the top edge of the bench and stands, well over six feet of sinister sex appeal stretching out before my eager eyes. “Do you know what a hitchhiker is?”

“What?” I shake my head to clear it and take a step back. “Yes, of course.”

“You sure about that?” He eats up the steps I’d retreated, placing his body close enough to mine that I can literally feel the battle of push and pull between us. “‘Cause where I come from, hitchhikers stand at the road, where you can see them. It increases their chances of actually landing a ride.” His left eyebrow curves up at one end and that same eye, I swear it, twinkles at me. “Seeing as how I’m sitting at the back of a desolate rest stop, I’m either the worst hitchhiker in history,” another step closer, “or you’re labeling me with the wrong tag.”