RELEASE BLITZ Title: Order Series: Billionaires in Disguise: Maxence #2 Author: Blair Babylon Genre: Romantic Suspense Release Date: December 15, 2020   BLURB   Dree Clark thought tall, ripped, thoroughly hot Augustine was her knight in shining armor, until she discovered he was her priest. Dree is on the run. Her dead ex-boyfriend owes a whole lot of money to drug dealers, so when Catholic Charities offers Dree a mission to Nepal as a nurse, Dree jumps at it. Until she meets the Catholic priest who'll be leading the mission, and he's the rich, sexy billionaire from Paris. But he has a new name, Father Maxence Grimaldi. Well, she'd told him to lie to her. She just never thought he'd lie about being a priest. Now, she's journeying far out into the wilds with the hot priest. And oh God, they're riding motorcycles, and he's wearing black leather with a priest's collar. And there aren't enough darned tents to go around. She's not going to be able to keep her hands off of him.   GOODREADS LINK: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/55852908-order     ENTER THE GIVEAWAY: https://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/show/315077-order PURCHASE LINKS   US: https://amzn.to/3m2em0F UK: https://amzn.to/2VTb0Td CA: https://amzn.to/3mXQ5KP AU: https://amzn.to/2VTHo8i B&N: https://bit.ly/36X2pFy Kobo: https://bit.ly/36XEKF2 Apple Books: https://apple.co/3gs47Sh Google Play: https://bit.ly/3gyNW5S Audio: https://amzn.to/33USCxK     EXCERPTS   #1   Her throat was nearly too tight for words. She forced out, “It’s not safe for me to go back to Phoenix. I told you everything that happened with my ex, Francis. There is some weird stuff going on there with the police and, I think, other drug dealers. So, I called up Sister Annunciata, the principal of my Catholic high school that I went to in New Mexico, and she called up a friend of hers, Father Thomas—” “Father Thomas Aquinas from Immaculate Conception in Phoenix,” he said with her, in unison. “The Catholic Mafia strikes again.” Augustine shook his head. Not Augustine, Maxence. And yet, he was still the astonishingly tall, ripped, beautiful specimen of a man Dree had met in Paris. But, he was named Maxence. She had to remember that. Deacon Father Maxence. The white tab of the Roman collar on his shirt shone in the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows, accusing her. He had not been wearing that in Paris, and he should have been. “Yeah,” she said. “Father Thomas said he could get me on a plane for somewhere far away from the southwestern US without any questions asked. So, here I am, far away from the southwestern US.” Augustine nodded. “Nepal is very far away from the southwestern US.” “Didn’t he or somebody tell you I was coming? Did you know?” “The Catholic Charities division managing the project emailed me yesterday that a person named ‘Andrea Clark’ had been assigned to us.” He was pronouncing it wrong, Ahn-DRAY-ah. She corrected him, “Andrea.” ANN-dree-uh. “I thought it was amusing because you had mentioned that Clark was a very common name,” he said, “that there was a university and shoes and department store, and other things also named Clark. So, I thought that the person coming must be yet another Clark. It did cross my mind that they might be a cousin or distant relative of yours, but I assumed the person would be male.” “I can’t believe you thought I was a guy.” He frowned. “Well, there’s the name, Andrea.” “There you go again, mispronouncing it. I thought it was weird the way you said it when we were in Paris when you were talking about your cousin. I’ve never heard anybody pronounce it that way, Ahn-DRAY-ah. Who even says that?” He looked up at her, his eyebrows raised in exasperation. “That’s how you pronounce Andrea. I’ve never heard anyone say it the way that you do, ANN-Dree-uh. Andrea is a boy’s name.” “Andrea is a girl’s name. It’s always been a girl’s name. It’s how you get Ann, which is a girl’s name.” “Andrea is one of the most common name for boys in Italy. It’s more common than Marco or Leonardo. My cousin’s name is Andrea Casiraghi, and I assure you, he’s male. Every Andrea I’ve ever known has been a male. Why would I think it was different now?” “I can’t help the fact that your cousin’s parents gave him a girl’s name.” “It’s not. Andrea is a male name.” “Well, I assure you I’m not a male.” “I’m well aware of that.” “I should say you are. Speaking of which, why are you wearing a Roman Catholic priest’s shirt and people are calling you father? Are you impersonating a priest? That has to be a crime or something. This is weird.” He flipped his hand in the air toward the door. “As Sister Mariam said, I’ve been ordained as a deacon, not a priest, so I am called Deacon Father Maxence. I have a vocation to be a priest but have not been ordained as one yet.” After being a nurse in an inner-city hospital for years, Dree had a finely tuned bullshit detector. “Deacons are supposed to be either married or celibate.” He shrugged. “Not yet.” “Do you mean to tell me that you are waiting for God to grant you the ability to keep your pants on? It doesn’t work like that.” He bit his lip, his white, even teeth pressing his full lower lip in a way that Dree had done just two days before. And wanted to do again. No. He was a priest. Or close enough. And she was detecting some mighty large bullshit. She said, “Don’t you have to go to confession and enumerate your sins and say penance like the rest of us do, or do deacons get a free pass?” “Deacons do not get a free pass. I’ve had to do the rite of reconciliation twice for our time together in Paris.” “Yeah, I’ll bet you did.” Something rather stupid in her felt pride at that. “You should’ve told me you were a deacon and supposed to be celibate.” One side of Maxence’s mouth rose, and the depths of his dark eyes sparkled with mischief. “I’m rather glad I didn’t.” He sighed. “And now I’d better go to confession for that, too.” Dree snorted at him. “Having some impure thoughts?” “You have no idea how impure my thoughts are right now.” “You’ve got to stop doing that, Augustine. Speaking of which, what is your real name? Is it that Maxence thing or something else?” “I was baptized Maxence Charles Honoré Grimaldi. Because I have been ordained as a deacon, you can call me Deacon Father Maxence or Father Maxence.” Her tone sharpened. “‘Yeah, it’d be too suspicious if I called you daddy.”   #2   Before they could go, the mother superior asked Dree, “Did Father Maxence mention if he was saying Mass at Our Lady of Perpetual Help on Sunday?” “He didn’t mention Sunday, and I think we’re leaving too early that morning,” Dree told her. “But he said he would be assisting and preaching the homily there tomorrow morning, Saturday.” A shiver ran through the group of sisters, and they all glanced at one another. Mother Superior Maria Devna said, “I will reserve the school bus for tomorrow morning.” Dree stuck her tongue between her molars to keep from cracking up. She certainly understood why they were all excited, though. She’d been on her knees in front of Maxence, and it was spectacular.   #3   Later that night, Dree awoke to the sound of a table saw ripping through rough wood, the screaming rustle of slithering nylon, and angry masculine grunts. Her tent wasn’t particularly near the other two. The three tents clustered around the cold fire pit, but the guys had purposely set them apart a bit so disturbances would be minimized. And yet, the scuffling and growling were definitely human and male in timbre. She wrestled around inside her mummy-style sleeping bag and stuck her arm out into the chilly air. Her flashlight was right beside her bed, and she clicked it on to the lowest brightness and squinted in the glare. The tent lit up around her, revealing cardboard boxes she’d stacked at the far end. The temperature outside was below freezing, so she’d brought the boxes of vaccine inside where the air wasn’t quite so bitterly cold due to the little bit of her body heat escaping from her thick bedroll. The alpine-rated sleeping bag was so warm that she’d left it partially unzipped because she’d started to boil. Considering that the outside of the bag was burgundy fabric, she would’ve ended up looking like a steamed shrimp. The pup tent was constructed to accommodate people sleeping in it and not much else, and she could only sit upright near the very middle where the tent poles raised the center to a triangle. Dree tugged her coat and boots on, not bothering to zip or lace them, and crawled to the far end of the tent with the opening. She unzipped the tent flap and stuck her head out, swinging her flashlight beam in the darkness. The crisp air nipped her nose and cheeks. The rocks glistened with a crystalline film of ice. The tent to her left where Father Booker and Batsa were sleeping was still and dark. To her right, however— That tent was undulating like three raccoons fighting in a burlap sack. Dree belly-crawled out of her tent in the cold air, stretched to her feet, and walked toward it. A chill crept into her loose boots and jacket and trickled around her ankles and tummy. More rustling, more scratching, and a very masculine whisper, “Hey. Seriously.” “I’m allergic to something in Nepal. I took an allergy pill.” “But if you move over there—” “I can’t sleep curled up in a ball.” “Well, I can’t sleep with my head hanging out of the tent, either.” “Roll your sleeping bag that way. Keep rolling. I’ll try sleeping over there. Roll. Roll.” “I haven’t been on the bottom of a pile like this since a theater-department cast party in college.” “Maybe if we slept head-to-toe.” “We were sleeping head-to-toe. That’s how I got kicked in the eye.” “Move over. You’re hogging the tent.” “Me? You need to move. Your ass is in my face.” “Bite me.” “It smells like an open cesspool in here. Did someone trump?” “Alfonso’s lentils upset my stomach. We French have delicate digestive tracts.” “Yeah, right. That’s why you eat eels and old cheese and stuff. Keep moving. You’re lying right on top of me.” “Hey! That had better be your elbow.” “No, just happy to see you.” “Isaak, keep your hands to yourself and try wedging under that tent eave some more.” “I can’t. There’s a big rock over there. Make Alfonso move over.” Her flashlight beam lit up the side of the tent. “Shit,” said one male voice, probably Isaak. “You woke someone up.” Another masculine voice—and Dree was pretty sure she recognized Augustine’s, no, Maxence’s voice—said, “It’s no one’s fault. I’ll apologize to them.” Dree settled to her knees and whisper-asked, “What is going on in there?” “Nothing,” Alfonso’s tenor voice said. Dree shook her head. “My feet are getting cold. I’m coming in.” All three of them said, “No!” Alfonso said, “No, Andrea Catherine. There is no room.” Isaak’s deep, French-accented voice teased, “I’m willing to share.” Someone in the tent actually growled like a bear. She unzipped the tent flap and stuck her head inside, shining the flashlight under her chin like she was telling ghost stories and then turning it on the men. Their burgundy mummy bags piled on top of each other in the tiny tent, tangled, and they looked like a cup of nightcrawlers with men’s faces. She said, “Jeez, guys.”     ALSO AVAILABLE   #0.5 One Night in Monaco   US: https://amzn.to/331Jyax UK: https://amzn.to/2P3DV3u CA: https://amzn.to/3g8nJKb AU: https://amzn.to/30YWMCi B&N: https://bit.ly/2X5Wclb Kobo: https://bit.ly/2CNeZuR Apple Books: https://apple.co/39BoRUi Google Play: https://bit.ly/3086t2d Audio: https://amzn.to/3i0fAYK   #1 Rogue   US: https://amzn.to/3qI3AR8 UK: https://amzn.to/33V20RS CA: https://amzn.to/3mWVCkA AU: https://amzn.to/2JZsCKu B&N: https://bit.ly/2VQmQ0m Kobo: https://bit.ly/3mZQCf0 Apple Books: https://apple.co/33TLEJn Google Play: https://bit.ly/2VTl66D Audio: https://amzn.to/3lWc4QP     AUTHOR BIO   "I'm passionate about books and literature. The best books are intense, enthralling stories that readers can get lost in for days. Books delve into what it means to be human and connect us to each other. Books allow us to live all our possible lives. Books open us to loving each other and the world more. I write intense, deeply imagined romance novels for serious readers because the world needs more love." ~~Blair Babylon   Blair Babylon is an award-winning, USA Today bestselling author who used to publish literary fiction. Because professional reviews of her other fiction usually included the caveat that there was too much deviant sex and too much interesting plot, she decided to abandon all literary pretensions, let her freak flag fly, and write hot, sexy, suspenseful romance.     AUTHOR LINKS   Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/BlairBabylon Facebook Group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/BlairBabylonBooks Twitter: https://twitter.com/BlairBabylon  Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/blairbabylonauthor  YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC2V6nRxaQuAscvTRZHSCvMw Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7201465.Blair_Babylon