From rivalries to secret glances across the rink, dive into a story filled with passion, ice, and a little bit of chaos.
As the hottest left-winger in the league, I was the handsome golden boy for the L.A. Quakes. But after suffering horrific injuries during a game, my life is on a breakaway to disaster. My biggest fear is a darkness from my past is about to repeat itself. All I want to do is hide from the world, but fate has another plan.
Feisty beauty Liliana Alvarez doesn’t suffer fools lightly, especially when it comes to her kids in her new non-profit outreach. She’ll drag me, kicking and screaming, if necessary, from the hole I’ve crawled into if it’s the last thing she does. For some reason, she is patient enough to wait for me to heal and something sparks between us, wounds, and all. But her abusive ex-boyfriend threatens to shatter our hopes of a happily ever after.
Can enemies-turned-lovers help save each other or is the ice tilted against us?
Easing open the door, I slip through, bolting to the welcoming darkness of the closed Quakes’ Cove bar. I lean against a wall, shrouded in shadows, and stare down at the rink below. It’s late morning, and the rookies are doing drills under the watchful eyes of Jason Tolls, Linc, and a couple of other player development coaches. My friend looks in his element. Happy. Shit. I miss him, as well as Sonny and Bri. But I don’t go out much. Between scaring a kid at the grocery store and panic attacks that strike out of nowhere, I keep myself hidden away. The guys have their lives, and I don’t need to ruin their happiness by freaking them out. They wouldn’t care, but I do.
“Hey.” The soft, whispered word makes me glance away from the ice. F**k. Catherine Bishop, the Quakes’ owner, and Linc’s girlfriend, steps into the bar and stands next to me. I turn my face away, seeking refuge in the shadows.
“Oh, no you don’t.” Catherine’s finger touches my chin and turns my head so I’m facing her. “You will not hide from me.” She stares directly into my eyes. Her family did everything in their power to help me recover, starting with the best sports ophthalmologist so I wouldn’t lose my eye. Then a world-class plastic surgeon to keep my scarring to a minimum. I have a functioning eyelid, thanks to them. “Your features were way too pretty and perfect. The scar helps. You now look kind of like a bad boy. Women will go crazy.”
I can’t help the snort which escapes me. “In my dreams.”
She nudges me with her shoulder. “How’s your mom? I miss Maja.”
“She’s good. I spoke with her this morning.” Catherine came over a few times and took my mom out to lunch or dinner so she could have a break from me. I’d been such a hurting asshole that my boss took it upon herself to look after my mom. They hit it off. Why not? They’re both powerful women. Catherine shattering glass ceilings and my mom raising three kids on her own after my dad lost his mind.
She gestures to the ice. “How’re the rookies? See anyone impressive?”
I break our eye contact, relieved to go back to the shadows and study the players below. Some of them are in their young and gangly stage, like Bambi on ice. But some of the older kids are filling out and showing the promise of their mature athletic bodies to come.
“Your giant six-six goalie looks promising. He’s going to kill it in the AHL for the Tsunami. Linc must be drooling. For his size, the kid is agile, and he knows how to stay deep in his crease. He’ll be a brick wall for our opponents.”
“Yeah, I have high hopes for him. I also like the left winger, Berglund.” She slants her gaze my way. “He reminds me of you at his age—fast, full of energy, great hockey sense.”
“Looking to replace me? Afraid I’ll scare the fans?”
She glares at me. “Stop it, or I’ll tattle to Linc that you’re feeling sorry for yourself.”
Catherine never takes my bullshit. I sigh. “Too soon to joke?”
“If I thought you were joking, it’d be okay, but I know you weren’t.”
How does she read me so well? “Fine. You’re right.” We watch the rooks in peaceful silence. I can almost relax.
“Hey Ribi, good to see you.” An L.A. Quakes’ blogger calls out in passing.
Suddenly, my heart starts pounding. I break out into a sweat and dizziness swamps me, making me sway. My whole body shakes. F**k. I can’t have a panic attack. Not here. Not now.
“Oye gilipollas,” a tiny woman shouts and storms into the bar. I automatically translate the Spanish into English—Hey, a**hole. Before I could blink, the petite Latina stabs her finger into my chest, while glaring at my face, stopping my anxiety attack in a flash.
LILIANA
Frustrated as hell, I flew out of the Quakes’ Foundation’s office and storm past a man and woman lurking in the shadows of a closed bar, watching guys skating below. Weirdos. I didn’t know who he was until someone yells, “Ribi.” I assume it’s some sort of nickname for Luka Ribic, my MIA hockey player. Not about to miss this opportunity, I spin on my heels and go in for the kill.
“Oye gilipollas,” I shout, stabbing him in the chest with a finger. I have to reach to hit my target. The big guy is almost a foot taller than me. He must have understood my Spanish because he blinks at me like I’m a crazy woman. This smug a**hole has the nerve to smirk at me. “I came to talk to the Quakes’ Foundation. Maureen claims you’ve been out on medical leave. What a load of doody!”
“Doody?” The spark of humor reaches all the way to his light brown eyes.
*****
And don’t miss the first book in the series!
Lincoln– A Los Angeles Quakes Hockey Series Book 1
L.A. Quakes’ fans stomped their feet to cheers of “Caveman!” when I made incredible saves in the crease, leading the team to two Stanley Cup victories. I thought I could go on forever, but at thirty-six, the clock’s counting down even for Lincoln Cavanaugh. Social media and fan sites are filled with rumors of me being traded. Or worse. My future looks as uncertain as a loose puck on the ice.
My fate rests in the hands of Catherine Bishop, daughter of the team’s owner and a power to be reckoned with. And what fine hands they are, along with everything else about her. A chance encounter leads to sparks between us, but is falling in love with this incredible woman worth the risk?
Because with her by my side, I’m once again an unstoppable force between the pipes, and victories pile up like never before. However, our love is a ticking time bomb because Catherine has dreams of making history as the first female and person of color to own an NHL team. Sleeping with a player would make that all go up in smoke. I fear when the truth comes out, it will be the final buzzer for us.
Alisa Jean is the pseudonym for award-winning authors Marla A. White and C J Bahr. They first teamed up over thirty years ago over a bottle of Zima (don’t ask) while polishing their gear for a horse show. They’ve since moved on to better beverages and writing novels. Separately, Marla prefers to murder characters in the usual way, while C J uses paranormal means. The long-time best friends joined together as a writing team through their mutual love of hockey. Wonder twin powers activated! Their hockey romances examine flawed characters with heart, humor, and sexy sizzle.
You are cordially invited to the wedding of Emma Moskowitz and…someone…
When couples therapist Emma Moskowitz is unceremoniously dumped by her fiancé six months before their wedding, her world comes crashing down: her thriving private practice, her status as a popular online creator, even her book deal all hinge on the fact that Emma is an expert when it comes to romantic relationships. Not to mention her heart is ripped in half.
It isn’t fair. She worked so hard to be ready for marriage. If only Emma could find a different groom by her planned wedding day, nothing would have to change….
So commences Operation: Save My Date.
As Emma publicly shares her untraditional journey to the altar online, things get complicated quickly. She finds herself caught between Will, a charismatic podcast producer who is not interested in being a replacement groom; and Matt, a sweet, recent divorcee eagerly looking to settle down.
As the wedding day approaches, Emma must decide what future she truly wants for herself. After all, her family, her book editor, and a large portion of the internet are watching…
Emma Moskowitz lay face down in her parents’ office as they talked above her inert body. The carpet irritated her sensitive cheek, but getting a rash was the least of her worries at the moment. She was used to rashes. What she wasn’t used to—at least not yet—was the staggering pain of betrayal.
“He didn’t explain why he was doing this?” her father, Alan, asked for what had to have been the fifth time in as many minutes.
Instead of verbally responding, Emma let out a long groan to signal that she wasn’t yet in the mood to psychoanalyze why her carefully planned life was falling apart. She was still very much in the maybe I could just lie here for a few years and then die stage of grieving. That stage wasn’t talked about nearly enough. It was important.
“What did she say?” Alan looked to Emma’s mother, Debbie, for an interpretation of what could best be described as an animalistic, guttural moan.
“I don’t think she wants to talk about it just yet,” Debbie offered, despite knowing this explanation likely wasn’t going to appease her type-A husband.
“Can I have some water?” Emma interjected, finally moving into a seated position from a full-body sprawl. She wasn’t entirely confident that she was capable of drinking anything yet, but she thought she owed it to her family to try. She knew her mom hated seeing her in pain and her dad hated not having a clear solution to offer. Now that he was retired, Alan wasn’t sure what to do with himself. Emma didn’t want her recent upheaval to become his newest pet project (along with pickleball, online poker and brewing his own root beer). Despite her mother’s endless complaints of being smothered by her loving husband, Alan was the busiest retired person Emma knew. And as a couples therapist, she knew quite a few. Having a recently retired spouse was the new seven-year-itch—except this version of an itch appeared to be an overwhelming desire to be left alone. Emma wished with all her might that she was someone who wanted to be left alone instead of being herself: a person who as a child found a way to play “wedding” at every single playdate.
“Do you want bottled or from the tap with ice?” Debbie asked as though the right form of H2O could fix a broken heart.
“Doesn’t matter.” Emma sighed for effect. “Nothing matters anymore.”
Through a brief exchange of eye contact, Alan and Debbie mutually agreed it wasn’t safe to leave their youngest daughter by herself. So Alan went to retrieve the requested water, while Debbie did her best to sit on the floor, ignoring her numerous knee issues and bad back. Her hand hovered over Emma’s leg; she was unsure if physical touch would cause comfort or alarm.
“I am so sorry this is happening to you,” Debbie whispered.
Emma thought about all the other times in her life that her mother had said this. There was the time Emma fell off a chair when she was six and broke her collarbone. The time in her early twenties when her “best friends” planned a weekend trip without informing or inviting her. And there were the far too many times Emma had been unceremoniously dumped by a variety of men.
Although her present situation technically fell into the latter category, Emma felt that having her fiancé walk out on her for no apparent reason warranted its own classification of suffering.
This time was different than when her college boyfriend left her to date a high-schooler. Or when her adult boyfriend left her for a college student. This felt like the sort of pain you couldn’t get over with a laugh and a puff of medical-grade marijuana. This felt like the sort of pain that changed you forever.
Alan returned with both a cold glass of ice and a plastic water bottle. When Emma didn’t move to take either one, he set them on the side table and declared, “I think I should call him.”
“Call who?” Debbie asked with the cautious optimism of someone who hoped her husband wasn’t a total moron.
“Ryan! Maybe I can talk some sense into him. Or at least get some answers.”
Fear overtook Emma’s nervous system at the mere thought of that conversation occurring. She reached out and grasped her father’s ankle to let him know she meant business. “Please do not contact him. He won’t tell you anything useful,” Emma pleaded. “All he told me is something is missing and there is no point in working on it because it can’t be fixed. I just need to move on.”
Debbie and Alan looked at Emma with a mixture of compassion and concern. Emma couldn’t blame them—not after showing up the previous evening crying and shouting “It’s over! He left me!” before abruptly passing out on the couch to avoid her feelings. Emma felt a pang of guilt that she’d left her parents with such confounding uncertainty for almost ten hours. She knew more than most that not knowing was a special form of torture. It was time to fill them in.
“It only lasted twenty minutes.” Emma moaned as the painful memory hit her again. They had been eating dinner in front of the TV when she noticed something was off. As soon as she asked about it—expecting to hear that Ryan’s stomach hurt or his boss was annoying him again—the floodgates opened. Apparently, he’d been having doubts for months but didn’t know how to tell her. Emma tried her best to fight for them, but a switch had been flipped in Ryan’s brain and it was like trying to reason with a concrete wall. Every suggestion she flung out to try to work on their relationship was met with steely resistance. It was obvious that once the words were finally out of Ryan’s mouth, he had no intention of taking them back. He had been set free while Emma was left crushed and disoriented. Their engagement was unceremoniously over in less time than it took to watch a network sitcom.
“What were the doubts? Do you know?” Alan asked in a rather accusatory tone. Despite being retired, he would forever be a lawyer combing through details in search of a win. He didn’t seem to understand that social contracts could be broken far more easily and with fewer repercussions than legal ones.
Emma shook her head. “Unless something is missing is a clarifying answer for you. Because it’s not for me!” She could feel that she was losing control of her emotions. Within a minute or two, any attempt at coherent speech would be usurped by streaming tears and a horrifying amount of snot. She tried to get a handle on herself as her brain went into overdrive, poking and pinching the most vulnerable parts of her psyche, her insecurities finding every possible way to punish her for someone else’s decision.
The entire breakup had felt surreal from start to finish. Emma hadn’t even fully realized she was experiencing a breakup until about halfway through. She’d known things had been off between them for a few months, but it seemed to be more of a Ryan issue than a Ryan-and-Emma issue. He was unhappy with his job. He was struggling with anxiety. He had less interest in his hobbies than normal. To Emma, a licensed marriage and family therapist, it was pretty obvious he was in the midst of a depressive episode. She tried her best to be supportive while her partner was going through a tough time—and she used every ounce of self-esteem that came from her newly earned secure attachment style to not take it personally. Turns out, she should have taken it personally. Because, according to Ryan, the issues in his life were not related to anxiety or depression after all. He was miserable because he was in the wrong relationship. She was the source of the problem, not him. And once he realized that, he had to end things right away. Or, you know, once Emma dragged it out of him on a random Monday night.
As Emma recounted this to her parents, somehow managing to make it through without dissolving into incoherent sobs, she felt slightly vindicated by the looks of confusion on their faces. This was objectively confusing, right? To ask your live-in partner to marry you and then walk out six months later completely certain that there was nothing to be done to salvage the relationship? Emma was a couples therapist, for Christ’s sake! She made a living salvaging relationships and Ryan wasn’t even willing to try? It was both a personal and a professional slap in the face.
Emma had a bunch of clients in far worse situations than hers who’d been tirelessly working on fixing things for years. One notable client had slept with his wife’s second cousin for three years and they were still together. Yet Ryan—who only a few months ago had cried with happiness as he put an engagement ring on Emma’s finger—insisted there was no point in even attempting to repair whatever he thought was broken. He had too many “concerns,” so it was best to just move on. What those concerns were exactly remained a mystery that would likely haunt Emma until she died in what she anxiously feared would be an untimely and possibly gruesome fashion.
While on the topic of unfortunate demises, Emma briefly considered murdering Ryan before news of her abandonment became public. That way she would be perceived as a grieving fiancée instead of a rejected loser, which felt much more palatable. While murder would never be her first choice when dealing with a crisis, her reputation was on the line. It is one thing to get blindsided by your partner when you’re a civilian. It’s quite another when you have a master’s in clinical psychology and make a living giving relationship advice. It was the professional equivalent of a cardiologist not realizing she was having a heart attack: mortifying. For the first time, Emma regretted her inability to hide in obscurity due to her hard-earned success.
Allison Raskin is a New York Times bestselling author. She is the cohost of the popular podcast Just Between Us and cocreator of a YouTube channel by the same name. Allison has written and developed multiple TV shows and created the original scripted podcast Gossip. A vocal mental health advocate, Allison has a master’s degree in Psychology from Pepperdine University. She also runs the mental health–focused Instagram account @emotionalsupportlady.
Length: 70,000 words Prior Reading: not required Genre: contemporary, sports Tropes: Light-angst, hockey, enemies-to-lovers Trigger/Content Warnings: n/a
Blurb:
Jake
Favorite things and peeps: hockey, family, friends. Least favorite person in the entire history of the universe: Mason Trinsky.
I have my reasons, but since you’re curious, Trinsky is a showboat and a loudmouth. Sure, he’s a great athlete. Good for him. I accept that we have mutual friends, and I grudgingly accept that he’ll be a coach at Elmwood Junior Camp this summer—however, I plan to keep my distance.
Of course, some wise guy pairs us up for a camping expedition, and everything that can go wrong does go wrong.
Guess who I’m stuck with?
Trinsky
Favorite things and peeps: hockey, surfing, and my kid brother Least favorite person in the entire history of the universe: Jake Milligan
Look, I might be in the minority, but if you ask me, Jake is a nitpicking diva who wants everything his way. I hope my NHL team crushes his, and this summer, I want my campers to out-prank his. Childish? Nah, it’s all in good fun.
Until it starts to feel…complicated. I shouldn’t care if he’s happy, should I? I don’t want to be Jake’s friend. I don’t want to have feelings for him at all.
The only thing that matters is hockey. It’s all about the puck. Not love.
Or is it?
Puck Love is an MM bisexual, small-town romance featuring hockey’s hottest rivals, a hiking trip gone wrong, and a shot at forever…
And of course, we had Jake. No description needed, but in case you’re curious, his navy swim trunks matched his ball cap, his backpack, and his Crocs. Yeah…Crocs.
I didn’t actually hate Crocs, but I’d diss ’em ’cause I had the maturity of an eggplant, or so Jake inferred. Besides there was really no way I could be expected to be nice for forty-eight hours straight…was there?
Nah.
“Lookin’ Croc-tastic, Milligan,” I whispered.
Jake frowned and shushed me, which made me want to step on his toes. “I don’t know if this is possible, but we need to come up with a plan to stay out of each other’s way.”
“Easy. I’ll take two, you take two. I call Howard and the kid with braces.”
“Why don’t you want David?”
“Too serious and eager for me. Perfect for you,” I replied, leaning close.
He smelled good, like peppermint and evergreen and—
Geez, was he wearing cologne? Better question…why had I noticed? Maybe I was allergic to peppermint and associated it with terrible things like…uh…the holidays.
Okay, totally false. I loved the holidays, and peppermint was awesome. It was just weird that Jake would smell good and look…
Ugh, it pained me to admit it, but Jake was kind of sort of handsome…today. His summer tan made his blue eyes pop and wove golden strands into his dark-blond hair. I’d only noticed because I was in dire need of vitamin D. And this entire mental sidebar probably meant I was in desperate need of a vacation too.
“Fine. I’ll take David and Milo. Let’s win this.”
I furrowed my brow. “Win what?”
Jake spared me a glance, his lips quirked in vague amusement. “The whole weekend. I know it’s lighthearted fun, but it’s also basic swim and running relays too. Can you swim?”
“Of course I can fucking swim,” I scoffed.
“Cool. If you’re faster on the ground than you are on ice, we should do all right.”
“Are you insinuating that I’m a slow skater? That is fucking priceless.” I snorted.
Jake just smiled and clapped along to whatever Vinnie was yapping about. “If you say so. By the way, you might want to curb your F bombs. This is a G-rated family weekend. Show some class, Trinsky.”
“Fuck yourself, Milligan.”
“Nice one, asshat. You—”
Ray or Jay bumped my elbow as he sidled close, camera in hand. “Oh, don’t stop on my account. This is perfect.”
I gritted my teeth and probably would have said something rude, but I was interrupted by a cheer from the crowd.
“Are you ready to party?” Vinnie hooted, fists pumping the air. “Let’s do this!”
*****
Author Info:
Lane Hayes lives in sunny Southern California with her amazing husband, who thankfully doesn’t mind cooking, and their fabulous fox red Labrador, George, who’s pure mischief. Both provide oodles of inspiration for the low-angst, humorous books Lane loves to write.
She’s been telling stories about sexy, funny, sometimes geeky and quirky men who find love for a dozen years now and loving every minute. In her previous life, she sat at a desk and dealt with numbers, so yes…romance is much more satisfying!
Lane loves tea, travel, and chocolate…in any order. Add a book and she’s set!
From #1 New York Times bestselling author Susan Mallery comes an unforgettable beach read about love, secrets, betrayal and the family we’re born into—and the one we choose for ourselves, perfect for fans of Emily Giffin and Mary Kay Andrews.
What would you do if you caught your brother cheating on your best friend?
While Beth is proud of her Malibu beach shop, Surf Sandwiches, she’s even prouder of her charismatic brother Rick, who rose from foster care through surgical residency. She makes subs, he saves lives. Life takes a turn for the happy after she finds out Rick is dating her new best friend, Jana. Then Jana’s handsome brother adds even more sparkle to Beth’s days…and nights.
But when she catches Rick with another woman—like, with-with—her visions of an idyllic family future disappear in one awful instant. Either she betrays her brother, or she keeps his secret and risks losing the man she loves and her best friend.
Love and loyalty collide with secrets and betrayal in this witty and emotional tale about the lengths we’ll go to for family, from Susan Mallery, New York Times bestselling author of The Boardwalk Bookshop.
Beth Nield had no choice but to admit that her sixty-seven-year-old aunt had a much more interesting love life than she did. Actual living proof of that sad fact sat at their shared breakfast table, eating a high-fiber cereal while watching the morning news.
Hunter was a still handsome seventy something who’d worked for the USPS his whole life, retiring with a very nice federal pension. But his “real” money had come from playing the stock market. She had no idea where the two had met, but this was the third morning this month she’d found Hunter eating a hearty breakfast after a night of, well, nothing she wanted to think about.
Despite the fact that Beth’s divorce had been final just over a year ago, she hadn’t been on a date. As for spending the night with a man, well, she couldn’t begin to imagine that ever happening. She’d been telling herself she didn’t need that sort of distraction and that relationships were more trouble than they were worth, but thinking about how happy her aunt was these days, she was starting to wonder if maybe she was wrong. Perhaps there was something to falling in love. Not that she’d ever had much luck in the romance department—her divorce was proof of that. Her brother hadn’t been successful in love, either. Maybe there was a genetic flaw.
Not anything she was going to think about this morning, she told herself firmly as she put her breakfast dishes in the dishwasher and called out a goodbye to Hunter.
While the Los Angeles metro area was known to be a nightmare traffic-wise, Beth had what could only be described as a glorious commute. She lived a mere twenty minutes from where she worked, and the majority of that drive was along Pacific Coast Highway through Malibu. Yes, there were plenty of annoying stoplights, and on the weekends, visitors clogged the roads, but it was difficult to mind when just to the west was the Pacific Ocean.
Although Malibu was known the world over, the LA-adjacent community was in fact much smaller than most everyone imagined. The actual population was less than twelve thousand people, with the majority of the businesses and houses clinging to the coast. There were canyons and hills that stretched east, but the area everyone thought of when they heard the name was within a couple of miles of the water.
Beth made the familiar drive with her windows open and the scent of the salt air brightening her day. The ocean was more lively today with whitecaps visible out to the horizon and seagulls circling overhead. A light breeze danced with the palm trees. This early, the beaches would be relatively empty, but by noon, they would fill with locals and tourists, all eager to enjoy nature’s beautiful offering.
When she pulled into her reserved spot behind Surf Sandwiches, the sight of the cheerfully painted one-story building filled her with fierce, happy pride. She might have bought the business out of a sense of obligation and a need to help her brother, but over the years, she’d grown to love the place. When she and Ian had divorced, he’d asked to buy her out of their house. She’d used the money to purchase the vacant storefront next door and had expanded her business, giving her a much larger eating area for customers and a remodeled kitchen and prep area, not to mention additional parking. The latter was a precious commodity in always congested Malibu.
She’d kept the surfboard rack and outdoor shower for her customers who came directly from the beach across the street, and had painted the outside the same bright, cheerful yellow she used on the logo. To make the remodel go more quickly, she’d closed for three weeks, giving her just enough time to second-guess herself and wonder if all her regulars would forget about their favorite sandwiches. But at the grand reopening, there’d been a line nearly around the block, and since the remodel, sales were up thirty-eight percent. Information that would make any small business owner’s heart flutter with joy.
She unlocked the back door and walked to the newly enlarged employee space. Big lockers filled one wall, with comfy sofas opposite. During the refresh, she’d added a couple of sets of tables and chairs and had upgraded the Wi-Fi. By giving up space in her office, she’d squeezed in a third bathroom—this one for employees only.
It was barely eight in the morning, three hours before the store opened, but Yolanda and Kai were already hard at work prepping for the upcoming day. Surf Sandwiches was open from eleven until seven. The biggest rush was from about eleven-thirty until one, with a second, surprisingly intense post-school surge, followed by a gentle wind-down until closing.
Yolanda, a pretty, petite brunette with more energy than the battery bunny and three kids under the age of ten, was her go-to morning person. Despite her tiny stature, she had a killer mom glare that could reduce anyone with attitude to submission in less than three seconds. Even more significant, she wielded the Hobart meat slicer with surgeon-like precision. Even Rick, Beth’s actual surgeon brother, agreed Yolanda had mad skills.
“Morning,” Beth called as she stepped into the kitchen. “How’s it going?”
“Good.” Yolanda smiled at her. “Kai’s a worker. I don’t mind when he comes in early.”
Kai, a twenty-two-year-old who’d walked away from family money to surf rather than go to college, beamed at the compliment. “Yo, that’s high praise. Makes me want to work harder.”
Yolanda winked at Beth, as if silently saying that was the whole point of the words. Then her humor faded.
“We need lettuce. When I went to get it out this morning, I saw it’s all rotten.”
Beth groaned. “Not the lettuce. What happened?”
Yolanda pointed to the small kitchen where the industrial refrigerator and restaurant-size stove sat. “You can go look for yourself. I salvaged a few bunches, but we’re going to need a lot more for the day.”
An unexpected but not unheard-of disaster, Beth thought as she went into the kitchen and saw containers of sad-looking lettuce sitting on the counter, the good bunches already off to the side. She calculated the damage, took a couple of pictures with her phone and then pulled the ongoing Costco list from a drawer.
While she ordered most of her supplies from various distributors, like most small restaurant businesses, she relied on a big box store for backup. She added tomatoes to the list, then returned to the front to confirm they had everything else they needed.
She and Yolanda quickly discussed what she would be buying.
“Let me get in touch with my produce guy. I’ll head to Costco as soon as they open.”
“We’ll be fine,” Yolanda told her. “We know what to do.”
Beth went into her office, where she quickly booted her computer and the pay system she used. She found two large office lunch orders waiting and immediately forwarded them to the kitchen, where they would be flagged and reviewed. Once Yolanda determined what had to be made, the orders would automatically go in queue thirty minutes before they were supposed to be ready. The improved software had been expensive, but worth it. These days a lot of customers wanted to order and pay online, then just drop by to grab their food and get on with their lives.
She sent a quick email to her produce guy, complete with pictures. She’d been working with him for years and knew a credit would be sitting in her account by the end of day.
She helped with the prep work until it was time to head out with her shopping list. Getting to the closest Costco required a longer and less interesting drive than her commute to work. She listened to the radio and thought about all she had to get done when she returned to the store. Kai would make the cilantro, pumpkin seed and jalapeño pesto, which was usually her job. He was her newest employee, but he was a good hire. She was very fortunate with everyone who worked for her. Most had been with the store over a decade, and turnover was low. She paid well, offered great health care and did her best to be a fair and reasonable boss.
When she’d shut down for the three-week remodel, everyone had been paid their usual amount. She’d even arranged for a special evening at a local movie multiplex where she’d rented the smallest theater and had hosted dinner and a movie for staff and their families. Everyone had had a good time, and a few had mentioned making it an annual event—a reaction that made her happy. Tragically for her, that was the wildest her social life had been since the divorce. Except for work and her recent commitment to volunteering at a local food bank, she was kind of turning into a grumpy hermit, which wasn’t her nature at all. But she couldn’t seem to get motivated to, you know, get out and be in the world.
She missed having friends to hang out with. She missed being in a relationship, yet given how she was spending her days, she was very much stuck in a rut of doing nothing. Her aunt was warm and caring, but Agatha had her own life, what with her man friend and a new and oddly successful home business of crocheting custom bikinis.
Beth turned in to the industrial area where the Costco was located and drove toward the sprawling building at the end of the street. As she headed through an intersection, her gaze drifted to a large billboard on her right. Immediately her entire body went on alert as her brain struggled to comprehend what she was seeing. She instinctively turned toward the billboard—and accidently steered in that direction as well. Before she could slam on the brakes, she’d driven off the road, up onto the sidewalk (mercifully empty of pedestrians), stopping less than a foot from a fire hydrant.
It took a couple of seconds for her to start breathing again. Adrenaline poured through her from both the near accident and the billboard itself. She managed to put the car in Park before turning off the engine and getting out to stand on the sidewalk and stare in disbelief.
The billboard was huge and showed a happy couple staring into each other’s eyes. Not really noteworthy if she ignored both the fact that the man in question was her ex-husband Ian and the heartfelt message next to the photo.
Patti, you mean the world to me. I’m so grateful to have found you. I love you. Will you marry me?
She pressed a hand to her chest, as if to keep her heart from jumping out and flopping around on the road. Her brain was still having trouble processing what she was seeing, and she honestly didn’t know what was more confusing to her. The billboard itself, the fact that it was two blocks from Costco, or that her very ordinary, believer-in-a-routine ex-husband had proposed in such an un-Ian-like way. Oh, and maybe the fact that he had obviously moved on and fallen in love with someone else while she hadn’t been out with friends, let alone a man.
Ignoring a sudden wave of sadness, she sagged back onto the driver’s seat and pulled her phone from her handbag. Within seconds she was on Instagram and scrolling through to find Ian’s account. As their divorce had been as low-key as their marriage, she’d never blocked him, and apparently he’d never blocked her, either. Which meant she could see everything he’d posted for the past couple of weeks in color photographs and videos.
If the picture of the two of them holding champagne glasses and smiling at the camera was any indication, Patti had said yes. But instead of staring at the happy couple, Beth found herself searching the crowd of friends that was gathered around them. Friends she’d thought had been her friends as well, back when she and Ian had been married. The three couples had been tight, hanging out together, even taking the odd vacation as a group. But when the marriage had fallen apart, she’d discovered she was actually only the friend-in-law. The other two women hadn’t wanted to get together and had finally explained they were picking Ian. At the time, that had hurt about as much as the end of her marriage.
She flipped through more pictures and saw one of Ian and Patti with Ian’s large, extended family. The family she’d thought of as her own, appreciating the sheer size and volume of get-togethers. Growing up it had just been her, her brother and her mom. She’d always dreamed of being part of a big family, and with Ian, that had happened. Only once she and Ian split up, her relationship with them had ended as well.
Beth dropped the phone on the passenger seat and stared at the billboard. Ian was getting married again, to Patti—whoever she was. They would have a life, possibly kids. All the things she’d thought would happen when she and Ian had been together. Only they hadn’t.
She knew she didn’t want him back—their relationship was long over. But she did envy his future, or at least all the possibilities. Ian had kept living his life and looking for ways to be happy.
And here she was, in her car, alone and semi-friendless. Except for Jana, a relatively new friend she really liked, there was no one. Yes, she’d done great things with her business, but what about her personal life? Why was she half-parked on a sidewalk, staring at a billboard while on her way to Costco? Didn’t she want more?
A sharp pain cut through her—two parts regret but one part intense longing for more than the nothing she’d apparently chosen. She needed friends in her life and possibly a man. While the latter seemed like more than she could comfortably take on right now, the former was doable. She was a good person. She was likeable. The friend thing shouldn’t be so hard.
She needed more than just work, she told herself. She needed to get out of the house and start doing things. Anything. Beginning right this second. Or possibly after she made her Costco run. But today for sure.
SUSAN MALLERY is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of novels about the relationships that shape women’s lives―family, friendship, romance. Library Journal says, “Mallery is the master of blending emotionally believable characters in realistic situations,” and readers seem to agree―40 million copies of her books have sold worldwide. Her warm, humorous stories make the world a happier place to live. She’s passionate about animal welfare, which shows in the many quirky animal characters she has created.Susan grew up in California and now lives in Seattle with her husband and adorable poodle. Visit her at SusanMallery.com.
Publisher: Harlequin Trade Publishing / Canary Street Press
Price$18.99
Blurb:
She’s got everything planned–including when she’ll have kids. Until something completely unplanned turns her world upside down.
World-famous Whitney “Sahara” Richardson is at the top of her game. With four Grammys, an Oscar nod, and a billion-dollar clothing line, her career is skyrocketing. Even her headline-grabbing dating life is looking up. And if everything goes as planned, marriage and children are just a few years away–and they will come in that order.
That is…until a mix-up at the fertility clinic where her eggs are stored puts the cart before the horse. Oops. Whitney suddenly has a daughter…whose biological father is reluctant to share her.
One in a Million is a fun celebrity rom-com with the poignancy of Abby Jimenez and a modern twist on “surprise baby” for fans of Jasmine Guillory.
Scratch that. He was more than annoyed. He was pissed and currently doing his best not to glare at the woman sitting in the chair next to him.
Dear God, he’d never resented anyone more in his life, and the fact that he was married to her made the nightmare they were living through one hundred times worse.
It would be fair to say their three-year marriage hovered on the brink of failure, and the outcome of this meeting might be what sent it plunging to its demise.
Myles clenched his jaw as he regarded Holly, taking in her unsmiling face and rigid posture. His wife’s beauty turned heads everywhere they went but had failed to turn his since she’d demanded the DNA test.
“Would you stop looking at me like that?” Holly huffed, cutting a pair of ice-blue eyes at him. She sniffed and abruptly looked away, her chin notched a fraction higher as she presented him with her profile. “Whether you want to admit it or not, we’re doing the right thing.”
She’d worn a light blue dress for the occasion. As if she hadn’t made her hopes for the outcome of the meeting clear enough. Blue was her lucky color. Her long manicured nails kept up a rhythmic tapping on the wooden arm of her chair.
“And what exactly is that?” he asked, his tone like shards of glass.
Exasperated, she rolled her eyes and flicked a wavy lock of platinum-blond hair over her shoulder. “God, I hate when you’re like this. You know exactly what I’m talking about. I can’t believe you don’t want to know who she belongs to.” She addressed the empty desk in front of them more than she did him.
“She,” he stressed through gritted teeth, “has a name. Her name is Haylee, and she is our daughter.” His voice was low and controlled while he seethed inside. It didn’t matter what the DNA results revealed. Haylee was their child. After all they’d—she’d gone through to have her, how could she say otherwise? That was the thing he couldn’t understand. His part had been easy. Hers had not—as she’d frequently reminded him.
Holly huffed out a sound of deep frustration, her narrowed gaze taking a glancing stab at his face. “She’s not ours, Myles, and for the life of me, I don’t understand why you refuse to accept it. It’s as obvious as the nose on my face that she belongs to another couple.”
“She’s ours.” He was the only father Haylee had ever known, and no test was going to change that.
“I’m sure her biological parents will have something to say about that.” His wife had made up her mind and refused to be swayed.
Recognizing the pointlessness of arguing with her, Myles kept his mouth shut and averted his gaze. These days, it was impossible to look at her without feeling a profound sense of betrayal…and anger—so much anger. Feelings far removed from how he’d felt the day they’d exchanged their wedding vows.
“Myles, they have as much a right to know as we do. Wouldn’t you want to know if you were in their place?” Holly said, her voice cajoling, indicating a switch of tactics. Good cop, bad cop, meet Holly the Bully and Holly the Sweet-Talker, the same woman employing two tried-and-true methods to get her way.
Well, it’s not going to work this time.
The office door behind them opened, and Dr. Kelly Franklin walked in, saving him from more of his wife’s attempts to convince him her motivation was altruism, not selfishness.
Small in stature at barely over five feet and clad in a white lab coat, Dr. Kelly had brown shoulder-length hair and carried herself with the confidence of the framed Harvard MD degree hanging on the wall.
“Good afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Redmond. Thank you so much for coming in on such short notice.”
The doctor’s greeting was warm and respectful. More importantly, she didn’t sound as if she was about to plunge a knife into his heart. That said, it was clear she hadn’t come bearing tidings of joy either.
Myles made a move to stand, but she stayed the act of male courtesy—ingrained in him by his father—by motioning for him to remain seated.
Quelling his instincts, he subsided back into his chair and watched as she quickly took hers behind the desk.
“Sorry to keep you waiting.”
She was nervous but doing her best not to show it. As a former defense attorney, Myles had learned to pick up on the subtleties of body language. She hadn’t blinked once since she’d greeted them, and the distinct tapping sound that began shortly after she sat down was her nervously tapping her shoe on the floor. Holly’s hands were on her lap.
“We were early,” Myles said. Fifteen minutes, to be precise. Because this was important. The rest of his life hinged on what she was about to tell them. Despite vowing to himself that he’d remain calm, he felt tenser than ever.
For a beat, her brown eyes bounced between them. Then she blinked and said, “The DNA test confirmed that—”
“She isn’t ours, is she?” Holly asked, cutting the doctor off midsentence.
Myles turned and narrowed his eyes at his wife. Why not put up a billboard? I don’t want her. Give her to someone else.
As far as he was concerned, Holly had checked out of motherhood and their marriage before she packed her bags and took off to San Diego to stay with her mother after telling him she needed space.
What kind of parent needed “space” three weeks after the birth of her daughter?
His wife, that was who.
Look, he got it. They had hired a surrogate, so Holly didn’t get to bond with Haylee the way mothers usually did, but she’d known that from the outset. They’d both gone into this with their eyes wide open…and then some. Furthermore, parents didn’t walk away just because their child didn’t turn out the way they wanted or expected. That wasn’t the way parenting worked.
At the end of the day, though, he had to face some hard truths. He was just as much to blame for what was happening. While he might be successful in other parts of his life—he was a loving father, son, brother, and uncle and a loyal friend, and had been elected president of the California Bar Association two terms in a row—he sucked when it came to romantic relationships.
How did he know?
Because he already had one failed marriage under his belt, and it looked like he was coasting for divorce number two. In sports terms, he’d soon be 0-2.
Dr. Franklin tentatively cleared her throat before continuing. “Unfortunately, your case is a little more complicated.”
“Complicated? What does that mean? Either she’s ours or she’s not.” She turned and looked at him as if expecting him to echo her demand for clarity. “Although I think it’s obvious she can’t be.” The latter she muttered as an aside meant to be heard—just in case the good doctor didn’t know where she stood on the matter.
Myles’s jaw locked. According to his wife—who’d gone from being the top-producing female real estate agent in Southern California to self-ascribed geneticist—Haylee couldn’t be the product of two white, blue-eyed parents. If she has a drop of Nordic ancestry in her, I’m the Queen of England, Holly had said in reference to her parents’ Swedish heritage and Haylee’s slightly darker complexion, dark brown curly hair, and brown eyes.
Never mind that he was a quarter Sicilian on his mother’s side, and his hair was dark and wavy. In her summation of their daughter’s parentage, it was clear Holly hadn’t factored his genes into the equation.
“Would you mind elaborating?” he said, his brow furrowed in concentration.
Dr. Franklin inhaled and treated them to another unblinking stare. “It means that you’re right. There was a problem, but not what I assumed. The error occurred during the egg selection portion of the fertilization stage, not the implantation stage.”
For the first time since they walked into the office, Holly appeared genuinely confused. “Are you saying that—” She broke off, as if unable or unwilling to give voice to whatever conclusion she’d drawn in her mind. Unusual for her.
The doctor met Holly’s puzzled stare. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but you aren’t your daughter’s biological mother.” Her gaze then shifted to him. “However, you are her biological father.”
Holly’s gasp cracked the air like a thunderclap. The deafening silence that followed was just as loud.
Myles was too stunned to speak, his heart pounding so loud in his ears that, for a few moments, it drowned out all possible thought or comprehension.
“No, no. That can’t be right.” Holly turned to him, her eyes wide with shock and disbelief.
If he could speak, he didn’t know what he would say, given the state of his mind. Completely blown.
The doctor’s composure—which had remained relatively calm thus far—began to show cracks. Based partly on the dates on her diploma, he guessed Dr. Franklin was in her early forties, but the depth of the lines now bracketing her mouth and fanning out from her eyes spoke of the toll this must be taking on her and made her look years older.
Swallowing visibly, she continued. “We had the test run by two different labs. The results are the same.”
Accompanying his wife’s cry of dismay came the realization that his claim to his daughter was as solid as any father’s could be. Haylee was his. Relief began to seep into every part of his being. Seconds later, it washed over him in a flood. He could breathe again.
Dr. Franklin regarded them, self-reproach stamped all over her face. “I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry. I don’t know how this happened. It’s never happened to us before. But I promise to get to the bottom of it and do whatever it takes to make this right.”
Coming into the meeting, Myles had prepared himself for only two possibilities. Either Haylee was biologically theirs, or she wasn’t. And in the latter’s case, he’d been fully prepared to fight to keep her even if his marriage would be one of the casualties of any battle he’d have to wage.
The one thing he never imagined was discovering he had a baby…with a woman he’d never laid eyes on.
BEVERLEY KENDALL has published over ten contemporary and historical romance novels. She also manages the romance review blog, Smitten by Books (smittenbybooks.com). Bev writes full-time while raising her son as a single mother. Both dual citizens of the US and Canada, they currently call Atlanta home.
When they first meet, sparks fly…but not the romantic kind…
Ella Westhoff is a marketing genius. But romance? Not her strong suit. So, while she’s prepared to return to her small hometown and help her grandmother successfully reopen her B&B, she will not fall for the grumpy landscaper on the job—the one who so thoroughly annoyed her at first sight. That was the plan, anyway…
Cooper Daniels isn’t cut out for love, either. His bitter divorce certainly taught him that. One-night stands are all he’s willing to commit to these days. Which means that even though he enjoys bantering with the brilliant Ella, he knows he can’t be the kind of guy she deserves. No matter how much she makes him wish he could be…
Somewhere between fresh starts and past hurts, business and pleasure, Ella and Cooper might be able to claim a happily ever after. But only if they’re willing to cross some lines along the way…
Lines We Shouldn’t Cross, book 1 in the Innocence series, is a sweet and spicy, emotional contemporary romance. Download today and get ready to fall for Ella and Cooper.
**Releases March 20th!! Get it for On Sale for a limited time!**
This, this… guy! I stalk out of the dining room, fuming.
Of all the people for Pippa to rent the carriage house to, it had to be him. And now he’s living right next door, invading my sanctuary, the space I’ve always considered mine.
Why did he have to ruin my hope of living in the carriage house? There must be plenty of places available for rent in town. I sigh, trying to let my frustration go because bitching and moaning won’t change a thing.
I’d spent countless sleepovers there with my best friend, trading secrets, and dreams. Later, losing myself in romance novels, I’d imagined my own epic love story. Yeah, well, that had been a big naïve fantasy. Most guys turn out to be jerks—like my ex—not some swoon-worthy hero who sets my body ablaze while cherishing my soul. That kind of guy only exists between the pages.
Now, another real-life example of an arrogant jerk stands right there in the dining room, pouring wine as if he owns the place. His broad frame fills the space like a quintessential guy’s guy. His large hands tell a different story. Hands that could build barn walls or something, not pouring wine with unexpected gentleness. Strength and softness, wrapped in those sexy, veiny forearms. If he’d be anyone else, I’d be hopelessly flustered.
Fine, the man’s hot enough to melt steel, but that’s where my appreciation ends. His charm could strip paint of wood, and it’s just about as healthy to be around. He might have fooled Pippa, but not me. And now we’re supposed to work together? Fricking perfect.
In the kitchen, I muster a smile. “Need a hand?” The lasagna’s rich scent fills the room, promising comfort.
Pippa, beaming as though she’s crafted a culinary masterpiece, hands me a tray bearing the night’s first course. In the center, a mason jar filled with her homemade ranch dressing takes the spotlight amid the salad greens and a basket of still-warm bread.
“Could you bring this in?”
Her warm smile tells me she’s missed me and is happy I’m home.
“Of course.” I won’t rain on her parade, so I nod and smile. One quick taste of the creamy dressing first, then the breadbasket joins the greens as I steady myself to face Mr. Arrogance Next Door.
“Thanks, darling.” Pippa smiles. “I’ll be right there.”
Yes, please, I pray silently. I don’t care to be alone for even one minute with that infuriating man. I let out an inaudible sigh, part frustration, part resignation.
“Alright,” I say, forcing a cheery tone. With no excuse to dodge McCocky, I carry the tray out of the kitchen.
*****
Author Info:
I write the kind of romance novels that blend sweet and spicy into something deliciously real – stories that’ll warm your heart one minute and make you reach for a fan the next. My characters are flawed souls who stumble their way to love with enough emotional baggage to fill a cargo plane, but they’re worth every messy moment.
Life handed me my own romance novel when I fell for an American military man while living in Germany. Now I’m living my happily-ever-after in a cozy Kentucky town, where my European roots tangle perfectly with Southern charm. You’ll find me powered by excessive amounts of coffee, testing ice cream flavors (strictly for research purposes), and soaking up cuddles from my golden retrievers, Dakota and Tucker.
Tropes: Best friend’s brother, hurt/comfort, opposites attract, grumpy sunshine, fake dating
Blurb:
The best way to get over a cheating jerk is to get under someone new.
Dominic isn’t looking for love or salvation at the Thirsty Cowboy. He needs a temporary escape from the drudgery his life has become, and the universe provides him with the sexiest distraction he’s ever seen. Sven is a sucker for sad eyes, thick thighs, and a Royal Cosmopolitan. He scores the trifecta of trouble when a broody hunk buys him a drink. Sparks fly, passions flare, and a simple kiss becomes a four-alarm blaze until an untimely interruption douses the men with an icy reality, pitting loyalty against lust.
They shouldn’t… They couldn’t… Spoiler alert: they do!
It was supposed to be one and done but memories of their shared encounter won’t let go. A single text triggers two years of conversations, healing, and an endearing friendship that could blossom into something precious if Dom and Sven were brave enough to take a chance.
An unexpected invitation could provide the nudge their scarred hearts need. Exploring their reignited passion for two weeks in Vail would be a heavenly hideaway if not for a hellish houseguest’s resolve to cause trouble. Family rifts and uncomfortable confrontations abound, and embracing a future with Sven means Dom must face his past. Is their love strong enough to withstand the fire, or will they go down in flames?
Starts With a Bangis a standalone novel within the Redemption Ridge universe. It contains mature content and is intended for adults.
Reaching into my pocket, I removed my key fob and unlocked the vehicle. The headlights flashed on, but instead of going to the driver’s door, I detoured around to the passenger side. I turned to face Stevie. No. Not Stevie. Sven. Maybe if I repeated it often enough, I could forget he was Kerry’s little brother. Sven had stopped several feet away, and my headlights illuminated his perfect body. I hadn’t been able to get him out of my mind all night. Other guys had flirted with me, but they weren’t him. Sven.
What I was about to do was wrong, but I could worry about it later. I grabbed the handle on the minivan’s rear door and slid it open. Sven was right. We were consenting adults and didn’t need Kerry’s permission. What had he meant about Sven not learning his lesson from past mistakes? It was on the tip of my tongue to ask, but I noticed Sven hadn’t budged from his spot. I forced my gaze up to his face and registered his hesitant expression.
“Why a minivan?” Sven asked.
I saw our interaction in a new light and admired Sven’s self-preservation. I was a virtual stranger who wanted to lure him into the back of my sketchy vehicle in a dark parking lot. “It’s convenient for my work.”
Sven took a few tentative steps closer. “So, no car seats or soccer ball hazards I need to be concerned about?”
“No kids,” I said.
“Good to know.” Sven edged a little closer. “What about tarps, duct tape, and rope?”
I laughed for what seemed like the first time in months. “I’m not a serial killer either.”
“Phew.” Sven strode forward until he reached the open door. He squinted his cobalt-blue eyes and scrutinized the minivan’s dark interior. “No lights?”
“I disabled them.” Realizing how bad that sounded, I added, “I’m a private detective.” I gestured to the white van. “It’s nondescript, fits in everywhere, and lets me blend in during surveillance. Dome lights will make me stand out like a sore thumb during nighttime stakeouts.”
Sven pursed his lips and nodded. “Makes sense.” He reached inside the van and rested his hand on a captain’s chair. “How far back do these seats recline?”
“Climb on in and let’s find out.”
“Said the spider to the fly.” And Sven walked into my web.
*****
Review:
Dom & Sven’s romance felt lighter than the previous books in the Redemption Ridge series (it can be read as a stand alone) but it was no less enjoyable. The beginning of the book takes us thru their first meeting and the months that follow as they slowly get to know each other better & Dom takes the time to get to a more stable place emotionally. I appreciate that they had that opportunity and didn’t just jump into any kind of relationship.
When Dom has to face his past, Sven comes along to provide moral support and a buffer. Bringing with him all his larger than life personality and confidence. And a chance to take their friendship to something more. It’s been a long, slow courtship for them. And for us 🙂
Dom’s family is a hoot and Sven fits right in. By the end of the book, I wanted to enjoy one of their holidays. While I do wish we’d gotten a few more Christmassy shenanigans, overall I was satisfied as I turned that final page.
I’ve loved every book in the Redemption Ridge and while I’m sad to see it end the fact that we finish with Sven is perfect. He’s been such a high point in the last couple of books – supportive, sassy, and fun. I’m looking forward to seeing what Walker has in mind next.
*****
Author Info:
Ever since she was a little girl, Aimee Nicole Walker entertained herself with stories that popped into her head. Now she makes a living by telling stories to others. She wears many titles—wife, mom, and grandma are just a few. Love inspires everything she does, podcasts keep her sane, and coffee is the magic elixir that fuels her day.
Quarterback Clay “Mr. Perfect” Braden is determined to show sexy scientist Pepper Montgomery the benefits of hands-on research in PLAYING MR. PERFECT, the first book in the Bradens at Ridgeport series by New York Times and Wall Street Journal bestselling author Melissa Foster. Loaded with heat, humor, and heart, this steamy, small-town, opposites-attract standalone romance is unputdownable. No cheating, no cliffhangers, and a happily ever after that will leave you breathless.
Playing Mr. Perfect
The Bradens at Ridgeport #1
by Melissa Foster
Releasing Feb 12, 2025
World Literary Press
Blurb:
What happens in Paris, stays in Paris, right?
Oh, Pepper. If only…
Okay, I admit it.
Sleeping with the NFL quarterback who the media has dubbed Mr. Perfect might not have been the smartest move, but I’m in the City of Love, I’d had a few drinks, and was jacked up on giddy girl talk and hopeful hearts—two things I never buy into—and I threw caution to the wind.
I want to sneak out before he wakes up, but when I open my eyes, he’s already up.
In more ways than one.
Convincing the ridiculously cocky (pun intended) man that I’m not the woman he slept with last night is awkward.
Actually, he makes it impossible.
The thing is, I don’t even know who that woman was.
And now he’s determined to find out.
About the Series:
Fall in love with the Bradens at Ridgeport and join these business-savvy, pleasure-oriented New Englanders as they fall head over heels with their forever loves.
I enjoyed Pepper and Clay’s story. There was a little awkward dialogue in the beginning but once we got moving all was good. They were adorable together, with each of them bringing out the good in the other – Pepper needs someone to to bring out her fun-loving side, to get her away from being all work, while Clay needs someone who appreciates him for who he is and doesn’t expect him to be “Mr. Perfect”.
But he is a pretty perfect boyfriend. He listens, observes, and pushes when Pepper needs it. He’s thoughtful in the things he does and the gifts he gives her. And how to relax. Which she does for him as well. Allowing him to remember what he loved about football and what’s important to him.
Playing Mr. Perfect is steamy, sweet, and playful. There’s not a lot of angst, drama, or miscommunication. Just a couple of moments where they let their insecurities overcome them but they are few and short.
(There are a lot of characters from a related series, with Pepper’s sisters. I’ve read some, probably not all, but I still got confused about their stories. I think if you focus on Pepper & Clay and just look at them as her siblings & their spouses it is a little easier.)
*****
Author Info:
Melissa Foster is a New York Times, Wall Street Journal, & USA Today bestselling author. She writes sexy and heartwarming contemporary romance and new adult romance with emotionally compelling characters that stay with you long after you turn the last page. Melissa’s emotional journeys are lovingly erotic and always family oriented–perfect beach reads for contemporary romance lovers who enjoy reading about wealthy heroes and smart, sassy heroines.
A heroic, sworn bachelor risks his neck to save lives, but his heart needs a daring rescue.
Kerry likes his beer cold, his coffee hot, and sex without strings. Running an emergency response crew takes up most of his time, and he reserves the rest for his family. Besides, he’s experienced enough heartache for two lifetimes and isn’t looking for more misery. Kerry’s carefully crafted peace shatters when he meets Keegan, a hazel-eyed hottie and his brother’s new friend.
Falling for Kerry is a collision waiting to happen, but Keegan can’t resist the heroic hunk’s charm. Smoldering eyes and wicked grins tempt Keegan to go flat-out, even when he’s barreling toward a dead end. Rejection is the last thing his newfound confidence needs, but the crash might be worth the risk if Kerry’s there to give him mouth-to-mouth.
A crowded bar. A slow song. Months of mutual pining reach a fever pitch, and the invitation is out of Kerry’s mouth before he can stop it. Three minutes. Two battered hearts. One dance that changes everything.
Brick by brick, Kerry and Keegan dismantle the walls around their hearts to build something beautiful together. But old habits die hard, and traumas are slow to heal. Their love will either be the most beautiful gift or the messiest mistake.
The Beautiful Mess is book six in the Redemption Ridge series. Though each story features a different couple, reading the series in order is essential. The Beautiful Mess contains mature themes and is intended for adults.
“Oh! What about him?” Sven gestured to a tall, dark-haired guy approaching the bar. A pale blue Henley stretched across an impressive chest, and dark-wash jeans hugged a nice ass. “He has a gorgeous smile, and look at those dimples. Bet he has a matching set just above that fine ass.” Sven mimicked an alarm going off. “And I’m picking up big dick energy, even from this distance.” Keegan wasn’t sure what range Sven got with his big-dick detector, but he wasn’t about to question the master’s verdict. Sven waggled his brows at him and said, “I know you have a thing for dark-haired, brawny men.”
It was the closest his friend had come to calling out Keegan’s crush on Kerry, who also happened to be Sven’s stepbrother. Lately, Keegan detected a little push in Kerry’s direction from Sven and the rest of the Hart clan. The idea was ridiculous, especially since Sven had once cautioned him against falling for Kerry. Keegan would neither confirm nor deny his friend’s suspicions. He tilted his head and considered the hot guy who leaned against the bar while waiting for the bartender. The man was fit and fine, for sure. He wore his dark hair short and neat, but the gelled strands didn’t invite someone to touch them. Kerry was a few months past due for a haircut, but the longer curls framing his face were sexy and tempted Keegan to test their softness. Keegan usually loathed beards or facial hair, which should’ve been a point in the stranger’s favor since he rocked a clean-shaven look. But Kerry’s thick bristles made him look more like a plush-mouthed pirate and didn’t remind Keegan of the bearded Salvation Anew members who’d wielded crushing slurs as painful as physical blows.
“Ahh. Have we found a winner?” Sven asked.
He hummed as if considering the question. The guy turned and scanned the room, and Keegan saw that his eyes were light, not black as pitch. Miriam—he’d stopped thinking of her as his mother—had warned him about black-eyed demons and the chaos they could cause during her fanatical religious teachings. He’d grown up looking for soul-snatching beasts around every corner, but it had taken Keegan twenty-three years of abuse and nearly two years of intense therapy to recognize the real monster had given birth to him. Keegan had since witnessed the visual representation of the black-eyed demons Miriam mentioned while watching reruns of Supernatural. Kerry’s eyes weren’t anything like those portrayed on the show, but Keegan was sure the man was on a first-name basis with chaos.
“Well?” Sven prompted.
“He’s cute.”
Sven growled and briefly hung his head before meeting Keegan’s gaze. “Cute? Baby, no. We don’t throw that word around unless we want to insult someone. Cute is for kittens and puppies. Cute is the kiss of death for a romantic endeavor.”
“Oh.” Keegan mentally added that to the list of things he didn’t know or understand. Who the hell made up these dating rules, anyway? “Sorry.”
*****
Author Info:
Ever since she was a little girl, Aimee Nicole Walker entertained herself with stories that popped into her head. Now she makes a living by telling stories to others. She wears many titles—wife, mom, and grandma are just a few. Love inspires everything she does, podcasts keeps her sane, and coffee is the magic elixir that fuels her day.
Want to be the first to know about my book releases and have access to extra content? You can sign up for my newsletter here: http://eepurl.com/dlhPYjMy favorite place to hang out and chat with my readers is my Facebook group. Would you like to be a member of Aimee’s Dye Hards? We’d love to have you! Click here: https://www.facebook.com/groups/AimeesDyeHards/
Hey, I don’t regret taking an oddball assignment to assist a British professor abroad. I could use a break from my life as an aspiring hair and style guru in LA. The only worrisome snag is that the professor is determined to do everything on his own.
Not acceptable. I’m here to help the impossibly smart geek with mismatched socks who just happens to be my best friend’s boss.
Alistair
Paris calls. And somehow, I have a new temporary assistant.
Winnie is a technicolor, whirlwind American with a wicked laugh and the subtlety of a steamroller. He’s brash and ridiculous and…funny, warm, lovely, and—
Oh no.
Winnie can take Paris, but he can’t take my heart.
Winnie Takes Paris is an MM romantic comedy featuring a fabulous diva, a nerdy professor, and the Parisian adventure of a lifetime!
I tapped my cup to his flute awkwardly. “To Paris.”
Winnie watched me cautiously. “Did I get your tea right? Raine said you like a smidge of milk and sugar.”
“Uh, yes…brilliant. Thank you.”
He grinned. “You’re welcome. What should we do now?”
“Wait for the train,” I replied evenly.
Winnie threw his head back and laughed, drawing a few curious glances our way. The lounge wasn’t exactly a library, but there was an unspoken acknowledgment that this was a quiet zone.
“Got that. I meant, what about work? I’m your assistant. If you need me to do anything, just say the word and I’m there.”
“Thank you. I appreciate your diligence, but there’s no need. Enjoy your champagne,” I said in a tone that clearly marked the end of the conversation.
Winnie didn’t take the hint. “Do you like champagne?”
“No, I don’t.”
He flattened his hand over his heart. “Why not? Champagne is the elixir of the gods, sunshine in a flute, bubbles for the soul.”
I shrugged. “I’m afraid I don’t care for bubbles at all. I don’t want to drink them, anyway.”
“Mm, you’re missing out. I would bathe in champagne bubbles if I could.” He hummed indulgently.
“That sounds…sticky.”
Winnie’s lips twitched. “You’re right. It also sounds like a waste of a good thing, and I wouldn’t sacrifice a single sip of this stuff.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond or if I was supposed to, but this was probably a good time to remind Winnie that I didn’t need him to entertain me or vice versa. Or perhaps this was an opportunity to ask him a few questions and be done with prerequisite niceties.
What sort of questions, though? I had no clue. This was the sort of thing Raine usually handled for me.
I set my cup on the side table, pulled my cell from my pocket, and typed, Questions for a new acquaintance.
Google suggested the following: Number one, ask personal information—likes, dislikes, favorite color, hobbies. Not a chance. In my admittedly limited experience, that line of inquiry invited reciprocity, and there was no point in pretending we shared any common interests.
Number two, comment on something pleasant, such as the weather. I glanced out the rain-streaked window and quickly abandoned that suggestion. Too dire.
Number three, pay a compliment. That seemed like a safe option. Winnie was very…winsome. He had beautiful olive skin, perfectly coiffed hair, a flair for fashion, and—
“You have lovely eyes,” I blurted.
Winnie froze midsip, quirking his head as he slowly lowered his glass. “Are you flirting with me, Professor?”
“I—no! No, I…no,” I sputtered, wrinkling my nose, licking my lips, and blinking in rapid succession. “That was a statement, not a flirtation. I don’t do flirtations, so you’re quite safe there.”
“Am I?”
He was teasing. The spark in his eyes held pure mischief, but I didn’t know the rules of engagement at all. Was I supposed to say something clever in return? Possibly, probably. Witty banter wasn’t my strong suit, so I went with the truth instead.
“I couldn’t help noticing that you’re wearing makeup and…you look quite smart.”
His megawatt grin hit me like a bolt of lightning. “I do? How so? I’ve never been told my application of Chanel Stylo Yeux in espresso gave collegiate vibes.”
“Uh, no. I didn’t mean smart in that sense. That is to say, I’m sure you’re very intelligent, but I meant that you look…nice.”
His smile didn’t waver. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Well done, old chap. Now, leave it alone. Unfortunately, I couldn’t shut my gob. This was bad…very bad. “Ancient Egyptian men wore cosmetics, and depending on their rank and social class, they wore a lot of it. The kohl liner they used had practical purposes, too. It shielded one from the sun’s rays and repelled insects. They used animal fats and oils to create moisturizers, shampoos, and even to prevent baldness. Interesting, isn’t it? They’d rub fat from a snake or a—”
“Okay.” Winnie held his hand up. “That’s a lot of information.”
“That’s hardly the tip of the iceberg,” I assured him.
“I bet.” He gestured to the corner of his eye. “I made a last-minute trip to Sephora for this stuff. Much easier than wrangling a snake.”
“Sephora, derived from the Greek sephos, or beauty.”
Oh, bloody blooming bollocks. What is wrong with me?
*****
Author Info:
Lane Hayes lives in sunny Southern California with her amazing husband, who thankfully doesn’t mind cooking, and their fabulous fox red Labrador, George, who’s pure mischief. Both provide oodles of inspiration for the low-angst, humorous books Lane loves to write.
She’s been telling stories about sexy, funny, sometimes geeky and quirky men who find love for a dozen years now and loving every minute. In her previous life, she sat at a desk and dealt with numbers, so yes…romance is much more satisfying!
Lane loves tea, travel, and chocolate…in any order. Add a book and she’s set!
Romantic Reads and Such 