Meet our Spotlight Sunday featured author RC Boldt!!!
About the Author:
RC Boldt is the wife of Mr. Boldt, a retired Navy Chief, mother of Little Miss Boldt, and former teacher of many students. She currently lives on the southeastern coast of North Carolina, enjoys long walks on the beach, running, reading, people watching, and singing karaoke. If you’re in the mood for some killer homemade mojitos, can’t recall the lyrics to a particular 80’s song, or just need to hang around a nonconformist who will do almost anything for a laugh, she’s your girl.
TBBB: Where are you from?
RC: I’m originally from northeastern Ohio but moved to the Gulf Coast when I was nineteen.
TBBB: If you had to perform in a talent competition right now, what would your talent be?
RC: Hands down, it would have to be karaoke.
TBBB: What’s your favorite movie quote? (Make sure to include the name of the movie)
RC: Oh, wow. I have so many but this might my top favorite. “Are you peacocking? Really? You think that’s gonna work?” –17 Again
TBBB: Tell us a fun fact about yourself that would surprise your readers.
RC: I have two graduate degrees in completely different disciplines: Elementary Education and Forensic DNA & Serology.
TBBB: Okay, back to books, what genres do you write?
RC: Contemporary romance in the sub-genres of military romance and romantic comedy.
TBBB: What is your inspiration?
RC: My friends and events in real life are the main inspiration for my books/stories.
TBBB: Tell us about your latest book?
RC: My January release, CLAM JAM, is a romantic comedy about a guy who tells a white lie to get close to the woman of his dreams. Except the lie isn’t something insignificant; he tells her he’s gay because she’s sworn off men at the time. When she decides to start dating again, it’s up to him to run off any guys who show interest. It’s time for him to CLAM JAM.
Definition: the female equivalent of a cock block.
Example: You’re chatting with a guy you’re interested in and your friend comes along and lays claim to him.
That’s my life—except it’s worse. My friend who keeps “jamming” me is my gay roommate and if that isn’t a W.T.F. moment, I’m not sure what is.
Fact: He went home with three—yes, three—of the guys I had been so sure were into me.
Fact: He’s really pissing me off. I mean, hello? I’m trying to get back in the saddle, but I’ll never manage to get a boyfriend before the age of fifty if he keeps this up.
Fact: Secretly, I wonder what it would be like if he weren’t gay. Why do all the hot, sweet, tender-hearted guys have to be gay?
Fact: My gay-dar needs a serious tune-up.
The day I interviewed for the room to rent, everything changed. I knew I had met “the girl”, except there was one small problem: she didn’t want anything to do with men. I recognized a top-notch force field when I saw one. She’d been burned badly and didn’t want to deal with a heterosexual guy as a roommate. I could’ve turned around and found another place to live, but I wanted to live there—with her.
So I had to go “undercover”.
Fact: I’m in love with my roommate.
Fact: I’m a likely candidate for carpal tunnel surgery since all the action I’ve had for the past year has been my hand.
Fact: She’s going to hate me if I come clean now.
Fact: I’m not giving up. Which means, I’ll just have to continue to run defense until I figure out a way to get Maggie to see the “real” me.
The me that loves her.
The me that would never do her wrong.
Until then, I’ll keep running off every guy who shows any interest.
Until then, I’ll continue to Clam Jam.
Goodreads link: https://goo.gl/4AKorK
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2gcvm3F
Amazon UK: https://goo.gl/cNpZy1
Amazon CA: https://goo.gl/LW914r
Amazon AU: https://goo.gl/CLdV6N
iBooks US: https://goo.gl/Zf3mVB
iBooks UK: https://goo.gl/IR1Lmn
iBooks CA: https://goo.gl/JBiST2
iBooks AU: https://goo.gl/vmLifk
Google Play: https://goo.gl/gdUjg7
“Ryland James!” I bang on his bathroom door, hollering loudly. “Did you eat the last—”
The door swings open, drawing my speech to a sudden halt because … ooooh, sweet, dripping wet abs.
My eyes are riveted.
He’s got a towel wrapped around his waist, and I don’t even realize I’m moving until Ry releases a sharp hiss at my touch. Because my finger is tracing over the slight indentations in his abdominal muscles.
“Um …” He clears his throat, his voice husky and deep. “Mags?”
“Uh-huh,” I murmur absently, my fingertip stopping one of the trickling droplets of water on his skin, tracing it down over his belly button, and—
His fingers grasp my wrist, drawing my hand to a halt, and my eyes dart up to his in alarm because crap. That was like an out-of-body experience.
“Oh, crap. I’m sorry. I just really, um … crap.” That’s all I can utter. Nonsense. No one would believe I have my graduate degree if they heard me right now.
If my tongue had a voice of its own, it would probably say something like, “Just the tip. That’s all I want.” The tip of my tongue tracing over Ry’s abs, that is. You know, just to prove someone Photoshopped him. Or not.
Because I’ll take one for the team. I’m a giver like that. People might even think of canonizing me as a saint after all this. Really.
Oh, and then … Abracadabra! Poof! He’d no longer be gay, profess his undying love for me, and wouldn’t ever leave me for another guy.
Wow. That scenario even sounds crazy in my head.
Shaking off my thoughts, I take one more glance down at his abs—just one more glance—and that’s when I see it.
“Oh, boy,” I breathe out. Ry is hard, tenting the towel, and I really want it to drop. Accidentally, of course. Like an “oops” moment. Totally harmless and innocent.
Oh. My. God. I’m a horrible person. I’m thinking of my roommate’s penis! My roommate who has quickly become one of my best friends.
Oh, the shame!
Where did this inner slut come from? It’s like she’s been lying in wait—for him, apparently.
But, really. I can take a little peek, right?
Out of Love
Release Date: December 6, 2016
Foster Kavanaugh, former Navy SEAL, knows what it’s like to be the top dog, the man in charge, the one calling the shots. Now that he’s running his own security consulting firm, not much has changed.
Except the curvy blonde he hired as his office manager.
Noelle Davis has been through the damn ringer. Swearing off men after escaping a toxic relationship, she’s grateful for a fresh start—new job included. Of course, her job isn’t tranquil and calm. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. Because her boss is the most infuriating man on the planet.
And, not to mention, sexy as hell.
Foster has limits. Rules. No attachments allowed because he doesn’t do love—and Noelle Davis foiled that plan and took a red pen to his list of rules. With her smart mouth and quick witted banter, he found the woman beginning to creep past his defenses.
When circumstances put Noelle in a perilous position, the first person to come to her rescue is none other than Foster Kavanaugh. She gets to see the man in action—not as her aggravating boss, but the man who will stop at nothing to ensure her safety.
The same man who makes her want to reconsider her self-imposed embargo of men.
The man she wants to get to know now that she’s seen another side of him.
The man who makes her want…more.
But is more possible when you’re OUT OF LOVE?
Goodreads Link: https://goo.gl/VgogVP
Amazon US➜ http://amzn.to/2czmF2b
Amazon UK➜ http://goo.gl/vfa0o8
Amazon CA➜ http://goo.gl/gHBMsk
iBooks US➜ https://goo.gl/ECqNDz
iBooks UK➜ https://goo.gl/Qd1TMC
iBooks CA➜ https://goo.gl/plFlO6
iBooks AU➜ https://goo.gl/216JZL
Google Play➜ https://goo.gl/1UlrPy
The truth is, I do like his naked chest. A little too much. When he, without any hesitation, removed his own shirt to pull it down over me, recognizing the breeze might be slightly chilly for me, I nearly melted right then and there. Because the last time I had a man do that for me was back in Never Happened B.C.
But I have to stop this—this route my mind’s taking—because it’s far too dangerous. To recognize Foster Kavanaugh is a good guy is one thing. To start getting all kinds of romantic thoughts about him is a completely different—and not smart—thing. So that means I need a recap.
Facts I need to remember about Foster:
- He is a manwhore.
- I work for him.
- I need my job.
- He’s super hot.
- His chest is beautiful.
- Where was I going with this? Shit.
- Foster is a big NO. No, no, no, noooooo.
I take another sip of my wine. Then a gulp because not only are my nerves shot, but I need to get my shit together. I need to stay on track. My whole plan for moving here was to start over, to start fresh and not get tied up with a guy for a while. At least until I found one who would treat me right; one who wouldn’t end up going all psycho on me. And the truth is, I haven’t really been tempted by any of the guys I’ve met since moving here.
Okay, okay. That’s a lie. Clearly. If I didn’t have all this damn “baggage” that, more now than ever before, would let me unpack and discard it once and for all, I would likely have been interested in Foster. Because, geez Louise… He’s delicious. But he’s a manwhore. I don’t want to simply be another notch on the man’s bedpost. I deserve better. My vajayjay, however, is a slut, and she wants Foster. Baaaaad.
Truth is, I love my job and my new life here. I was welcomed with open arms by Foster’s mother—whom everyone calls Momma K.—and Foster’s sister, Laney, who’s a freaking riot, as well as the rest of the gang. I don’t want anything forcing me to leave this place I’ve come to think of as home.
Setting my wine glass back on the table, I pull my legs up to rest my heels on the edge of the chair, wrapping my arms around them. Resting my chin atop my knees, I close my eyes, listening to the sound of the crashing waves upon the shoreline less than a hundred yards away. I’m not sure how long I sit, letting the ocean breeze mixed with the scent of the citronella candles wash over me, before I realize there’s another familiar fragrance I’m picking up. Lowering my head slightly, I sniff Foster’s shirt that’s engulfing me and the smell of cologne, or deodorant, or whatever the hell he wears, which is nearly intoxicating.
Who knows how long I would have continued sniffing his shirt like one of those creepers who collects random women’s underwear, lives with his mother at age fifty, and skins cats alive for fun, when I suddenly hear a strange sliding noise from behind me.
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