Roman Campbell. Wild Child. Rebel. Rockstar. Broken.
At the age of twenty-eight, Roman Campbell has the world at his feet. Young, successful, and brutally beautiful, his facade of an uber-cool rockstar hides deep scars that have tormented him for years. After finally putting the pieces of his broken life back together, Roman attends the wedding of his famous movie star friend Carter Wilson in Twilight Falls, where he meets Drake Jackson. Their attraction is instantaneous and Roman hooks up with the sexy builder for one intoxicating night.
Drake Jackson. Wickedly Hot. Serial Heartbreaker. Reformed (mostly) Bad Boy.
Having put behind his difficult childhood, Drake Jackson is content with his life. His one regret remains his lost chance at a relationship with his childhood friend Alex. After a torrid encounter with Roman at Carter’s wedding leaves Drake hungry for more, the builder believes he will never set eyes on the famous rockstar again. But when Roman buys the property Drake had long coveted in Twilight Falls right from under his nose and hires Drake as his contractor, Drake realizes trouble has come to find him with a capital T.
Sparks fly and the two men soon commit to a temporary arrangement that sees them satisfying their carnal desire for one another. But when Roman’s past comes crashing back into his life and his secrets are revealed, Drake finds himself experiencing a lot more than just desire for Roman. Will Drake finally accept the feelings growing inside his heart? Or will he reject Roman’s love and repeat the mistakes of his past?
Join Drake and Roman in this wildly addictive fifth installment in Twilight Falls, the new series by the author of the bestselling, contemporary, gay romance series Nights.
Content Note: this book contains sensitive content that may be upsetting to some readers. Please refer to the page at the start of the book for more information.
Roman Campbell took a sip of his sparkling water and observed the two men taking to the floor for their first dance as a married couple.
Carter Wilson and Elijah Davis looked blissfully happy as they swayed to a classic Sinatra song, fingers interlocked and arms around one another while their bodies brushed sensuously. It was clear to everyone in the marquee that the grooms only had eyes for each other.
A twinge of jealousy stabbed through Roman at the happiness radiating on the two men’s faces. Carter laughed at something Elijah said and took his husband’s mouth in a hot kiss that had their guests clapping and wolf-whistling.
The newlyweds turned and extended their hands toward a pretty little blond girl in a cream taffeta and lace dress who stood watching them from the sidelines. Maisie, Carter’s niece and his and Elijah’s newly adopted daughter, squealed and ran out to join them. The couple caught her into their arms and resumed their dance, their mouths split in beaming smiles.
Roman swallowed a grimace.
I really am an asshole. I should be happy for them.
He’d been somewhat surprised to receive an invite to what was being touted as the most exclusive celebrity wedding of the year. Though he was friends with Carter, they hadn’t spoken for a while, their busy lives meaning their paths rarely crossed except at social events.
They’d met five years ago, at an exclusive sex club in L.A. It was the kind of place where the world-famous clientele could indulge in their private desires and fantasies to their heart’s content, without fear of their secrets becoming fodder for the paparazzi.
It had been Roman’s first time at the club. He’d hit on Carter the minute he’d walked inside the place, not realizing that the tall man with the dirty blond hair and the body to die for was the A-list Hollywood actor who had practically dominated entertainment news ever since he exploded on the movie scene with his first blockbuster.
Though Carter had flirted with Roman, he hadn’t obliged his invitation to visit one of the club’s private suites for some down and dirty time. He had, however, kept a close eye on him.
Roman had been more than a little drunk and high on drugs when he’d made the impulsive decision to visit the club that night and hook up with a stranger, a fact he had been lambasted for at length when his manager and best friend James Lang turned up and dragged him from the place a couple of hours later.
“At least you had the decency to pick somewhere the paparazzi couldn’t find you!” James had snapped the next morning while Roman lay recovering from his monumental hangover on the sundeck of his L.A. penthouse. “It’s a good thing Carter messaged me when he did.”
“Carter?” Roman had frowned at the unfamiliar name. “Who the hell is Carter? And could you pipe down? This headache is killing me,” he’d added on a groan.
James had clenched and unclenched his hands in a way that told Roman he’d wished they were wrapped around Roman’s neck.
“Carter is the guy you were hitting on last night,” James had explained icily. “He’s a friend of mine.” He’d paused and narrowed his eyes at Roman, a muscle dancing in his cheek. “That headache isn’t the only thing that’s gonna kill you, Roman. You need to cut back on the booze and the drugs. You’re not just ruining your health. You’re sabotaging your career!”
The guilt and anger that had rotted Roman’s insides for as long as he could remember flared into life and had his mouth curving in a nasty smile.
“Are you saying that as my best friend or as my manager?”
The hurt in James’s eyes had Roman immediately regretting his harsh words.
“I’m sorry,” Roman had mumbled in the stiff silence. “I promise I won’t do anything like this again.”
James had watched him for a moment before blowing out a heavy sigh. They’d both known it was a lie.
It wouldn’t be another two years until Roman finally kept his word. By then, the whole of L.A. and the world knew that the lead singer of Crazyknot was damaged goods.
Paradoxically, Roman’s soul-crushing fall from grace only boosted sales of their albums and propelled the band to international stardom. It also turned him into an overnight icon, one he’d assumed the entertainment industry would soon forget. Which made his and Crazyknot’s shockingly successful comeback twelve months ago all the more humbling. Apparently, the world loved nothing more than seeing a former bad boy reform.
Roman’s lips tilted in a self-deprecating smile. Well, almost reform.
He might have ditched the alcohol and the drugs. It didn’t mean he’d turned into a monk. He scanned the marquee, the restless feeling that had been gnawing at his insides a sure-fire sign that he needed to let off some steam in a way that didn’t involve getting intoxicated.
Now, let’s find a guy I can have some fun with.
“I know that look,” someone said next to him.
Roman closed his eyes briefly. He twisted on the bar stool and studied the man who’d taken the seat beside him with a faint frown.
James Lang looked his usual cool and elegant self in a bottle green tuxedo that matched his eyes and framed specs.
Roman pursed his lips.
If it wasn’t for the fact that he’d known James for thirteen years and had seen him puke his guts up on more occasions than he could count when they were teenagers, he might have taken a stab at the guy. James was attractive in the kind of way that made people pause and wonder what lay beneath the impeccable suits and hard exterior.
The only ones who truly knew the infamous manager were the members of Crazyknot and their close friends. For behind the cool, controlled facade James projected burned a fiery and surprisingly passionate soul.
To this day, Roman didn’t know what had turned the outgoing and fun-loving boy he had come to know during what had been the most challenging years of his teenage life, into the stern and reserved man who now sat facing him. It had happened shortly after their first national tour.
Roman and the other members of Crazyknot had long questioned James about his almost overnight transformation, but the manager had always remained tight-lipped on the subject.
“Oh yeah?” Roman grumbled presently. “And what kind of look am I wearing, pray tell?”
James arched an eyebrow. He took a sip of his champagne before leaning in closer. “The kind that says you’re looking for a good fuck.”
Choked off laughter erupted close by.
James stiffened and looked over Roman’s head.
Roman turned, a frown on his face and his mouth parting on a biting remark.
His breath locked in his throat.
Gunmetal blue eyes sparkled with mirth opposite him. Though the stranger straddled the bar stool in a relaxed pose, Roman could tell he was tall and would tower over him by a good few inches. His overlong, sun-kissed brown hair teased the collar of his classic, black tuxedo, the suit doing little to hide the hard angles and solid muscles beneath the expensive material. Silver peppered his short beard and sideburns, framing a rugged, tanned face that wouldn’t look out of place on the cover of an outdoor sports magazine. His fingers were hard and callused where he held a half-empty beer bottle.
The man smiled and tipped his drink at them with a nonchalant dip of his head. “Don’t mind me. I’m just here for the beer.”
Roman’s cock stirred. He swallowed.
Fuck. Mr. Sideburns was one hundred percent his type. And he looked exactly like the kind of trouble Roman needed to avoid tonight.
A.M. Salinger is the pen name of an Amazon bestselling author who has always wanted to write scorching hot contemporary romance and M/M urban fantasy. In 2018, she finally decided to venture to the steamy side. NIGHTS and TWILIGHT FALLS are contemporary M/M romance series written as A.M. Salinger. In 2021, she launches FALLEN MESSENGERS, her first M/M urban fantasy series written as Ava Marie Salinger. When she’s not dreaming up hotties to write about, you’ll find Ava creating kickass music playlists to write to, spying on the wildlife in her garden, drooling over gadgets, and eating Chinese.
What’s a witch to do when her magic’s been hacked and her tongue wickedly cursed! No matter how hard Eloise Redd concentrates on keeping her thoughts to herself, she blurts them. The only option is to lie low and wait for the hacker’s ransom note —and hope the demands aren’t too steep. In the meantime, she hides out in a haunted town as a palm reader. What could possibly go wrong reading palms?
Jeffrey Bales, Chief Operating Officer of Think Tank Innovations, is excellent at peopling. What he’s not good at is fending off a multitude of women convinced he’s their souls’ missing puzzle piece. This thanks to the town’s magical palm reader. A woman whose mouth should come with a hazard warning. He has no choice but to turn his charms on her to silence those wayward words. Just a tiny, fake relationship should work…
Unless it takes place under the roof of a bewitched house. One determined to bind them together eternally. That ransom demand can’t arrive soon enough.
“Welcome to Hand Picked.” Eloise struck a pose at the top of her stairs and spoke to the gentleman who stood in her doorway, looking very much like a shabby prince with his stiff stance and sexy-as-hell five o’clock shadow. Was he her three o’clock?
If so, she now wished she’d reapplied her Rouge Louboutin Velvet Matte lipstick after her cup of tea. Perhaps living in Knotty would be more than bores and snores after all. A little hot weekend sex would make the months go by faster.
“Thank you,” he said.
About to take a step forward, she paused, left foot dangling above the stair. Hmmm.What do we have here? His voice sounded familiar. She tilted her head to the left and tried to get a look at his profile. Nope. His face, what she could see of it in the shadows, didn’t ring any bells. Perhaps she’d overheard him talking while she’d explored the town last weekend. “Have you come to have your palm read?”
Not waiting for his response, she lifted her floral, floor-length, multi-ruffled skirt and glided down the stairs, aiming to appear like a royal subject entering a magical ball being held in her honor. Not to impress the man. Not much anyway. But mostly because presentation mattered when one read palms for a living. With her skirt, she wore a black long sleeve bodysuit and a headscarf that had beads that dangled over her forehead.
She’d been just as meticulous regarding her appearance when she had practiced law. Only then, instead of every aspect of her projecting flamboyant exuberance, she’d projected the appropriate image of strength and intelligence and the ability to cut your throat in a courtroom without leaving any traces of blood on her Louboutin heels.
At the bottom of the stairs, she got her first shadow-free view of her latest customer. A view that caused her world to tumble and land ass up. Balls. Balls. Balls.
Lisa Wells writes romantic comedy with enough steam to fog your eyeglasses, your brain, and sometimes your Kindle screen. On the other hands, her eighty-year-old mother-in-law has read Lisa’s steamiest book and lived to offer her commentary. Which went something like this: You used words I’ve never heard of…
She lives in Missouri with her husband and slightly-chunky rescue dog. Lisa loves dark chocolate, red wine, and those rare mornings when her skinny jeans fit. Which isn’t often, considering the first two entries on her love-it list.
A wildly funny, ridiculously romantic spinoff from best-selling author Melanie Summers…
Princess Arabella of Avonia is bored out of her ever-loving mind. No twenty-eight-year-old wants to live an endless loop of high teas, state dinners, and the same five conversations. They want freedom and adventure. After a wild night out in Ibiza ends in disaster, the royal handlers have shortened her leash considerably. Desperate for an out, she sneakily signs up to co-host a new nature docu-series, starring Will Banks, the man dubbed McHotty of the Wilderness.
Will has ladies all over the globe lining up to meet him until a hot, new adventurer comes on the scene, and his ratings take a nose-dive. Producers decide an emergency change in format is in order. Enter Princess Arabella. The pampered and proper royal is the perfect foil to Will’s rugged outdoorsman.
It’s hate at first sight, but their on-screen loathing makes for great television. Surprisingly, when the cameras stop rolling, these two finally see each other’s good sides. Can these opposites find their forever in each other’s arms, or will their differences be their undoing?
The tabloids are hunting them. Their families are turning on them. Can their love survive?
Despite the odds, Princess Arabella of Avonia and rugged outdoorsman, Will Banks, fell in love while filming a reality show in the jungle. But that’s another story.
While she’s making room in the royal closet for his hiking boots and backpacks—right next to the crown jewels—the show’s producers are editing together film footage that could turn their romance into nothing more than a showmance. Private moments caught tape and aired for the world’s viewing pleasure are about to turn their world upside down.
Can love to conquer all?
Find out in this scandalously funny, sweet but sexy second installment The Crazy Royal Love Series…
Don’t miss the heartwarming, laugh-out-loud continuation of the Crazy Royal Love Romantic Comedy Series …
After a whirlwind romance that has taken them all over the globe, rugged survival expert Will Banks and Princess Arabella of Avonia are getting ready to take a trip down the aisle.
Planning the perfect wedding isn’t easy at the best of times, so when you include two families who couldn’t be more different, tensions are bound to run high. The last thing they need is a television producer determined to get every last sneer on film.
With one hilarious disaster after another ruining their plans, Will and Arabella must figure out how to pull it all together in time to say ‘I do.’
Brimming with swoon-worthy romance, seriously funny shenanigans, and an unforgettable cast of characters, Melanie Summers is sure to make you laugh out loud and believe in love.
I’ve been a very good groomsman. I’ve smiled for all the photos. I laughed through the many toasts and I’ve done a bang-up job of pretending life couldn’t be better for me all day, even though there is a boulder of worry lodged in my chest. And now, it’s time for me to get piss-stinking drunk.
The trick with over-imbibing at a wedding is to make it look like you’re carrying drinks for other people. In this case, four flutes of champagne from the champagne fountain. Two could still possibly look like I’m going to drink them myself, but four seems far too ridiculous for anyone to suspect me of what I’m actually doing, which is filling them, then carrying them through the hotel ballroom with a purposeful look on my face, stopping periodically to down one and leave the glass.
I’m just filling up the last flute when I hear a woman’s voice behind me. “Rough day?”
Glancing over my shoulder, I see a lovely blonde in a blue gown. Her hair is up in some sort of complicated fancy do, and she has the most mesmerizing light blue eyes I think I’ve ever seen.
My jaw goes slack for an instant before I pull myself together. “These aren’t all for me.”
Taking one from my hand, she says, “Sure they’re not. I saw you earlier crossing the room with your first four glasses. Excellent trick. No one would ever imagine someone making such a pig of himself.”
“No offense, though, right?” I say, tipping back my glass and downing it. I set the glass down and hold my right hand out. “Will Banks.”
She shakes my hand even though she seems like the type of woman who’s more used to men kissing her knuckles lightly. “Yes, I know who you are.”
I blush a little and get that slightly squishy feeling that comes along with being sort of famous. “Right, sorry, it’s hard for me to wrap my head around people knowing who I am everywhere I go.”
“Occupational hazard, I guess,” she says with a grin.
“And what are the hazards of your occupation?” I ask. Oooh, that was pretty smooth, if I do say so myself.
She stares at me for a second, then says, “It’s a bit difficult to put a finger on it, but I suppose you could say I’m in public relations.”
“I’ll try not to hate you for it,” I say with a wink.
“I’m assuming there’s some sort of delicious backstory to that comment. Perhaps something that requires eight glasses of champagne to forget.”
“Something like that.” I watch, thoroughly engrossed as she takes a dainty sip. “Not that I’d ever complain, because believe me, I know how lucky I am to be doing the work I do, but there are aspects of it I could do without.”
She nods, a look of understanding crossing her face that makes me want to continue the conversation. I stare at her for a moment and can’t help but feel like she’s somehow familiar. “Have we met before?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“You’d remember me,” she says with a little smile.
“Ha! Good one,” I say, having a swig of my drink. “Did you enjoy the wedding?”
“It was quite lovely.”
“Whose side are you on? The bride or the groom?”
“The groom,” she says. “He’s a friend of my older brother.”
“Your brother must be quite the person. Pierce is very selective with who he allows in his inner circle.”
“Yes, you could say that.” She glances around, then looks back at me. “What about you? Are you a fan of weddings in general?”
“For other people. You?”
“Agreed. Marriage is definitely not for me.”
“So, it’s a life of public relations for you, is it?”
“It’s what I was born to do.”
“Well, I hope whoever you work for, they’re good to you—not all stuffy like this lot. All the wannabe royals thinking they’re so very important when the truth is nobody outside this ballroom knows who they are, and if they did, they wouldn’t care.”
“Or worse, the actual royals,” she says with a knowing look.
“God, yes. What a useless existence that would be. I mean, they’re not even in charge of anything real anymore. It’s just a whole life of pomp and ceremony.”
“Pathetic, right?” she answers, rolling her eyes.
“I actually heard someone earlier saying they feel sorry for them.”
“Absurd.”
“Yeah, honestly. They went on and on about how hard it would be to live in the spotlight your entire life.” I take a sip of my drink. “As someone with a bit of fame, I can tell you, there’s very little to complain about.”
“Well, of course there wouldn’t be anything to whine about. Not with all the perks and privileges.”
“Exactly. If they want to do something hard, they should get dropped off in Siberia in the dead of winter and try to survive for a week without their chefs and maids and heated toilet seats.”
“Ha!” she says. God, I like her. She gets me. I wonder if she’d be up for a shag?
“They’d be calling for a helicopter in under an hour, I can guarantee it.”
“Probably even less,” she agrees, giving me a conspiratorial look.
I glance down at her full lips, then lower my voice. “Say, you wouldn’t want to get out of here, would you? Somewhere not quite so stuffy.”
She leans in close enough that I can smell her perfume. I have no idea what it is, but it smells like money. She must do really well for herself in the public relations biz. “Somewhere that I could let my hair down and we could get to know each other better.”
This is actually going to happen, isn’t it? I nod. “Exactly.”
She opens her mouth, but before she can answer, an older man in a grey suit taps her on the shoulder. “Princess Arabella, delightful to see you again. My wife and I would love to talk to you about a foundation we’re starting for homeless birds.”
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shock vibrates through me as my words about her family echo through my brain. Pomp and ceremony. Not in charge of anything real anymore. I am so not getting lucky tonight. I give her a sheepish look, wishing I could think of a clever way to make it all better, but I’ve got nothing. Just embarrassment and regret. “So … you’re … I did not … I am so …”
“I am, I know you didn’t, and I’m sure you are,” Princess Arabella says with an amused smile. “Lovely to meet you, Mr. Banks.” She holds up her glass to me. “But I’m afraid it’s time to get back to my useless existence.”
Melanie Summers also writes steamy romance as MJ Summers.
Melanie made a name for herself with her debut novel, Break in Two, a contemporary romance that cracked the Top 10 Paid on Amazon in both the UK and Canada, and the top 50 Paid in the USA. Her highly acclaimed Full Hearts Series was picked up by both Piatkus Entice (a division of Hachette UK) and HarperCollins Canada. Her first three books have been translated into Czech and Slovak by EuroMedia. Since 2013, she has written and published three novellas, and eight novels (of which seven have been published). She has sold over a quarter of a million books around the globe.
In her previous life (i.e. before having children), Melanie got her Bachelor of Science from the University of Alberta, then went on to work in the soul-sucking customer service industry for a large cellular network provider that shall remain nameless (unless you write her personally – then she’ll dish). On her days off, she took courses and studied to become a Chartered Mediator. That designation landed her a job at the R.C.M.P. as the Alternative Dispute Resolution Coordinator for ‘K’ Division. Having had enough of mediating arguments between gun-toting police officers, she decided it was much safer to have children so she could continue her study of conflict in a weapon-free environment (and one which doesn’t require makeup and/or nylons).
Melanie resides in Edmonton with her husband, three young children, and their adorable but neurotic one-eyed dog. When she’s not writing novels, Melanie loves reading (obviously), snuggling up on the couch with her family for movie night (which would not be complete without lots of popcorn and milkshakes), and long walks in the woods near her house. She also spends a lot more time thinking about doing yoga than actually doing yoga, which is why most of her photos are taken ‘from above’. She also loves shutting down restaurants with her girlfriends. Well, not literally shutting them down, like calling the health inspector or something–more like just staying until they turn the lights off.
She is represented by Suzanne Brandreth of The Cooke Agency International.
