Monday, November 9, 2020

✱✱Book Review✱✱ Harlequin Series November 2020 Blog Tour: CLAIMING THE RANCHER'S HEIR by Maisey Yates



Claiming the Rancher's Heir

by Maisey Yates


Arrogant, infuriating, insufferable… And the sexiest man she’s ever met.

Wren Maxfield hates Creed Cooper, but now she’s working with the wealthy rancher over the holidays! Those strong feelings hide undeniable chemistry…and one wild night results in pregnancy. Now Creed vows to claim his heir. That means proposing a marriage in name only. But as desire takes over, is that a deal they can keep?

Includes Rancher’s Wild Secret, a bonus story!

Emerson Maxfield is a sheltered beauty who never steps out of line. Now she must marry her family’s enemy before desire spells downfall for them all…



Momma Says: 4 stars⭐⭐⭐⭐
Yate’s Claiming the Rancher’s Heir is book two in the Golden Valley Vineyards, and it’s an enjoyable read. It’s what I was needing. We get the cowboy and Christmas, but wait, let’s not forget that it’s also enemies to lovers! My only complaint is I wish it were longer. Now I’m going to have to go grab the first in the series and catch up before the next one comes out!
In Creed Cooper’s words, Wren Maxfield is prissy and stuck up, 'too soft, too cosseted, snobby, uppity, repressed,' but oh, does he hold a torch for her. Reason? She’s the only woman that doesn’t fall for his charm. 
Wren doesn’t much care for the likes of Creed. Her exact words are 'arrogant, annoying, infuriating, ridiculous,' and she could go on all-day with words to describe Creed Cooper. Wren’s problem is her thoughts and dreams do not speak the same. 
If you’re looking for an addictive, quick, and sexy read, I would suggest this Holiday romance because you can’t go wrong with a story this good.


Excerpt

Creed Cooper was a cowboy. A rich, successful cowboy from one of the most well-regarded families in Logan County. He also happened to be tall, muscular and in possession of the kind of good looks a lot of women liked.

As a result, nearly nothing—or no one—was off-limits to him.

No one except Wren Maxfield.

Maybe that was why every time he looked at her his hands itched.

To unwind that tight bun from her hair. To make that mouth, which was always flattened in disapproval—at least around him—get soft and sexy and get all over his body. 

And he had that itch a lot, considering he and Wren were the representatives for their respective families’ vineyards. Rivals, in fact.

And she hated him.

She hated him so much that when she saw him her eyes flared with a particular kind of fire.

Fair enough, since he couldn’t really stand her either.

But somehow, years ago, a piece of that dislike inside him had twisted and caught hard in his gut and turned into an intensity of another kind entirely.

He was obsessed.

Obsessed with the idea he might be able to use that fire in her eyes to burn up the sheets between them.

Instead, he had to listen to her heels clicking on the floor as she paced around the showroom of Cowboy Wines, looking like a smug cat, making him wait to hear whatever plan it was she’d come to tell him about.

“Are you listening to me?” she asked suddenly, her green cat eyes getting sharp.

She was dressed in a tight-fitting red dress that fell to the top of her knees. It had a high, wide neck, and while it didn’t show a lot of skin, it hugged her full breasts so tight it didn’t leave a lot to the imagination.

Even if it had, his imagination was damn good. And it was willing to work for Wren. Overtime. 

She had on those ridiculous spiked heels, too. Red, like the dress. He wanted to see her in only those heels.

He wasn’t into prissy women. Not generally. He liked a more practical girl. A cowgirl who would be at home on his ranch.

Wren looked like she never left her family showroom, all glass walls and wrought iron furniture. Maxfield Vineyards was the premier wine brand for people who were up their own asses.

And still, he wanted her.

That might be her greatest sin.

That she tested control he’d had firmly leashed for the last eighteen years and made him want to send it right to hell as he burned in her body.

Of all the reasons to hate Wren Maxfield, wanting her and not being able to do a damn thing to make himself stop was number one on the list.

He looked around the Cowboy Wines showroom, the barrels with glass tabletops on them, the heavy, distressed beams that ran the length of the room.

And then there was him: battered jeans and cowboy boots, a hat for good measure.

Everything a woman like Wren would hate.

A testament to just why there was no reason to carry a burning torch for her fine little body.

Too bad his own body was a dumbass.

“I wasn’t listening at all,” he said, making sure to drawl it. As slow as possible. He was rewarded with 

a subtle flare of heat in those eyes. “Make it more interesting next time, Wren. Maybe do a dance.”

“The only dancing I’ll ever do is on your grave, Creed.”

The sparring sent a kick of lust through him. They did this every time they were in a room together. Every damn time. No matter that he knew he shouldn’t indulge it.

But hell, he was afraid the alternative was stripping her naked and screwing her against the nearest wall, and that wasn’t a real option.

So verbal sparring it was.

“What did I die of?” he asked. “Boredom?”

Those eyes shot sparks at him. “It was tragic. You were found with a high heel protruding out of your chest.” Her magic lips curved upward and he felt it like she’d pressed them against his neck.

“Any suspects so far?”

“Your own smart mouth. Are you going to listen to me or not?”

“You’re already here. So am I. Might as well.”

He leaned back in his chair and, for effect, put his boots up on the table.

Her top lip curled up into a sneer, and that thrilled him just as much as if she’d crossed the room to straddle his lap. Okay, maybe not just as much, but he loved that he got to her.



New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author Maisey Yates lives in rural Oregon with her three children and her husband, whose chiseled jaw and arresting features continue to make her swoon. She feels the epic trek she takes several times a day from her office to her coffee maker is a true example of her pioneer spirit.

In 2009, at the age of twenty-three Maisey sold her first book. Since then it’s been a whirlwind of sexy alpha males and happily ever afters, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. Maisey divides her writing time between dark, passionate category romances  set just about everywhere on earth and light sexy contemporary romances set practically in her back yard. She believes that she clearly has the best job in the world.

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